Chapter 30 Elizabeth #2
I collapse back, shaking. He crawls up my body, his lips slick against mine, giving me my taste on his tongue.
“You’re… Fuck, you’re…” I can feel his body shaking almost as much as mine. Bracing on his elbows, Brady lowers himself over me, the blunt heat of him pressing against me. He breaks the kiss just long enough to grit, “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. The stitches—”
“I don’t care,” I whisper, dragging him closer with my legs locked around his waist. And I don’t. I don’t think I care if all my stitches burst open, as long as he keeps going. “I need you.”
His forehead drops to mine, tortured. “Firefly…”
“Don’t stop.”
He groans, deep and raw, before giving in. He pushes into me slowly, carefully, every thick inch stretching me until pleasure blurs with pain. A twinge in my side makes me gasp, but the overwhelming fullness, the intimacy of his body joined with mine, drowns it out.
He freezes, searching my face. “Tell me—”
“More,” I beg, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”
A rough sound tears from his chest as he thrusts deeper.
His mouth crashes back onto mine, his pace building, each stroke driving me higher and pulling incoherent cries from my throat.
Pleasure rips through me, my body tightening and then breaking apart around him.
His answering growl vibrates against my lips as he drives in one last time, shuddering as he comes with me.
Beneath it all, a terrifying, undeniable truth pulses in rhythm with his body—I’m not just giving him my body. It’s my heart as well.
I must have dozed off, because when I blink awake, the room is dark. My hand stretches out, finding nothing but empty space where Brady should be.
Slipping out of bed, I throw on the shorts and tank he’d tossed on the floor. At the top of the stairs I stop, listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate my parents have returned. Creeping down the steps and into the kitchen, I see Brady’s familiar outline through the back windows.
Pausing at my father’s bar, I smile at the familiar rows of mason jars tucked neatly inside the cabinet below. Choosing what I want, I move to join Brady.
The air outside is still damp and heavy from the summer thunderstorms. Brady is barefoot in one of the porch swings, his broad shoulders relaxed with a glass of what looks like iced tea in his hand.
“Thought you might want to try something stronger.” Nudging open the screen door with my hip, I hold up the jar full of clear liquid. “My dad’s distilled water,” I say with a wink.
Brady glances over and lifts a brow when I jiggle the alcohol. “That better be what I think it is.”
I pass him the jar. “It’s exactly what you think it is. Family recipe.”
Unscrewing the top he takes a hesitant sip. “Is this legal?”
“No,” I reply, lowering onto the swing next to him. “And if you ask my dad about it, you’ll get a thirty-minute history lesson about how his great-grandfather ran a still in a nearby creek bed during the ‘lean years’ and elaborate stories about dodging the ‘revenue man.’” I laugh making air quotes.
“Bootlegging’s practically a required regional tradition,” I add. “North Georgia had settlers from the Scottish Highlands. Lucky for us, they brought their knowledge on how to distill everything from corn to elderberries to Georgia.”
His eyes squint in amusement. “I’ll have to tell Callum that. He’ll love to have another factoid to point to about how the Scottish are superior to everyone.” He snorts.
“Callum?”
“You haven’t met him yet. He was one of Vincent’s recruits. I didn’t ask too closely who he used to work for, but he’s good at his job.”
“Ahhh. One of those.”
“He’s handy. Unique skill set.”
I decide it’s best to stop asking questions.
We fall into a peaceful quiet after that. I glance sideways at him, admiring how the light from inside spills over his face, throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.
“What are you watching for?” I ask.
“Bad guys.” His mouth quirks when I tense. “Just kidding. We weren’t followed up here. Finn was watching from…” He tips his chin toward the sky.
I scrunch my nose, confused. “Like a drone?”
Brady shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh at me. “No, baby. Finn didn’t follow us with a drone. We have… access. Let’s just say we have access.”
I look out at the backyard and the intermittent, tiny, golden flickers pulsing low across the grass.
“I was watching the fireflies,” he says quietly, taking my hand.
“Lightning bugs.” I make a face and shake my head with mock resignation. “City boys.”
He hides a smile behind the jar. “I forgot.”
The sound of his laugh is low and warm, chasing away the heaviness that’s been clinging to me for the last week.
“Come here,” he says, voice soft but threaded with command.
I slide under his arm and we rock slowly together, watching the lights decorate the dark edges of the mountains.
The chains on the swing creak softly as we sway, and tucked into the warm solidness of his side, I feel like nothing can touch me.
It’s just us, the cricket symphony and the lightning bugs blinking lazily in front of us.
“Earlier,” Brady says, his voice, rumbling under my cheek. “You asked if I preferred mountains or beaches.”
I tilt my head to glance up at him. “I remember.”
His eyes are on the dark mountains around us, just visible against an indigo sky. “I wouldn’t mind coming back up here in the fall. Do some hiking. When the leaves change and there’s cooler air.” His mouth crooks, teasingly. “But you probably aren’t the hiking sort.”
The words strike me like a small, careful blow. He’s talking about the future. About coming back here… with me. My stomach flips with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
I force a casual shrug, trying not to sound as off-kilter as I feel. “I’ve been known to hike.”
“Oh yeah?” He squeezes my hip. “Maybe Thanksgiving then.”
I turn to him, unable to disguise my expression. “Thanksgiving?”
His grin sharpens. “What? Too far ahead for you?”
I don’t answer right away, because the truth is—it terrifies me. Not that he’s suggesting it, but that I want it so badly. That I want to take this risk with him.
“I know you’re busy,” he continues before I can speak. His tone softens but still carries that edge that makes my insides tremble. “But you can take a little time off.”
I chew my lip, nerves knotting tight. “Will it be a problem for you? That I work so much?”
His brows lift. “Problem? No, you like working. It’s part of who you are. One of the things I like best about you.”
I swallow hard at that—like.
His hand comes up to stroke down my hair. “I’ve never done long-term, never really wanted to. My job isn’t exactly nine-to-five. If I’ve got a client, I might disappear for a night, or take off with no notice. If I were with someone who needed me around all the time… It wouldn’t work.”
“And with me?” I hold my breath waiting for his answer and feeling foolish for doing so.
His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer into his chest. “With you? I want to do whatever we need to, to make it work. It’s a good thing you love your work as much as you do. You won’t resent me for doing mine.”
The weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying lifts so suddenly it almost makes me dizzy. Keith had resented my hours, my ambition, every moment I wasn’t orbiting his needs.
Brady is different.
He accepts me. Respects me.
The thought makes my chest ache in the best possible way, and I burrow deeper into his shoulder, my cheek against his bare skin.
“You’re not very soft, you know,” I murmur, trying for lightness to hide how emotional I feel.
He huffs out a laugh
The crunch of tires on gravel cuts through the quiet. Headlights sweep across the yard, bright beams sliding through the windows of the house and spilling over the back porch.
Brady goes still. In one fluid motion he rises, muscles taut, his hand sliding to the gun I know is tucked into his waistband. My breath stutters, heart slamming at the sudden change in the air.
But then the car doors slam, and the unmistakable sound of my mom’s laughter carries across the yard, light and unguarded. Even at the back of the house, it reaches us.
Brady exhales, the tension easing from his shoulders, and his hand drops.
It strikes me all at once—This is the reality of his life.
If it isn’t me, it will be the next client who needs saving.
Even if I break free of the Lapidarists, danger will never be far if I choose a life with him.
And yet, watching him there in the porch light, I feel the same bone-deep certainty I did minutes ago—this is the man I want beside me. Forever.