Gentle pressure built inside me as we kissed. Brody sucked my lower lip into his mouth, gently tugging on it, teasing its fullness with his tongue. It felt so incredibly right that my hand wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer, demanding more.
The bill of his hat bumped against the back of my hand and I knocked it away, sending it falling to the floor. Ignoring the protest in my arm, I grasped his jaw and pushed my hands around the back of his head, moving upward, raking my palms over the buzzed cut he wore. His hair was thick and it tickled my hands as I moved.
Brody’s hand traveled across my waist, where his fingers dug into the flesh just above my hipbone. The pleasure of his hand and mouth on me simultaneously created a sensation close to desperation, like I was a clock that was wound entirely too tight.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he pulled away his hand and lifted his lips, angling his head so he was kissing me from a brand new direction.
His tongue stroked against my lips, almost requesting permission to come closer, and I opened immediately, wanting to feel the texture of his tongue, wanting part of him inside me.
He broke the kiss, rocking back on his haunches. I blinked, gazing at him with a bemused feeling clouding my head. I watched in apt fascination as he swiped his thumb along his lower lip and then stuck it in his mouth, almost like he was sucking off what was left of me on his lips.
“I like the way you taste,” he told me, his gaze dropping back to my lips.
Damn.
I was shot, kidnapped (technically), in danger, dirty, cold, and sitting in a grungy gangster hideout… yet true to his word, he made me forget it. In that kiss, I found more than passion; I also found escape. He was like balm to my open wounds, a blanket to my shivering insides, and an umbrella to the storm raging above my head.
And he liked the way I tasted.
“You taste pretty good too,” I finally said, speech finding its way back into my brain.
He smirked and reached for a Band-Aid, ripping off the little tabs and then smoothing it over the spot where he gave me the shot. “It didn’t hurt, did it?” he asked, his voice smug.
“I still don’t like needles.”
“That’s too bad because I’m not done yet.”
Part of me hoped I’d get a kiss like that for every needle he picked up.
9
Brody
Taylor was definitely no shrinking violet. But her bravery bordered on stupidity.
Finding her holding a gun on Snake was pretty amusing. What wasn’t amusing was the fact she didn’t seem to realize brandishing a gun did not give her that much control. She was weak, outnumbered, and obviously didn’t realize these guys were professionals at this.
Clearly, this girl couldn’t be left alone because, clearly, she was a hazard to herself and her own safety.
And then she went and chose a purple Gatorade. Purple. The damn girliest color known to man.
If that wasn’t bad enough, as she was sipping that lavender-colored concoction, she goes and looks at the needles like they’re alien babies come to take over her body.
Not many people surprise me.
But she did.
Her entire being was one big conundrum, a contradiction in heels.
On one hand, she portrayed a sort of tomboy personality (despite being flawlessly beautiful), showing a set of balls most women didn’t possess. Giving tips on fishing, standing up for people in bad situations, taking a bullet like a champ, and then pulling a gun on a known gangster.
I thought I had her figured out. I thought I knew what to expect from her.
Then she went and picked that damn purple Gatorade and became shaky as a newborn filly when presented with a needle.
It was almost as if beneath her tough exterior was a girly girl with the bite of a mouse.
I really hadn’t meant to kiss her. I only meant to distract her from the fact I was about to stick a needle in her arm. The distraction worked… but her honest reaction left me unable to leave it at only a distraction.
Her breathing stalled; her body stilled. I literally felt the anticipation rolling off her. It made me wonder how in the hell no one had managed to claim her yet, how she could say that no one ever kissed her so good that she forgot where she was.
I wasn’t about to back away from that challenge. Yet the second I closed the distance between us, it became more than proving a point. It became about giving her something I knew no one else had. It became about filling my mouth with nothing but the taste of her.
She sent my senses into overdrive and my cock to twitching in my jeans. I wanted to jam my tongue so badly inside her mouth. I wanted to explore the very depths of her until I too was completely lost.
But this wasn’t the time or place.
I couldn’t afford to be distracted like this.