Broken: Hidden Book Two (21 page)

He closed the door, got in, and drove. It was night. Probably around eleven, based on the moon and the fact that there wasn’t a ton of traffic. He reached over and took my hand, and we drove in silence. I didn’t know how I’d eat, knowing damn well what was happening after. He’d made it clear what he wanted, and I had no intention of denying both of us what we needed.

We stopped at a little Italian place we’d both liked, and sat and ate. He filled me in on what had been happening at the loft in my absence, and I told him about the Nether and my hunts. His eyes barely left me, and the desire, the need, coming from him made my heart race. Our food came, and I ate mechanically at first, then with more enthusiasm once my stomach was reminded what it felt like to be filled. I ended up finishing a lasagna dish I usually had to have bagged up, and Brennan smirked at me as I mopped up the last bit of sauce with a thick slice of warm bread.

“What?” I asked. “It was really good.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve eaten,” he said.

I nodded. “The imps think Doritos are the world’s most perfect food. I am really sick of those.”

He laughed a little, watched me.

“So,” I said, my stomach fluttering. “Where are we going now?”

“I have a house not too far from here,” he said. “It was my parents’. I don’t go there much, but it’s kept up and livable, and it’s mine.”

I nodded. He got up and held his hand out to me, pulled me up. We walked out into the empty parking lot, and my nervousness and desire was squashed when I heard a scream somewhere nearby.

“That way,” Brennan said, pointing down the street to our right. We both bolted in that direction, following the sound of yet another scream that was quickly cut short. We came upon a house, where two women were fighting on the front lawn. One had a gun, the other had a baseball bat, and they were both clearly pissed.

Now I was just irritated.

The one with the gun was about to squeeze the trigger. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I watched her finger flex as I bolted for her, saw the terror in the eyes of the woman holding the bat as she realized she was about to be shot.

I bowled into the would-be shooter, and the gun went off. As I tackled her, I scanned both Brennan and the other woman. Both were all right; she had shot into the air.

The woman with the gun struggled against me angrily, called me several less-than-friendly names. The one with the bat, I could see, had relinquished her bat to Brennan. Explaining. I heard the words “boyfriend” and “bitch” and “crazy” but not much else because the crazy bitch with the gun was still fighting me.

“Um. Do you think she needs help?” I heard the woman standing with Brennan ask him.

“Her? Nah. She’d just get pissed off at me if I stepped in now.” He pulled his phone out, I assumed, to call the police.

At that moment, I was mostly annoyed that I was muddy and that the woman I was grappling with smelled like puke. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she was starting to test my patience.

I finally got the gun from her hand, kicked it toward Brennan, who stood over it and kept talking on his phone. I got the woman’s hands behind her back and secured them with a zip tie, which I still carried out of habit. She shouted at me and called me names I had to admire for sheer creativity. I stood up and glanced up at Brennan who was smirking.

“I was clean for about an hour that time,” I said, looking down at my muddy, ripped clothing.

He laughed. We could see flashing lights in the distance. Suburban police responded much faster than we were used to.

We explained to the officers what we’d seen, and I convinced them they’d never seen me, messed with the women’s memories so they had no recollection of my freaky-ass glowing eyes. Finally, Brennan and I climbed back into my car, and he put it in drive.

“Well,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. “That would have been much sexier if it had been me you’d been grappling with like that.”

“Shut up and drive, Brennan,” I muttered, blushing. He laughed, and my stomach fluttered again as we drove toward his house.

Chapter Fifteen

It wasn’t a long drive to Brennan’s house. It was a little brick bungalow with a neat boxwood hedge surrounding the front yard, on a quiet street lined with similar houses. It looked clean and well cared-for. The porch light was on. It looked, for anyone who didn’t know better, like someone made a home there.

“I’ve moved out of the loft a few times over the years,” Brennan explained as I looked around. “There were times I couldn’t stand to live in the same house as Nain, times I just wanted to do my own thing for a while. It makes more sense to keep this up than scramble for a place if I ever needed one.”

I nodded. It was all very Brennan, really. Simple furnishings, clean hardwood floors, white walls. He took me through the house, showing me where the bedrooms and bathroom were. His room, like his room at the loft, was clean, almost austere.

“Nice house, Bren,” I said softly, more for something to say than anything else. He stood in the center of his bedroom, watching me.

“I like your house even better. You have all that cool vintage shit,” he said. “Why don’t you ever go there anymore?”

“Too many memories,” I finally said. He watched me for a minute, nodded. Then he stepped closer to me, kissed me softly.

“I think it’s time to make some new ones, don’t you?” he asked, nuzzling my neck, his warm breath on my skin sending shivers down my spine.

“Yes,” I whispered. I put my arms around him, and saw the mud on my forearm. “I am a mess.”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, capturing my lips with his again. He pulled my top off, dropped it to the floor, then unbuttoned my pants and pushed them down over my hips, and they puddled at the floor around my ankles. His eyes swept over me, and a low sound escaped him, somewhere between a growl and a groan. He pushed the straps of my bra down, and I blushed as I spilled out of it. “I am going to enjoy this, Molly. I am going to make you forget everything except you and me, and before we’re done, I am going to hear you scream my name.”

My heart was pounding, and a shiver went down my spine when he undid the clasp of my bra and let it fall to the floor. He groaned and lowered his lips, pressing kisses over the swell of my breasts as he ran his hands down my arms, my waist, my hips. He squeezed my hips, briefly, then pushed my panties down my hips, my thighs, his hands following their descent to the floor, and then he stood back and looked at me, his eyes traveling my body, and I could feel my body responding, trembling, warming to the way he looked at me.

“Damn,” he murmured appreciatively. “Lay down. On your stomach,” he said, and I did, burying my face in his pillow. I could hear the sound of fabric; Brennan removing his clothing. I felt him kneel on the bed, then straddle my body, settling himself at my upper thighs. I felt the coarse hair of his thighs rubbing against my skin, the weight of him settling just below my bottom. He sat that way, for just a bit, and I knew he was looking at me, memorizing every curve, every dip and swell of my hips and backside. He put his hands in my hair, and started massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes, and a tiny sigh escaped my throat. He took his time, worked his way down to my neck, my shoulders, my back. His hands were firm as he massaged me, and I felt myself both loosening up and growing more needy as he worked his magic. Wherever he touched me, he followed with his lips. His hands, then his mouth, making my heart pound, making my body ache with need.

He just kept massaging, kissing, nibbling. He wanted me, and it was overwhelming how much he did. His need washed over me, hotter than flames, so strong it was almost a physical thing. But this was Brennan. He would take his time with me, give me every single thing I needed and more. Completely in control, and I was at his mercy. He worked his way down my legs, and when he ran his hands down the backs of my thighs, touched me behind my knees, I bit my lip and pressed my face into the pillow.

He gently turned me over onto my back, his eyes traveling my body as he settled me back onto the pillow. I moved to cover myself with my arms, and he shook his head. He gently took my wrists, and stretched my arms up over my head as his eyes continued to roam my body.

I looked him over, the sight of him straddling me only making me need him more. So much hotness, it almost seemed unfair — his strong chest, that tattoo, the thin line of dark hair that led from his navel down to
oh holy shit,
and I squirmed, practically panting in need. I glanced back up at his face, and he smirked, knowing exactly what I was feeling. Then he lowered his lips to mine, kissed me deeply, more firmly, his lips hungry and insistent on mine. Once I was breathless again, he licked down my throat, across my collarbone, then lower, and his tongue flicked over my breast, and I cried out as the sensation roared through my body. He did it again, then took it into his mouth and sucked and nibbled, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. I thrashed against him, pushed myself against his mouth, and he just kept savoring me.

When I felt like I couldn’t take any more, when my breasts were aching and tender from his attentions, he kissed his way down my stomach, stopping to nibble the sides of my waist, the curve of my hips. He kissed the fronts of my thighs, nuzzled between my legs, and I gasped.

He gently spread my thighs, and all I could do was moan, beg, as his mouth drove me insane. My pulse raced, and heat spread throughout my body. I gripped the sheets in desperation, unable to withstand the torment he was putting me through. I was on the edge, when he placed one final kiss on me, then kissed and licked his way back up my body.

“So good,” he murmured, then he lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me in a forceful, demanding way that he’d never kissed me before, and I whimpered against his mouth.

“Please,” I begged, breathless. He chuckled and started kissing my throat. His need roared over me, through me.

He backed away so he could look at me. “Please what?” he asked, meeting my eyes.

“I need you Brennan,” I whispered. “Please.”

He reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a foil packet, and rolled a condom onto himself, eyes on me the entire time. I trembled as he positioned himself right where I needed him to be and I gripped the sheets helplessly in my hands.

“Say the words, Molly,” he said, placing the tip of himself just inside me.

“I want you Brennan,” I said, meeting his eyes, holding his gaze.

He pushed inside me, stretching me, then pulled back again.

“Are you sure?” he asked, teasing, as he did it again. The heat in his eyes made my stomach flutter, the hungry look in his gaze inflaming me even more.

“Yes,” I moaned, and he did it over and over again, entering me, then pulling back just when my body had begun to adjust to having him inside. I whimpered in my need and frustration, and he let out a low chuckle. He did it again, and again, pushing in just a little deeper each time, the unbelievable friction of him filling me and then pulling away making me almost incoherent with need.

Not enough. I shoved my hips up toward him, determined to take him deeper.

He pushed my hips down, held them firmly. “Behave yourself,” he said, a tiny, insanely sexy smile quirking his lips as he met my eyes. I whimpered as he continued toying with me. I thrashed, closed my eyes.

“Look at me, Molly,” he ordered, and I did. “I want your eyes on me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” And then he drove all the way into me, filling me, and I felt my body clench around him, and I cried out and he captured my cries with his lips, kissed me as he started moving his hips in a slow, torturous way that had me gripping his body, my fingernails digging into his back in my frenzied need. I wrapped my legs around his thighs, and he pushed all the way into me, stayed that way, eyes locked onto mine. I was on the verge, and he stopped moving.

It was exquisite torture having him pressed deep inside me, on the verge of losing my mind, just one more thrust and I’d fall apart. I tried to push my hips up.

“No, not yet, honey,” he murmured.

“Not fair, Bren.”

“No?” he asked, smirking down at me again.

”Please,” I begged, and he chuckled, thoroughly enjoying having me at his mercy. Then he sat back on his heels, pulled me up to him, opening me wider, pushing so deeply into me I could feel the hot skin of his pelvis against my body the coarse hair on his thighs against my ass, and I let out a strangled cry as he started moving his hips again.

He was merciless, keeping me in ecstasy, right on the edge, and refusing me release until he’d had his fill of my body. No matter how much I begged, he kept it up. It was having a toll on his control, too. I could feel how badly he wanted to let go, but he was determined to draw this out, to give me very bit of pleasure he possibly could.

He pumped against me and he caressed my body, hands running firmly over my curves in a way that had every nerve ending screaming for him.

“Eyes on me,” he reminded me.”I want to see what it’s like to watch you lose control.”

I moaned, and looked at him, and he kept going, kept driving into me. We were both breathless, almost mad with ecstasy, and my body ached and throbbed, and he just kept torturing me. Then he placed his hand on my abdomen, pressing just a little with his palm, and he started thrusting harder.