by Jill Shalvis
This, Maddie thought with a helpless pleasure-filled sigh, this was what she needed. She needed it to keep Brody from thinking, from asking questions, from taking matters out of her hands, but more than anything, she needed it for herself, to forget, at least for a few minutes. She needed his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, needed it to even breathe.
Because he was her air. She’d die before admitting it, but fact was fact. In a world gone a little mad, he was her axis.
If she was being honest, he’d always been.
He knew how to kiss. Oh, God, he really knew how to kiss. She’d wanted him so desperately for so long that she was almost surprised that she didn’t just burst into spontaneous flames from the feel of his mouth and hands on her, and when he stopped kissing her to murmur her name in a low, husky, sexy voice, she died a little.
More. She needed more.
He kissed her again, and she murmured in pleasure, feeling all her bones melt away. Oh, yeah, more of that, and she was willing to risk all to get it.
Her past.
Her present.
Her future.
Even her heart. Especially her heart. And she was risking her heart. Even knowing it didn’t stop her. Nothing could. She was on empty here, on a rare low, with only fear and anxiety filling her tank, and he could make it all go away, at least for a few minutes.
Again, he said her name in that voice she loved, the one that said that every wild, crazy thing she was feeling, he felt, too. God, it’d been so long since a man had touched even a part of her poor, damaged heart. Too long.
Now, now, now . . . she slid her hand down his still damp chest between their bodies, going for the point of no return. This time, she was able to get a hold of his zipper, and the rasp of metal on metal filled the storm-ravaged silence around them. In the dimly lit room, their gazes met, his dark and heated, and she knew.
Oh, God, she knew.
No matter what happened to her here, no matter the outcome, she was going to have this moment with him. She was going to let herself be loved, and even more terrifying, she was going to let herself love him. “Hurry, Brody.”
Instead, he latched on to her throat and sucked a little patch of her skin into his mouth, and as if her body was on a string, it arched up to him.
“I’ve been dreaming about this too long to hurry,” he said. “Even for you.”
“You’ve been dreaming of this?” Hands in his hair, she lifted his head to look into his eyes. “So why do you avoid me at work?”
“I don’t mix work and pleasure.” He slid his hand down her belly. “But we’re not working now . . .”
No. No, they weren’t, and she let him kiss his way along her throat, his magical hands and talented mouth doing their thing, and his body, oh, God, his hard, toned body . . .
“No, we’re not at work.” Her eyes were crossed with lust. “But unless you hurry up . . .” She broke off when his mouth skimmed down her throat, over her shoulder, and directly toward a breast. “Oh, God.”
And then he made his way to her other breast, taking a damn year to get there, igniting all sorts of fires along the way and he hadn’t even taken off his pants yet. With each passing second, her heart further engaged, and it scared her. “Okay, you know what? You’re taking too long. Oh, forget it. Forget all of it. Let me up.”
Smiling into her eyes, his own dark and searing, he slid down her body, doing the opposite of letting her up. Nudging her legs open with a broad shoulder, breaking eye contact to take his eyes on a tour over her exposed body.
And she was exposed, just about as exposed as she could get. “Hey. I—”
He kissed her inner thigh, and she promptly lost her train of thought. “Um . . .”
He kissed her other thigh.
“B-Brody.”
“Yes. That’s my name.”
She should have killed him when she had the chance. She’d get as many women on her jury as she could, no way would they convict her. With the last of her energy, she tightened her legs on his torso and tried to flip him.
He didn’t flip. Of course he didn’t. The big, bad Brody didn’t go anywhere he didn’t want to.
“Damn it!”
He looked into her eyes, grinned, and then flipped her, and then she was straddling him as she’d wanted, holding him down. “Or this way,” he said agreeably.
“My way.” She worked his wet pants off him. By the time she was done, she was sweating. “My way.” And she crawled back up his body and guided him home.
“Jesus,” he breathed. Smile gone, hands gripping her hips, he arched up, body tense and quivering. What happened next was as crazy as the storm beating up the inn.
The feel of him filling her was like nothing she’d ever felt. Before, in the shower, she’d felt barraged and battered with an emotional weight too heavy to bear. Nothing had felt right, but now, in this moment, all that was gone and everything felt right—amazingly, perfectly so.
Catching her hands in his, he tugged her down to his chest, kissing her. “Your way,” he whispered against her mouth. “This time.”
It wasn’t until she began to move, until she was halfway to bliss, that she realized the truth—this wasn’t her way at all. It was the way, the only way, and she had a feeling that no one else would ever be able to make her feel like this.
Knowing it, she faltered.
But not him.
Never him.
Lifting a hand to her face, he murmured her name in question, but she shook her head, then sped up the rhythm, needing him to take her to the edge, now, now, needing to take the plunge rather than savor this as she deeply, secretly wanted . . .
But her brain wouldn’t shut down, and she couldn’t . . . quite . . . “Damn it,” she panted, frustrated, setting her forehead to his. “I can’t—”
“You’re rushing yourself.” His hands went back to her hips to help guide her, his thumb stroking over her center, right above where they were joined, and just like that, he did exactly what she needed, he took her where she needed to go.
She had the feeling he always would, which was her last thought before she came, only peripherally aware of his low, rough groan as he followed her over.
He’d always get her there, always . . .
Chapter 15
At the sound of a cell phone somewhere far too close, Maddie stirred, then realized she was sprawled over the top of Brody’s hard, warm body.
Not a bad way to wake up, really, though she couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep. Squinting through the room, dimly lit by the bathroom light that they’d never turned off, she read the clock. Two thirty. She tried to shift away, but Brody’s arms tightened, holding her in place. “The phone—”
“I’ve got it.” Still holding her, he reached for his cell on the nightstand. “’Lo,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly and sexy with sleep.
Sexy. So damn sexy. She wanted to rewind and repeat. God, she really needed a grip. But outside, the storm still raged, which meant she didn’t have to get up yet . . .
“Yeah, I’ve still got her.” Brody’s eyes cut to hers as he listened. “What kind of question is that?” With a sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, I’m taking good care of her.” He listened some more, then shook his head. “No, Noah, we are not eloping. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Pulling free, Maddie rolled to her back to stare at the ceiling, ignoring the slight twinge of regret at the horror in his voice. No, they weren’t eloping. They weren’t even particularly getting along, unless it was in bed.
Where they somehow managed to get along pretty damn fine.
“I already promised to call you if we need you,” he said. “Now go take a flight or a breath or something.” He shut the phone.
She could feel him looking at her, now on the far side of the bed.
And looking.
He wanted to talk. She did not. She lay there, very still, thinking if she only waited, he’d fall asleep again. Because hey, that’
s what guys did after wild monkey sex—they slept.
After a moment, she slowly turned her head in his direction, and damn, didn’t he look mighty fine all rumpled, sleepy-eyed, and naked.
And very awake.
The sheet had slipped, affording her a very nice view from his Adam’s apple to his belly, which she wanted to lick like a lollipop.
And lower, too.
Being with him had been every bit as good as she had imagined. Fast, searing . . . perfect. When she’d come, she’d released all that terrible pent-up tension. Now maybe she could use any lingering energy for something else entirely . . .
Like saving her sister’s ass.
“You’re going to fall off the bed,” he noted.
“I’m good.” She needed distance.
Lots of distance.
He was still just watching her with those mesmerizing eyes, scratching his jaw as if considering a particularly vexing puzzle, his fingers rasping against the growth on his unshaved jaw. Then he crooked a finger at her.
Come here.
No. No, no, no, that would be a bad idea.
Very bad.
But her brain apparently wasn’t in charge because her body obeyed, scooting close, and then his arms pulled her in, and then, oh, God, he pressed his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. “You smell good, Mad. You always smell good.”
“Stop.” Her voice was shockingly weak. Fall back to sleep.
He dipped his head down, pressing his mouth to her throat so that she could feel his lips move against her skin. “So damn good.”
“Seriously.” Why wasn’t he sleeping? Maybe the bigger question was, why wasn’t she shoving him away? Instead, she arched her neck to give him better access, loving how big and hard and warm he felt. After arriving here, she’d been cold, icy cold, but that had vanished lying next to him.
His hands swept down her body, urging her closer, then closer still so that she could feel that he was not sleepy, not even close. “We’re not doing it again.”
“Okay.” One hand squeezed her bottom, then slipped between her legs, and she realized.
They were doing it again. “Brody—”
She’d have sworn she had nothing left in the tank, and yet when his fingers stroked her, she shivered in need and let her legs fall open. “I mean it. We’re not—”
Another stroke, unerring and sure.
The man had talented fingers, and after yet another stroke, she admitted the truth.
She was going down with the ship. “Okay, maybe just one more time,” she whispered, breathless as he worked his magic. Her fingers dug into his biceps as she clung to him, her world spinning, the pinnacle centering between her legs. “But only once.”
He scraped his teeth over her shoulder, and she shuddered as his dark head made its way toward a breast.
“And it’s going to be my way this time,” she managed. “Fast.” She tried to tug him over her, where she would have pulled him deep inside and had a go at round two, but he resisted.
“Not fast. We just did fast. We’re going to take our time.” He punctured every few words with a kiss as he began to move down her body. Her neck, her shoulder, the scar where the bullet had shattered her collarbone. He spent a long moment there, then just below, where the curve of her breast began . . . “I want to taste you, Maddie. Every single inch of you.”
Oh, no. No way. If they weren’t going to jump each other’s bones and knock it out in a timely fashion, then—
He sucked a nipple into his hot, wet mouth, and she nearly arched right off the bed. In spite of herself, her body was responding. Her nipples were pebbled tight, and she was getting wet. Again. “Damn it, Brody.”
He let her nipple pop out of his mouth and went for her other one.
“Brody Allen West.”
“You’re middle-naming me?” Sounding amused but undeterred, he began kissing his way down her belly, his mouth hot and wet, not moving fast at all, nothing so easy as that.
She fisted her hands in the sheets at her sides. “Yes, and I’ll do it again if you’re going to drag this out.”
Lifting his head, he smiled, pure wickedness in his gaze and voice. “My way,” he repeated firmly.
Her stomach quivered at all the wicked, naughty promise in his eyes. But she couldn’t go there emotionally. Couldn’t. She was tapped out. Fast was all she had, so she pushed him aside and then climbed on top.
From flat on his back, he grinned up in pleasure at her and cupped her breasts.
She lifted up her hips to draw his most impressive erection inside her, but he pulled back and shook his head. “I’m not ready yet.”
Arching a brow, she looked down at what was currently filling both hands. Impressive and quite ready.
“Yeah, that’s because with you, I’m always hard as a damn rock.” Then, just as she had, he rolled her beneath him and held her there.
“Okay, listen.” She tried a smile. “Maybe we should just go to sleep. I’m going to need to get a few hours before I stop Leena—”
“From what exactly?” He slid a finger into her, groaned at the heat and slickness he found, and licked her nipple. “That meeting, yes. But what’s on Stone Cay?”
“The compound—” Her impending orgasm, the one barreling down on her like a freight train without brakes, was currently curling her toes and evidently, also loosening her damn tongue.
Not that Brody seemed to notice. He simply worked his unhurried way to her other breast, his fingers still driving her directly to bliss without passing Go.
“Compound?” he murmured against her skin, making his way south, leaving a hot, wet trail over her torso with his tongue. “Like a family compound?”
“Yes. Sort of. Brody—”
“So this Rick is . . .”
God, his fingers. He was in charge, controlling her like a puppet, and desperate to gain some of that control back, she gave as good as she got, stroking him, eliciting a rough, husky breath from him. In the interest of speeding this along, she did it again.
“Rick,” he managed with what sounded like some difficulty. “He’s . . .”
“Our uncle.”
“A real asshole?”
“A real asshole,” she agreed, arching up into his touch. His mouth was gentle, so damn gentle, as he ran it over her body.
“Did he ever hurt you?”
“No, he never dirties his hands himself.”
He kissed a rib, and then another. “What does that mean?”
“He has his men do everything for him.”
“I have to tell you, Mad. I don’t think I’m going to like your family.”
That tore a laugh out of her. “No. You won’t. Now are you taking this somewhere or what?”
“Or what.” He kissed her belly, then lifted his head and looked at her a long moment, his gaze softening. “Why would Rick threaten your safety?”
“It’s complicated. Brody, we’re in the middle of something here. In case you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t.” His fingers proved that by dragging another soft gasp from her. “So what’s your plan for after you get Leena?”
“Brody—”