Page 353 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“Mmm.” She snuggles in a little tighter as her breathing deepens.
I lie in the dark for a while, looking up at the ceiling. It’s still on the early side and I didn’t have the hell-day Bren did. I turn over what we learned from Theo with a small smile. While I wouldn’t wish a ruptured testicle on anyone, it does feel like just deserts. I wonder if Cinder will feel that justice has been served or whether he’ll still want to break more bones. Whatever he decides, I’m up for it. As Napa said, this is the brotherhood.
On that thought, I finally close my eyes.
I open them again a few hours later when Brenna begins shifting around. At first, I think she’s uncomfortable on her bad hip, but no, she’s just restless. Her breathing tells me she’s not sleeping, so I rub my hand up and down her back, enjoying the feeling of her firm body through the thin T-shirt. As I’m rubbing, she turns so my hand is suddenly on her breast. She covers my hand with hers and squeezes.
“Something I can do for you, girl?” I grumble sleepily.
“I’m horny, Sir,” she whispers.
I swear, any indication of desire from this girl is a magic wand for my dick, which immediately twitches with interest.
“Are you now? Residual adrenaline got you all hot and bothered?”
“I think it’s just lying here with you, Sir. You make me hot and bothered.”
I chuckle. “If you’re the one who’s hot and bothered, you can do all the work. Mount up and ride me, girl.”
I expect my sammie to grumble, but she must really be horny because she’s shed her clothes and climbed on top of me faster than I can blink, rubbing her slick kitty over my dick, licking between my pecs as she works up and down. I catch her nape and pull her up so I can kiss her, ignoring the faint sourness of late-night breath. Her mouth is still wonderfully warm and soft and I lose myself in it for long minutes. She rubs herself all over me while we kiss, finally impaling herself when my cock reaches full mast. There was a time, not so long ago, when I couldn’t get hard without pain or cruelty, but I seem to have left that behind with my marriage. Everything about Bren is a turn-on, whether we’re playing or just fucking like we are now.
But this day, which has held a number of surprises, turns out to have one more.
Bren rides me with a will until I take her hips in my hands and set a driving rhythm that has us panting into each other’s mouths, laughing at the wet slapping of our bodies, and groaning as we go off like firecrackers, her clasping kitty milking my release right out of me.
She collapses on top of me and nuzzles into my neck.
“I love you, Sir,” she whispers.
I rub her back and when she lifts herself off me, help her clean up with baby-wipes from the night table. When she snuggles up, I turn on my side so she can spoon to my back the way she likes.
I lie awake and stare at the wall and consider why it feels so wrong to say those words back to her.
twenty-one
BRENNA
I am a fucking idiot.
I have moments where I think I’m actually on top of my shit. I kicked three grown men’s asses yesterday, right? I must have something going for me, at least in the kicking department. But the only thing I’m kicking this morning is myself when I wake to an empty bed and the first thought that crosses my mind is that I told Mac I loved him last night, and he turned his back on me without saying a word.
He's probably just gone for a morning run, the way he usually does. I know that, in my head. Tell that to my idiotic heart which is sniveling all over the bed. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Just because he was there for me during a shitty day, giving me everything I needed and so much more, did I really have to break out the three little words?
“Fuck me.” I tell the ceiling. The small cracks in the white paint stare back at me and I swear they’re judging my midnight madness. Unable to handle their verdict, I roll over and fumble my phone off the bedside table. It’s almost nine. I’ve slept for nearly twelve hours. I stretch and crack my neck. My body feelsgood: warm and light and pleasantly sated. None of the weird soreness I felt after the fight. The bruising on my knuckles has faded to purple and green. When I flex my hand, there’s only a twinge. I roll out of bed and do a couple of toe-touches to limber up. My hip’s a little tight but after training with Kru for years, I know how to kick without aggravating my injuries. Overall, my body feels good. It’s just my heart that’s dragging ass.
I pull on the T-shirt Mac gave me to sleep in last night, since I think his precious concert shirt was a one-off to make me feel better, and the owl-print socks I borrowed from Emily yesterday, wind my dreads up into a pair of space buns, and head downstairs. The door to the great room is open and I can hear voices. I take a moment before walking through to parse through the voices and compose myself. I will not be clingy this morning, no matter fucking what. Shiny, shiny, shiny Brenna.
I plaster on a smile and march through into the kitchen. The bikers are already here, standing at the kitchen island, drinking orange juice that Logan’s probably just squeezed. He’s still torturing citrus fruit in his huge metal guillotine while Mac fries bacon and Emily works the waffle-maker.
“G’morning,” I say cheerily. “How can I help?”
Emily lifts her head and gives me her sunshiny morning grin. “Could you make coffee?”
“On it.”
The coffee machine’s on the far side of the kitchen from where Mac’s cooking the bacon and I don’t need to go near him to get there, but, because I’m an idiot, I walk over, stretch up on my toes, and give him a kiss on the cheek as I pass. “Good morning, Sir. Thanks for letting me sleep in.”
“Good morning, girl. Start the coffee and meet me in the bathroom. Rule seven.”
