Rough Edge

by Landish, Lauren

  Except when he’s buried inside me, it feels like maybe I’m wrong about that.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Brody pauses, his fingers brushing the hair out of my face before tracing the dots along my cheekbone. He cups my jaw, eyes looking deep into mine, almost as deep as he is inside me. And I’m not sure I only mean his cock.

  I shake my head, not wanting to do this now. For now, I just want to fuck and enjoy him. “I’m here. Fuck me.”

  That makes his eyes narrow suspiciously for some reason I don’t understand.

  “Show me what you do. When you come home from a race, turned on by the vibrations underneath you, the power you wield . . . show me what you do.” He takes my hand, kissing each fingertip, pinky . . .ring . . . middle . . . and swirling his tongue over my index finger, and then guides my hand to my clit. “Show me while we fuck.”

  There’s an emphasis to his words that brings me back to this moment between us. Not the future, not somewhere deeper, but right here, right now, taking pleasure in each other.

  I spread my lips open, knowing that it probably looks obscene and sexy to him to see the place where he disappears inside me. I tease a circle around my clit, heat gathering there from my own touch and his eyes. I find a rhythm, speeding up slightly, and then a pattern, circling a few times before tapping my clit. Brody watches each movement, adding slow and shallow thrusts to the building momentum of my orgasm.

  “That’s it . . . fuck, that’s sexy.” I’ll never admit, not even to myself, that his words turn me on even more. I’ve never been with a dirty talker, but I swear, Brody’s more verbose when he’s having sex than when he’s not. “Want more?”

  I don’t trust my voice not to waver so I nod, and before I know it, Brody’s got my ankles on his shoulders, dirty boots and all, and his hands locked over my thighs for leverage. He pounds into me, hips slapping and slamming against my ass as I struggle to keep up. He’s going at me so hard my breath escapes with every thrust, leaving me lightheaded and on edge.

  My fingers blur over my clit, and though my voice is strangled, I manage to get out, “Don’t. Stop. Fuck, don’t stop.” Beg? Order? Both, most likely.

  I hover on the edge, feeling the flight right at my fingertips in a moment of anticipation, and then I explode. My vision blacks out as I squeeze my eyes shut, lost to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through me, and my hearing goes fuzzy as my blood roars. I’m probably glad I can’t hear myself very well because I know I’m being loud, but I’m too far gone to care what the neighbors think. Not that I even have any neighbors this time of night. The garage is the only building around with an apartment upstairs, and we’re blessedly alone.

  Brody growls and falls over me, damn near folding me in half as I quickly pull my hands out of the way and try to find purchase on the smooth car hood. I resort to pressing my flat palms down to stay in place. Distantly, I’m thankful for the yoga stretches Emily’s talked me into to prevent back problems because otherwise, I’d probably have just pulled a hamstring from this position. Brody grabs my shoulders, curling my body into his and covering me, his abs to the backs of my thighs.

  And then he really starts fucking me.

  Except his eyes are wide open, looking right at me as though he can see to my soul. I think for a moment that I can see into his, too. Dark and lonely, good and sweet, misunderstood and honorable.

  His thrusts are steady and powerful, just like the man he is. He’s watchful and caring, making sure he’s hitting that sweet spot inside me just right. And I can tell from the tension around his eyes that he’s getting close.

  “Come, Brody. Please.” I wish I could feel the heat of his cum when he does, but we’re way too new, way too casual to go without the condom. Even still, I fantasize that it’s just us, bare and raw, with nothing separating us physically, even though there’s so much separating us emotionally.

  He groans, deep and guttural, and grits out, “Err- Ca!” That he can’t get out my full name but tries anyway is sexy as fuck. I love that he’s so lost to pleasure—in me, with me—that he can’t speak.

  I can’t feel his cum, but I feel him grow harder and pulse, and it’s enough to satisfy that greedy bitch inside me who wants more. As Brody comes down from his orgasm, he tilts his head, leaning it against my leg. A smile stretches his lips. Not the cocky one or even a flirty one but just pure, unadulterated bliss. Exhaustion tinges the edges, but I can tell he’s happy. I don’t need to see my matching smile to know how I feel.

  Tonight was big. Majorly so. And though I keep throwing landmines in his way, Brody is dodging each and every one of them, not ignoring them or denying their power but giving them the respect they deserve. The respect I deserve. As a woman, as a racer, as . . . me.

  My armor cracks a little, a small piece of hope worming its way inside. Maybe he won’t try to make me small or make me fit into whatever box he deems appropriate. I don’t have time for him, but if he’s willing to wait while I figure some shit out, a guy who likes me for me is who I would want by my side when I’m ready for more.

  Brody flexes and his cock jumps inside me. “Where’d you go again, Lil Bit?”

  I focus my eyes on his, and the smile that had melted under the weight of my thoughts returns. “Just thinking that you surprise me, Cowboy.”

  Oh, now I get that cocky grin and full-fledged arrogance. It should piss me off, but it’s sexy for some reason. “Well, let’s get upstairs and I’ll surprise you again.”

  I wiggle, trying to get up but still impaled on him, and he groans as he puts fierce hands on my hips, stilling me. “Nope, not like that.” He lets my legs fall from his shoulders and slowly tortures us both as he pulls out. He takes off the condom and throws it in the trash can by the wall of toolboxes.

  “Two points,” I offer generously, which gets me a sardonic brow in response.

  He adjusts his clothes, zipping his jeans, and then reaches for me. He picks me up like I’m light as a feather, my legs wrapping around his waist even as I argue. “Put me down,” I say with no heat, smacking his shoulder like a butterfly. I don’t know why I feel the need to fight this even though I’m enjoying it, but I do. Fighting it feels like something I should want to do.

  “You maybe weigh a buck ten, Lil Bit. I could carry you all damn day, so I can sure as shit carry you up the stairs to your apartment.”

  That sounds like a challenge to my ornery ears, so I decide to make this a little extra hard for him. Seeing as I can’t eat a dozen cupcakes and weigh more, I go with the distraction method. “Mmmkay, if you say so.” I’m certain those words have never passed my lips, in seriousness or sarcasm.

  I kiss and nibble along his stubbled jaw and he groans. Victory tastes sweet. His skin tastes salty. I nuzzle into his neck, smelling the fumes of the racetrack on him, another thing I never knew would turn me on so much. I sniff him and swear to God I don’t know who I’m becoming around this man. When I suck at the skin of his neck a bit, he groans and pauses on the stairs. “Damn it, Erica. You wanna get fucked on the stairs again?” He’s being stern, like that’s some grave punishment.

  I laugh, and he takes two more steps, slow and easy. I’m sure he wants me to think he’s doing it so he doesn’t drop me. I’m almost certain he’s doing it so I’ll keep kissing his neck. I think I found a new erogenous zone on my Cowboy. His hands grip my ass hard, encouraging me. I’m pretty sure I just got ten fingertip-sized bruises on my nonexistent butt, but fuck if I don’t like the idea of that. In response, I find that sweet spot over his pulse and suck it, delighting in the way I can feel it race under my mouth. I murmur against his skin, “Keep going upstairs or I’ll stop.”

  My threat holds no weight because as soon as I say the words, I go back to kissing down his neck to where it joins his shoulder. A good bite in the muscle there has him taking steps double-time as I bounce and laugh in his arms. “Brody!”

  I fly through the air and bounce as I land on my bed. He follows, and we get down to round two.
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  * * *

  Both of us are early risers, even with the night’s activities. So I wake to find Brody curled around as the big spoon to my little spoon. I can feel his hardness, and I wiggle my hips a bit, encouraging him. “Good morning,” I whisper in the darkness of the pre-dawn.

  “Mmm, good morning.” His voice is gravelly with sleep, but he grinds against me.

  I arch, and he moves his hips, slipping between my legs. I buck my hips, sliding along his length and coating him with my arousal. I swear, I’m always wet when he’s around, but especially when he’s in my bed, all soft and sleepy.

  “Condom.”

  His hands tighten on me. “Can we just do this? I won’t go in bare, but just slide on me, use me.”

  I look over my shoulder, meeting his eyes. There’s no deceit, no doubt there, just pure need and hope. The thought of feeling him skin on skin is too tempting to say no to. I slip my pussy along his cock, over and over, liking the idea of leaving my juices all over him. Marking him with my essence the way I marked his neck last night. I’m not a possessive woman, but fuck if that idea doesn’t turn me on, and I buck faster, searching for my orgasm. Not for my own pleasure but to coat him with it.

  He reaches over my hip, finding my clit easily and helping me get there. He rubs me, mimicking what he watched me do last night perfectly, tapping and petting me as he growls in my ear.

  “Fuck, Lil Bit. I’m gonna come. Can I come on you like this?”

  His cum on my skin is equally filthy and also arousing as hell. “God, yes, come on me, Brody.”

  My words are enough to send him over, and he jerks behind me. I feel the heat of his cum this time, feel him rubbing it onto my clit and using it to slide his fingers against me faster and harder. “Come on me too. I want to feel you come with nothing between us. Please.”

  Brody Tannen does not beg. In the bedroom or anywhere else. I know this as well as I know I don’t beg, either. But damn if that order with the request at the end doesn’t send me spiraling. I come hard, feeling every inch of him behind me and between my legs. He encourages me, whispering in my ear how beautiful I look when I let go and telling me to keep going and give him more. I take delight in the sweetness of his words as I filthily cover him with my cream.

  Who knew I’d be into that? Certainly not me. Guess I’m learning things every day, about Brody and even about myself.

  We sag, sweaty and messy, and I make a note to wash my sheets today. Brody lays a kiss to my shoulder, his morning scruff a bit scratchy in a good way, and disappears for the bathroom. A minute later, he’s back with a wet washrag which I use to wipe up as he looks on, proud as a peacock at the mess we made.

  “We’ve got another hour to rest before we have to get going for the day. Wanna move to the couch?” he offers. He holds out a hand, taking the corner of the cloth and tossing it to the hamper in the corner.

  “You’re pretty good at adulting. I think most folks would just fall back into bed, fighting over who had to lie in the wet spot and leave the cleanup rag on the floor.”

  I mean it as a joke, but as we walk to the couch and settle in, my back to his chest between his spread legs, he doesn’t laugh. In fact, he’s gone quiet. “Been adulting for a long time. After my mom died, I was it. I was technically grown, but not really, you know what I mean? Overnight, though, I grew up real fast. I took care of my family the best way I knew how. I kept the animals working, did both dad’s and my share around the farm, kept them all safe and protected. And yeah, I did laundry too.”

  I remember his words of understanding about my keeping my secret from Dad. This is Brody letting me into his past, his secrets. I’m quiet, listening and taking each of them into my heart, holding them more delicately than I thought I’d be capable of.

  “What happened?” Nothing in his words leads me to believe he’s doing anything but still keeping everything running smoothly, and he’s talked about the cattle and harvests, even showing me pictures when we text. But the tension through his body tells a much different story.

  “Everything went to shit, and no matter how hard I tried to keep it, I lost everything. It all washed through my fingers like sand I couldn’t hold onto.” He holds his hand up, making a fist to catch the invisible grains. I weave my fingers through his, kissing his knuckles. I feel the thick swallow he makes and wonder what part of the story he’s forcing down. I know his Dad died so maybe that’s what he’s understandably not ready to talk about? “Actually, that’s not true. I have near everything now, just not in the way I thought I would. Mama Louise and the Bennetts are real good to us, better than we ever deserved, especially from them. I’m grateful for them.”

  I think back to the oddly comfortable dinner I’d had with the Bennetts and how it’d seemed like they were one big, happy family. But maybe that’s not always been the case? I don’t voice the question, letting Brody share what he wants the way he let me do the same.

  “One day, I’ll have a ranch and own and work my land, not someone else’s. It’ll be somewhere safe for my brothers and sisters, a place to be Tannens, no matter what else is going on. It won’t be the same as it was before, I know that. Shayanne and Luke are always jetting off here and there, and they’ve got a place of their own. Brutal and Allyson’s house will be done soon enough, and they’ll be gone. Bobby’ll find his way—maybe fall in love, maybe just run off to Nashville. But one day, I’ll have a ranch where the cattle’s mine, the choices are mine, the good times and bad times are all mine.” It sounds like a prophecy, like he’s putting that out into the universe and expecting it to deliver any moment.

  I realize with a start that he wants what I have, in a way. My dad’s garage, a legacy from him to me, is exactly what Brody wants. A place of his own, for his brothers and sister, like he said, but I think it’s more than that. Brody wants a future and roots. His is just grass and dirt, while mine is grease and oil. He thinks he’s a casual, fly by the seat of his pants type, but he’s not. He’s just playing at it.

  He rests his chin on the top of my head, a move that feels like a connection. A string. We said no strings when this started, but damned if they’re not stitching themselves to us with each and every share. Right now, I don’t examine that too closely. I just snuggle into him and will the tick of the clock on the wall to slow down, wishing for the sun to sleep just a little longer so I can stay in Brody’s arms.

  Chapter 18

  Brody

  “Last load, I promise!”

  Shay’s sing-songing voice tells me there are at least three more crates that’s she’s ‘forgetting’ about in her twisted way of motivating me to do her bidding. I set the no-way-it’s-the-last-one in the back of the truck but make zero moves to close the tailgate.

  In three, two, one . . .

  “Oh, I forgot . . . there’s still a couple more in the kitchen. On the counter by the fridge.”

  “Called it,” I announce victoriously as I boop her nose. She scrunches it and swipes at it like I rubbed dirt on her. To be fair, I have before but didn’t this time. Helps to keep her on her toes if I make it where she doesn’t know for sure.

  In the kitchen, I stack two crates to carry and she grabs the last one. “You sure? This everything? Nothing in the fridge or on the porch or in one of the other trucks or in Mama Louise’s kitchen?”

  Shay instantly shakes her head, but I can see her mentally double-checking herself so I wait while she actually confirms. When she sticks her tongue out at me, I know we’re golden. “All right then, let’s roll.”

  Finally in the truck, we start the trip down the grassy drive toward the gate. “This is the official last run of spring jams to the resort. And I’m hoarding carrots like a bunny for the Easter carrot cakes they ordered.” She holds two fingers up behind her head, scrunches her nose again, and sticks her top front teeth out over her lip. She does look remarkably like a rabbit when she starts twitching.

  “Never do that again, Shay. I don’t want Luke figuring out what a
weirdo you are and bailing on you. We have a no take-backsies policy. You’re his problem, and it’s a done deal.” I’m teasing and she knows it, but she huffs in annoyance and punches me in the shoulder anyway. It’s okay. I deserve it and had already flexed in preparation because I knew it was coming. Shay can throw a mean right jab, and the sharp bite of a little pain is bright. The pride in my heart is brighter. I taught her how to fight like that and then made damn sure she never needed to.

  “Luke likes me weird, so don’t you worry, brother o’ mine. We’re happy as two pigs in slop. Speaking of pigs, did I tell you that Bacon Seed is learning tricks now?” Bacon Seed is her savagely named miniature pig, which was a Christmas gift from Luke, so maybe he does know and appreciate her ‘uniqueness’. That spoiled rotten mini-monster is their pseudo-baby in every way, sleeping in their room and almost always in Shay’s arms with her cooing and singing to the pink squealer. Mama Louise even has to pig-sit when Shay travels with Luke. And apparently, he’s sitting on command, according to the long-winded story with several sidetracks that Shay just completed.

  She looks out the window, smiling at the antics of the goats in the penned yard by the house. “Look how cute they are! Maybe we should take a few over to the pens by our house. Ooh, and get a full-sized pig too!” She makes it sound completely reasonable and exciting. It’s absolutely not.

  “Shay, for the love of fuck, give your man a break. We got cattle, goats, dogs, cats, a pig, and kids running around now. You don’t need a full-sized pig. Besides, what’re you gonna do when it’s ready to go to market?”

  “Shh.” Her hiss is accompanied by her hand slapping over my mouth. “Don’t you say that where the animals can hear you.”

  My brow rises, snark in the small movement, and she takes her hand away slowly. “They can’t hear me. We’re in the truck.” Still, she looks out the window like a pissed off cow might knock on her window. They won’t . . . one, because they’re cows, and two, because they’re in the back pasture where we finally got them moved to after some fence repair work that took Mark, James, and me two days to complete.