Page 109 of These White Lies
His fingers tighten in my hair, as if he can’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away. “Elizabeth… You’re going to kill me.”
But I don’t stop. I can’t. The power of it—the way this untouchable, controlled man shudders because of me—feeds the fire inside my chest. Every sound he makes, every tremor in his body, is mine.
His breath grows harsher, his chest rising and falling with each shaky exhale as I take more of him deeper, my hand stroking where my mouth can’t. The sounds he makes—half curse, half groan—shoot through me, igniting my core. I press closer, wanting to give him everything, wanting to feel him come apart because of me.
“Firefly…” The nickname is hoarse, a broken breath. His thighs tense beneath my hands, and when I glance up, his green eyes are locked on me. The look is dark and borderline desperate. I shiver.
Brady yanks me up from under my arms, making me gasp. His mouth claims mine, rough and consuming, swallowing theneedy sounds I can’t hold back any longer. My back hits the mattress, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. Brady looms over me, braced on his hands, his body caging mine in. His gaze sears into me, and for the first time tonight, I see the tether of his restraint unraveling.
“My turn,” he growls, and the promise in his voice makes me tremble with anticipation.
His mouth claims mine again, devouring me until he drags his lips lower. Each kiss more heated than the last. He leaves a burning trail down my throat, across my collarbone, over the damp cotton of my tank top. My pulse stutters as his hand slides beneath the fabric, lifting it higher, baring me inch by inch.
“Brady… Please.”
He doesn’t answer, just peels the tank over my head and tosses it aside. His gaze scorches as it lingers on my bare breasts, nipples tight from the cool air and his attention. He lowers his head and closes his mouth over one. I whimper, my back arching into him. The scrape of his teeth followed by the wet heat of his tongue sends lightning through my veins.
By the time he works my shorts down my hips, I’m trembling. He kneels at the edge of the bed, dragging his mouth across the flat of my stomach, pausing at the waistband. His eyes lift, molten and wicked.
“Open your eyes, Firefly. I want to watch you blaze.”
I feel like I can’t breathe as his mouth replaces his hand, the first stroke of his tongue tearing a sound from me I didn’t know I could make.
My fingers knot in his hair, and when I try to squeeze my eyes shut, his low growl stops me. “Look at me.”
I do, and it destroys me. The sight of him there, the hunger and reverence in his gaze, the steady rhythm of his tongue—it’s too much. My body coils tight, every muscle straining until Ibreak apart, shattering under his mouth, crying out his name as wave after wave of bliss crashes through me.
I collapse back, shaking. He crawls up my body, his lips slick against mine, giving me my taste on his tongue.
“You’re… Fuck, you’re…” I can feel his body shaking almost as much as mine. Bracing on his elbows, Brady lowers himself over me, the blunt heat of him pressing against me. He breaks the kiss just long enough to grit, “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. The stitches?—”
“I don’t care,” I whisper, dragging him closer with my legs locked around his waist. And I don’t. I don’t think I care if all my stitches burst open, as long as he keeps going. “I need you.”
His forehead drops to mine, tortured. “Firefly…”
“Don’t stop.”
He groans, deep and raw, before giving in. He pushes into me slowly, carefully, every thick inch stretching me until pleasure blurs with pain. A twinge in my side makes me gasp, but the overwhelming fullness, the intimacy of his body joined with mine, drowns it out.
He freezes, searching my face. “Tell me?—”
“More,” I beg, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”
A rough sound tears from his chest as he thrusts deeper. His mouth crashes back onto mine, his pace building, each stroke driving me higher and pulling incoherent cries from my throat. Pleasure rips through me, my body tightening and then breaking apart around him. His answering growl vibrates against my lips as he drives in one last time, shuddering as he comes with me.
Beneath it all, a terrifying, undeniable truth pulses in rhythm with his body—I’m not just giving him my body. It’s my heart as well.
I must have dozed off,because when I blink awake, the room is dark. My hand stretches out, finding nothing but empty space where Brady should be.
Slipping out of bed, I throw on the shorts and tank he’d tossed on the floor. At the top of the stairs I stop, listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate my parents have returned. Creeping down the steps and into the kitchen, I see Brady’s familiar outline through the back windows.
Pausing at my father’s bar, I smile at the familiar rows of mason jars tucked neatly inside the cabinet below. Choosing what I want, I move to join Brady.
The air outside is still damp and heavy from the summer thunderstorms. Brady is barefoot in one of the porch swings, his broad shoulders relaxed with a glass of what looks like iced tea in his hand.
“Thought you might want to try something stronger.” Nudging open the screen door with my hip, I hold up the jar full of clear liquid. “My dad’sdistilled water,” I say with a wink.
Brady glances over and lifts a brow when I jiggle the alcohol. “That better be what I think it is.”
