Page 59 of Bared

A strange expression washed over Brickham’s face. She was clueless about how to interpret it until the man murmured, “A blessing from the fucking pope wouldn’t sound better than that, sweetheart.”

Warmth suffused her senses. It bloomed into an impish smile around her lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Sir.”

“That’s what I’m counting on, Pixie.”

He pushed the promise deeper into her psyche by doing the same thing to her bottom lip. The slide of his thumb was a strict abrasion, digging so hard that he might have broken skin. Sure enough, when he pulled it back, the pad was smeared with crimson. Brick glanced at the stain, then back at her. Jayd did not shield her fascination, especially as he licked the blood away with languorous intent.

Her throat went dry.

She swallowed anyway.

But she refused to look away from him.

Even as the man pulled a foil package out of his wallet. Even as he held it up between them before sliding its edge into the seam between her lips. And yes, even as he rumbled out an order that jolted Jayd straight to her toes—including every trembling corner of her sex.

“Bite.”

As soon as her teeth gripped the foil, Brickham twisted the packet up and away. Jayd refused to focus on how expertly he did it or how swiftly he handled the contents inside. Before she could blink again, he had the condom stretched halfway down his shaft. She watched, still entranced, as he worked the latex over the rest of his length. He grunted again, though she could not tell if the sound was from pleasure or pain. It was confusing to try reading him when she barely knew what she was feeling. Excitement? Anxiety? Fervor? Fear?

She trembled, dizzy and overwhelmed, when realizing it was all of them at once. The tidal wave struck harder when she looked down again. His cock seemed bigger now, straining at its thin sheath. Would that flimsy latex be all right? Would she?

Her mind could come up with no definitive answer. No rally cry of you-can-do-this, developed from years of keeping up with Ev, Syn, and ’Raz. But her brothers were thousands of miles away. Even Emme and Jagger were gone, likely hours away from being done at the hospital. This…was really only her now. Naked and spread for this man.

Rahmie Creacu.

Was this really happening?

Was he really going to do this?

“Time to be remolded, Pixie.”

There was the answer to that question, at least. Not that enlightenment ushered in any shred of reassurance.

“Shit.” Jayd gasped, unable to hold back the tears that clawed up her throat. “Oh, shit, shit, sh—”

A hand at her windpipe turned her final syllable into a helpless rasp. But while Brickham silenced her sound, he knew just when to ease off on her air. “Ssshhh, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Breathe for me. We’re going to take it slow.”

He kept his hand right where it was, even as he notched the tip of his sex at the entrance of hers. As Jayd’s heartbeat doubled, she figured out why. The feel of her pulse, hammering at the vise of his fingers, actually ended up in…sanity. Security. Like the steel around her hands, his grip was a perfect reminder that it was not her place to stay in control here. To be thinking—or stressed—about anything. Her only role now was to trust. To feel. To let go.

To be free…

As the recognition took wing through her senses, a sigh broke free from her lips. Brickham snagged that short too. His own lips, so full and ferocious, were the tools of his wanton handiwork. As he meshed and mashed and worked those pads against hers, she broke into a mewl. Even after he broke away, he suckled and nipped and bit his way down her neck, branding her with his scent and taste and marks, until she honestly had no idea where she ended and he began.

Though the impression possibly had something to do with other factors.

Like the fact that Brickham had pushed in his erection much farther than she thought.

Like the fact that it was not a wholly unpleasant feeling.

“Oh…my!”

Like the fact that as she erupted with the startled sough, Brickham cut loose with an unearthly groan. “Fuck. Holy mother of all fucks. Jayd.”

His massive frame shook like a haunted oak. Jayd’s senses raced like a hundred butterflies seeking refuge in his branches. Only in this case, her hunger was not for his leaves. The butterfly begged the oak to do the devouring. To consume her whole with his ferocity and fire. To sweep her away in his violent, passionate storm.

“Is it…all right, Sir?” Five little words that stood for so much more. What can I do to make it better? What can I say? Who do you want me to be?

Because for once, for just this once, she wanted to be—