Page 34 of The Decoy

“Thank you,” she whispers against my skin. “That’s seriously the sweetest thing I’ve ever gotten.”

“Well, you two are part of my team now,” I say, my voice thick with genuine meaning. “Figured you both would need the home jersey. Can’t have you wearing someone else’s now, can I?”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her face inches from mine. Her hazel eyes soft and unguarded.

“In my line of work, I tend not to wear a player’s jersey to show favoritism. But for you, I'd make an exception,” she says teasingly, but also…I think she means it. “I have something for you too,” she tells me, her gaze dropping to my mouth.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me⁠—”

“Stay right there,” she commands, slipping off my lap and walking toward a low cabinet near the dining area.

She returns a minute later carrying a dark green box trimmed in gold foiling. She sets the heavy box in my lap.

When I look down at the label, I see it’s a forty-year-old single-malt whisky from a high-end distillery in the Scottish Highlands, very rare, and likely impossible to buy in a store or even online.

I look up at her, an incredulous grin spreading across my face. “Ellis. Is this…?”

“The exact brand,” she confirms, leaning against the edge of the sofa. “No soy sauce. No tea. No apple juice. It’s a pure, untouched batch.”

I let out a low laugh, running my fingers over the seal. “But how can I trust you? Are you sure your brother didn’t tamper with it?”

She throws her head back and laughs. “I personally inspected the bottle. Consider it a thank you for keeping my secret.” Her head dips, but she’s still looking at me. “And for taking such good care of us.”

“Thank you, Ellis,” I say softly, setting the box down on the table next to the jerseys.

I reach out, catching her wrist, and pull her gently back down onto my lap.

This time, I don’t hesitate or wonder if this is the right thing to do.

I frame her face with both hands and bring my mouth down over hers.

Ellis lets out a sigh into the kiss, bringing her hands up to rest against my chest before sliding up to hook over my shoulders. The kiss is slow and deep. It’s heavy with fierce affection that I think has been building for a while now. For both of us, if tonight is any indication of her feelings.

I shift, pulling her even closer, my arm bracing her back. My mouth moves against hers with intent, tasting her sweetness.

“Brody,” she mumbles against my lips, her fingers dragging through the hair at the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yeah?” I whisper, my lips sliding down the soft line of her jaw as I press a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of her throat.

“You’re very good at this,” she breathes, her head tilting back slightly to give me more access, her hands now cupping the back of my head. Like she’s afraid I’ll move away.

I chuckle lightly as my lips move back up to capture hers again, even deeper this time. My thumb traces a slow circle on her lower back where the sweatshirt has inched up.

She moves this time, straddling my lap, and I can feel the heat of her pussy even through my jeans. I slide my hands under the sweatshirt, pushing it up as I move, tracing her skin, making her tremble and gasp into my mouth.

I take my time, worshipping every inch of skin I touch, while kissing down her jaw, her neck, the dip of her collarbone. I reach her breasts and cup them over her bra. They’re full and warm, and fit perfectly in my hands. I pull both bra cups down, letting her breasts spill out. She arches against me, her hands tangling in my hair. I pull the sweatshirt up and lean forward, taking one peaked nipple into my mouth.

Her head falls back, and a soft moan escapes her.

I suck on her nipple, then pull back, gently scraping my teeth against her sensitive nubs and release it with a pop. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I turn us and lay her gently on the couch.

Leaning over her for a beat, I take in the sight of her—flushed, breathless, her eyes wide.

“Is this okay?” I ask, not wanting to push my limits, but also praying she won’t tell me to stop.

“Oh, it’s more than okay,” she says, holding her bottom lip between her teeth.

I don’t waste time. I kneel between her knees and trail my hands up her thighs until I reach the waistband of her pants. I look up at her again, and she nods at me to continue. I urge her to lift her hips so I can pull them down her legs.