Chapter 22 Elizabeth #2
His mouth claims my breast again, teasing until I’m gasping, while his other hand slides down my belly.
“You’re soaked, Firefly.” He groans and thrusts two fingers inside me while his thumb continues to draw maddening circles over my clit. I cry out, grinding into his palm.
“That’s it, baby,” he breathes against my mouth. “Take what you need.”
I do, moving harder against him, not recognizing the frantic, needy cries leaving my mouth. His lips cover mine, swallowing my sounds as my orgasm crashes over me. Brady’s lips and fingers continue moving as pleasure spills through me in waves prolonging the delicious sensations.
I press my forehead against him, desperately trying to catch my breath, when his hand leaves my thighs and grips my ass, lifting me.
“I’ll be careful.” Brady voice is frayed, like he’s barely hanging on. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“I will.” I suck in a shuddery breath. I might pay for the pleasure later, but right now—endorphins flooding my bloodstream—I feel invincible.
Until Brady pushes up into me, slow and deliberate.
My breath catches with the delicious burn as he stretches me, inch by inch. His hand stays braced at my ribs, a protective hold keeping pressure off my side, controlling the movement even though I’m on top.
He leans back just enough to drag his lips along my throat, over the ridge of my collarbone, and down to the swell of my breast. His tongue and lips work my body in lazy sensual patterns causing sensation to coil tight inside me again.
I’m so full, I can feel him everywhere. Each deep glide and subtle shift he makes inside me sends sparks up my spine. I roll my hips, changing the angle, chasing that deep friction that turns my body molten.
My palms press into the hard planes of his shoulders, fingers curling for leverage.
Sweat slicks between us, our skin sliding as he meets my movements with slow, controlled thrusts from below.
Brady’s fingers flex against my back, the strength in his grip a constant reminder that if I slip, he’ll catch me.
Broken words of encouragement and praise rumble against my skin. “You’re so perfect like this,” he groans, thrusting harder, deeper than before. “Every fucking inch of you.”
His hand slides down, slipping between us with unerring precision, circling my clit with a firm pressure that rips a helpless sound from my throat.
“Come for me. My beautiful, bright flickering light.”
Those words. Knowing he remembers the details of our one night together—that it must have meant as much to him—hits me hard, emotion and pleasure flooding my senses.
My body shakes as the orgasm hits me hard, and he tightens his hold on me, even as his hips lose the controlled rhythm of before.
White-hot lights flash behind my eyes, and my nails bite into his shoulders, clinging to him as it pulses through me.
Brady curses low, the sound vibrating in my chest where we are pressed together. His grip on my hip tightens almost painfully as he thrusts up into me twice more, deep and claiming. He groans, pulling me flush against him, as his release shudders through his body.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the thudding of our hearts in our chests. He buries his face in the curve of my neck as he pants against my skin.
He brushes the damp hair back from my forehead, and presses a kiss to my temple. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.” I exhale, sinking against him as he lowers his back to the bed, taking me with him. “More than okay.”
His arms tighten around me, holding me carefully as I slump bonelessly across his chest.
After a few minutes, he eases me gently to my side and disappears into the bathroom, returning with two warm washcloths. “You still can’t shower without your apparatus, and we didn’t bring your supplies.” His lips twitch as he wipes the cloth over my skin.
“You’d make an excellent nurse. Ten out of ten for the sponge bath.” I smile up at him feeling completely relaxed for the first time in years.
He smirks at me before disappearing back into the bathroom, where I hear the water turn on again. When he returns, Brady pulls on his boxer-briefs, and gestures for me to scoot to the far side of the bed so that he is closest to the door.
“That’s disappointing,” I murmur sleepily, reaching behind me to pluck at his waistband.
He presses a kiss to the back of my head. “They can come off again whenever you’re ready. But in the meantime, I prefer not to fight with my dick out in case we get a visitor.”
And just like that, reality seeps back in.
“We could have had a visitor before,” I point out.
Brady nuzzles into my hair. “Dying inside you would have been worth it.”
He must have felt my body tense, because he kisses my temple before saying, “It’s just a precaution, Firefly. You don’t need to worry. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you again.”
The humidity is already thick when we step out of the hotel in the morning even though the sun is barely up.
The cobblestoned streets are still quiet, waiting for the rest of the city to wake up.
Only a few tourists are up with us, lazily strolling with cups of coffee in their hands, peeking in the windows of the closed shops.
Brady’s hand finds mine instantly. He keeps me close, the warm weight of his palm against mine, grounding me as we cut through the empty city blocks. He’s so calm, I can almost forget there are people hunting me.
Almost.
“That’s our ride,” he says after a few minutes, pulling me behind a souvenir kiosk and lifting his chin toward a small silver SUV parked under the branches of a huge crepe myrtle.
“What about our things? My computer?”
“Our guys picked up the other vehicle when they dropped this one off.” He smiles at me. “Never fear, your computer is safe and sound back at headquarters waiting for you to conquer the world.”
I pinch him but he only chuckles. Before we step into the open, his body goes subtly rigid, a shift I’m coming to recognize. It’s not fear, but a sharpening awareness. Strangely, it doesn’t make me nervous. It actually makes me feel safer.
Brady’s eyes flicker over the street, the building fronts, and the lone jogger headed in the opposite direction. It’s the same thing he did at Keith’s apartment. He’s cataloguing everything around us looking for the anomaly.
Crossing the road with unhurried steps, he crouches beside the passenger tire, his broad shoulders blocking my view, and comes up with a small metal box from the wheel well. In less than a minute, he’s extracted the key and put me inside the car.
The driver’s door shuts with a thunk, and Brady locks the door before reaching into the back seat to a black duffle. Unzipping it, he pulls out a matte black Glock and two loaded magazines. Without a word, he drops the extra gun in the pocket of his door and shoves the magazines into his pocket.
He doesn’t look at me or give me an explanation. I don’t need him to, and a part of me appreciates that he’s not treating me like a fragile child.
The constant threat of danger, the weapons—those should rattle me, right? But they don’t. There’s something devastatingly sexy about a man who can take on whatever comes. Even the darkness I sense in him doesn’t scare me. He doesn’t wield it to harm—only to protect. To avenge.
The thought makes me smile, quickly followed by…
Maybe I should talk to a therapist.
Brady pulls smoothly onto the street, and doesn’t speak for several minutes as he drives just under the speed limit through the waking city. However, I notice his eyes constantly check the mirrors.
When he takes the on-ramp for I-95 north, I turn to look at him. “You know Atlanta’s the other way, right?”
“We’re not going straight back,” he says, gaze locked on the road. “If they’re watching, we’d be too easy to tail. We’ll loop around and head west on state roads.”
I nod.
His eyes cut to me, surprise edging his voice. “No argument?”
“Nope. I trust you.”
The look he gives me is short, but it’s hot enough to burn. His hand flexes on the wheel, his gaze glued to the highway in front of us. “I was right that night,” he mutters. “You are definitely trouble.”
I don’t bother to hide my smile.
Just before noon, we stop at a gas station with an indoor food counter. Taking our selections back to the SUV, Brady repositions us at the back of the lot with the nose out.
His phone display flashes on the dashboard. Wiping his hands on a paper napkin, he reaches for the phone to read the text. “Finn found something in the emails,” he explains as he dials.
When Finn picks up, Brady puts him on speaker. “We’re on our way back. Tell us what you got.”
There’s a slight but noticeable pause, and I suspect it is the us that threw him.
“Right. Buried in his trash folder was a whole email chain with that auction house you matched to his number. He wanted an appraisal with full documentation for the purpose of a sale.”
My pulse spikes, but Brady beats me to the question screaming in my brain. “What did he want appraised?”
“A diamond necklace. I’ll just read you what the jeweler wrote, though I don’t know what all of it means.”
I realize I’m holding my breath.
“Two-tier, white diamond, lariat necklace, platinum setting. Top tier features symmetrical, round, brilliant cut stones, graduating in size, converging at a central join before extending into dual drop strands. Estimated total weight: 28 carats. Distinctive Y-shape. Market value estimate: 1.2 million USD not withstanding anomalies.”
Brady’s eyes find mine over the console.
I blink. “What?”
“Ring any bells?”
“None.” My shoulders slump.
“Apparently he hit a wall with the auction people because they wanted documented provenance.”
“He did steal it,” I murmur.
“There’s a picture,” Finn adds. “Sending it now.”
Brady tilts his phone toward me when the image appears.
My blood runs cold. “I’ve seen that before.”
“Where?” Brady’s tone sharpens.
“The night of Natalya’s engagement party,” I say slowly, the memory coming back to me. “Carrow gave it to Natalya that night. She was wearing it.”