Brody groans, “Right there, lass, right fecking there.”
I suck harder, drawing him deeper into my mouth until the back of my throat cradles his head. Handling his balls, I continue to try and swallow him down. The muscles of my throat massage his shaft from top to bottom. My tonsils hum on his cock, lauding his attention. When Brody grunts his climax, my palate cherishes every last ounce.
His massive shoulders jitter as he leans back in the seat. “I could get used to that.”
My fingers take a walk across his chest. “Looks like you want to cross the line between what we have going and commitment.”
Of course, we have a long way to go as far as hashing out what a relationship means, but I’ve lied to myself enough as it pertains to Brody MacKenzie. He’s not the Merriam-Webster version of a dream guy, and I’m not Demi Moore circa the nineties.
“Monogamous? Justice, ya know me.”
The cymbals crash; the snare bangs. I’m asking myself why I suffer for this man. “Drop me off—”
Brody captures my face. “Four things ya never done with any other lad—nae. Four things ya never done—period. Tell me.”
“Brody, just . . . drop me off.”
“Tell me!” He’s got a viselike grip on me.
I exhale. Brody’s touch relaxes me. I close my eyes to the tender caress along my cheeks.
“I’m asking ye, Justice. Four things ye have never done. I’d like to be yer first in something, aye?”
I hate this. Feelings toss, turn, swirl, and pull me down to a place God didn’t create for me. I’m glancing into a beautiful devil’s eyes. “Never done, although, I’d wish to? Like a bucket list?”
“Aye.”
“Luxurious day spa, camping, bungee jumping, running with the bulls.” Being on the opposing end of unrequited love.
He nods, kisses my forehead. I’m convinced Brody has no desire to be anywhere in the universe right now but here. Here with me. Even if he makes no promises. He reaches across me. At the quizzical look on my face, Brody gestures to my seatbelt in his hands and latches it.
“Ye are important to me, Justice Flowers.”
My heart runs like warm liquid on a hot day. This restless feeling is utter bitterness, yet I can’t let him go.
* * *
When Brody chose the connector that led away from Chevelle and Leith’s first home in Long Beach, I assumed we were headed to their new house in West Covina. But our destination is much closer, Hollywood.
“Brody MacKenzie, you don’t strike me as a Rodeo Drive type.”
“I know Crabbit Chevelle’s having a dinner for ye this evening. I’ll have ye there before then.”
“She is? Why?” We’re stopped at a traffic light, and he catches my eye.
“It’s one of the reasons Chevelle didn’t pick ye up. Eh, just because. For now, I have ye the entire day.”
“Under whose orders?”
Brody starts driving again, but his gaze seeks mine for a beat. “Mine, lass.”
A finagling tickle irritates the pit of my stomach as Brody pulls into a five-star hotel.
I gasp at the sight of supercars that the valet has parked like jewels in the lot. “We’re honestly at a hotel? That’s very presumptuous. Just because I offered you head—”
“Get out, lass,” he orders as valet opens my door, “now.”
I scoff, though acknowledging the man in a red uniform who assists me out of the truck. While we walk through the lobby, I quietly argue in Brody’s ear. “There better be good food here. You offered to feed me.”
“Och, lass, I’m not one of those drive around Rodeo Drive types, and ye ain’t got a taste for pretentious food. Besides, that meal ye had at the airport—”
“What meal?”
He runs a thumb over the side of my lip, and a fury of discomfiture ignites across my cheeks. When I open my mouth to retort, Brody clasps my arm and shoots me a look that kills my thought process. Tepid air fills my lungs. Straight Alpha move. The rugged bad boy softens his hard demeanor while speaking to the concierge. “Which way to the day spa?”