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.
And she couldn’t afford to keep bleeding.
It didn’t help that when I broke our lips apart, she looked sorely dazed and disappointed. Her lips were swollen and round, glistening from the faint moisture in our kiss.
“I have a local numbing agent here. It will numb up the area where you’re wounded and take away a lot of the sting. Once it takes effect, I’m going to clean you up and bandage you better.”
She made a face like I tried to feed her something very distasteful. It made me smile.
“Here,” I said, pushing the coffee cup back into her hand. “Drink some more of this.”
She took it and sipped dutifully while I opened some of the bandages and wipes. We didn’t speak as I unwrapped the crude bandaging I applied to her arm earlier. I wasn’t surprised when I noted the non-adhesive pads were soaked with blood. The one on the back of her arm, where the bullet exited her body, was worse.
She watched me with a stony expression when I filled yet another syringe with numbing agent.
“This isn’t going to feel good,” I warned her, leaning close to find a place to inject her.
Taylor turned away her face, gazing toward the back wall as her fingers twisted themselves in the front of my T-shirt.
The action endeared her to me even more. Once again, she was making me feel like I was her anchor, her lifeline through this mess. I never wanted to be responsible for someone else… but right now it didn’t seem like it would be that bothersome.
“Ready?” I whispered.
She squeezed her eyes closed and I pierced her skin.
I heard her breath catch and her fingers tightened on my shirt. I worked as quickly as I could, injecting the medicine and trying to move it around the area.
“It shouldn’t take long to work,” I said, pulling back. She didn’t say anything so I used one of the empty bags and picked up all the trash and wrappers I’d already used. Taylor didn’t look at me or her arm. She kept her face turned away and her fingers twisted in my shirt.
“Tell me if you can feel this,” I whispered and dragged two fingers over the inside of her wrist. She shivered. I stroked her again, this time applying a bit more pressure. “Can you feel that?”