Chapter 4 The Vibrators? We Keep Those in the Kitchen Cara #2
But he places his palm on my chest, pushing me back.
His eyes come alive like stars in a midnight sky as he eases the toy from my soaked pussy, replacing it with a slow-plunging finger, making me whimper.
When it’s as drenched as I am, he pulls it out, holding my gaze as he drags all that wetness to my ass, massaging the hole.
Then he lines up the head of the ribbed shaft with my ass, and the smooth shaft with my pussy, and pushes.
I gasp, back arching as my holes stretch, as I take both ends of the vibrator and wish that either of them were Emmett.
He steps back, looking me over with an appreciation so feral it makes my stomach clench. “Christ, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mutters, swiping a hand over his mouth. He fiddles with the app controls until both ends come to life, vibrating inside me.
“Fuck,” I cry out, clenching around the shafts. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good.”
“I bet this greedy little pussy wants more, doesn’t it?” He steps into me, one hand landing on my thigh, the other spreading me wide. His thumb goes to my clit, circling it slowly, and both our eyes fall to my thigh as he finds the delicate tattoo right at the top, a single word in his handwriting.
Mine.
He rubs his thumb over the word he drops so frequently before sweeping his lips over it, and the sight alone sends me into overdrive, bucking my hips.
His. I’m his. I always have been, and I always will be.
“Emmett,” I beg, tugging his hair. “Lick me. Now.”
He lifts a brow, dropping to his knees as he continues kissing my thighs, rubbing my clit.
“Bossy girl,” he murmurs. “Someone needs to teach you some manners.” He places his palm against the bend in the vibrator, pushing it deeper into me, rocking it as I gasp, chasing the motion.
“Maybe I’m not in the mood for giving today. Maybe I’m in the mood for taking.”
“No,” I whine, shaking my head. I reach for my clit, desperate for friction, but he bats my hand away, holding it captive as he pushes the vibrator deeper into my ass.
“Maybe I’ll fuck this hole right here, fill it with my cum and watch it drip out of you.
Rub your pretty little cunt, get you all worked up, but stop right before you can finish.
Your pussy will be clenching all day, empty, searching for me.
” His mouth moves up the inside of my thighs, trading kisses for soft bites, the lash of his tongue.
He pauses at the top, spreading me wide. “That what you want, gorgeous?”
“No.” My head shakes desperately. “God, no.”
“Then lose the fucking attitude and ask me nicely.”
Fuck, I love it when he’s like this. Emmett loves me soft. He’s gentle and patient, compassionate and understanding, so sweet it hurts. But the way he fucks me? He fucks me like he’s lost all his morals. Like I’ve deprived him of my body for my own enjoyment, and he’s finally getting his revenge.
Emmett Brodie fucks like a criminal on the run. One who knows he’s going down, who’s given in to the depravity, deciding to savor every last bit of his final meal.
Emmett Brodie fucks me like a goddamn animal.
And I love it.
So I swipe my tongue over my lower lip, pull it between my teeth. Let my eyes fill with innocence. “Please,” I whisper, scarcely lifting my hips. “Please, Emmett. Please lick me. I’ll do anything.”
A satisfied groan rumbles in his chest, and he drags his palms over my thighs. “There’s my sweet girl,” he murmurs. He winks, and fucking finally, he moves that perfect mouth to my clit.
“Knock, knock,” a voice rings out, followed by the sound of our front door slamming.
“Fuck,” I hiss, grabbing Emmett by the hair, hauling him up to his feet and yanking my skirt back in place. He slams his palms down on either side of me, blocking me from view as our housekeeper strolls into the kitchen.
“Hi, Natasha,” Emmett says, a grin directed at me as he watches me seethe, squirming from the vibrator currently shoved inside me, the clit that’s cramped and desperate for attention.
I reach for his phone, but Emmett gets there first, clutching it in his fist. He must hit a button, because both shafts kick it up a notch, thrusting and vibrating, and I’m leaking all over the goddamn counter, shaking, biting my lip so hard I taste blood.
“Hi, Emmett,” Natasha greets him so brightly, the way she always does. “Is Cara still in bed? Why don’t you go relax on the couch, and I can make you some breakfast?”
“Right here, Natasha,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at Emmett as he snickers.
“Oh. I just assumed. Normally Emmett’s up making breakfast and you’re in bed.”
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. Natasha so clearly has a thing for Emmett, and always finds some backhanded way to make a jab at me. But she’s a single mom in need of money, and she’s only here twice a week. I can handle her.
“You’re so lucky you have a man who takes care of you and puts your needs first. Maybe sometime I can show you how to cook a special meal for him to say thank you.”
I make to leap off the counter—I can take her, double-ended vibrator be damned—but Emmett keeps me in place with his hand on my chest before letting those fingertips dance down my front, slipping between my thighs, applying the gentlest of pressure to the toy beneath my skirt.
I grip his shoulders as tightly as I’m hanging on to my sanity. “I feed Emmett a special meal every day.”
Fuck yeah you do, he mouths, ever so slightly rocking the vibrator into me, lifting a finger to his mouth when I whimper.
“That’s great. I didn’t know you could cook; never seen you in the kitchen. Anyway, I’m gonna start up in your bathroom. It takes me the longest, what with all your beauty products.”
I listen to her footsteps as she heads up the stairs. Hiking my skirt up, I lean back on my hands. “Now, back on your knees, and make it quick.”
“Mmm, can’t. Wasted too much time, gotta meet the guys for a rollerblade sesh.” He pulls his hand away, and I’m about five seconds from slapping that self-satisfied grin off his face.
“What did you just say?” I ask lowly as he lovingly pats his pocket, where my panties are firmly tucked. I reach for his phone, but he tucks that in his pocket too.
“I think I’ll keep this.” He aims a look at the vibrator buzzing between my legs. “And I think you’ll keep that in.”
“What?” I scramble off the counter, gasping and clutching his arm at the sensation that rocks through my core. “You can’t—”
“I can.”
“But I—”
“Will listen to me.”
My mouth opens. It closes. Opens again, and Emmett smiles. He drops to one knee, and I think he’s going to show me mercy. Instead, he pulls on a pair of ankle socks.
“For how long?” I whisper as he claps a hand to my ass, pulling me into his chest.
“Until I say so.” He tosses his Vipers ball cap on his head and spins it backward.
That may be his only saving grace, because I cannot fucking resist Emmett Brodie in a backward baseball hat and an arrogant grin.
His gaze dips down, and he clicks his tongue before pressing a kiss to my forehead and turning his back on me.
“Better keep those legs closed, firefly, or the glisten on the inside of those luscious thighs is gonna give you away.”
HAVE YOU EVER HAD ONE of those moments where you stop and take in the scene around you, the chaos, the noise, and realize this is it?
This is the life you’ve dreamed of. You’re surrounded by the people who make you whole, who feed your soul.
There’s nothing that could make this moment better, because there isn’t anything missing.
This is as good as it gets, and the good?
Well, it’s not just good; it’s incredible.
I stand at the counter in Adam and Rosie’s kitchen, staring out the patio door at our family spread out over the yard while I make two pitchers of frozen daiquiris, one without alcohol, still recovering from the two-hour edgefest my husband put me through earlier today.
The dogs are wrestling beneath the shade of a weeping willow.
There are two cats with personalities as big as mine sunbathing on the patio.
Adam tends to the barbecue while the rest of the boys are wreaking havoc in the pool, the kids running through a sprinkler in the grass, the girls keeping a watchful eye on the kids—the big ones and the little ones—from beneath the pergola.
“Unca Emmy,” a tiny, shrill voice screams, and Emmett wastes no time freeing Carter from the headlock he’s got him in and wading to the edge of the pool, where eighteen-month-old Ireland is toddling toward him, making grabby hands, floppy hat covering her eyes.
“Yes, princess? You want your favorite uncle?”
Garrett splashes water at him. “Like fuck. That’s me.”
“It’s me,” Jaxon says matter-of-factly. “ ’Cause I’m the most handsome. She told me so herself. Said, Uncle Jax, you’re my favorite ’cause you’re so handsome.”
Lennon rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ireland decided that the first time she’d speak in a full, detailed sentence, it would be to tell her Uncle Jaxon that he’s her favorite because he’s so handsome.”
Jaxon gestures at her. “See? Lennon was there.”
The corner of my mouth hooks as I step into the yard, watching the fight that ensues over favorite-uncle status.
Emmett wins this round, I think, because Ireland throws herself off the edge of the pool and directly into his arms. My heart thuds a steady, heavy beat as I watch Ireland toss her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his in a loud smooch before snuggling into the crook of his neck.
Olivia hauls herself to her feet, her little twin baby bump on display in her bikini as she heads over to her daughter and my husband, snapping a photo of them.
Connor throws himself at Garrett, and Jaxon catches Lily in his arms when she jumps into the water.
Rosie joins Olivia, her bump every bit as cute, as the two of them take picture after picture of their kids with the boys.