Conditioned (Brewing Passion Book 3)

by Liz Crowe

  He was teasing me, of course. Not giving me what my body was clamoring for. And suddenly, he removed both hands from me, leaving me shaking and breathless. I wanted to turn and face him. But I didn’t. I understood something of this now and was willing to let it play out, to see how much better it might be even though I could hardly imagine how it would.

  His breathing was labored now. I could hear it, near my ear. I sensed him unzipping his jeans. I felt him press his erection into the cleft of my ass. “I need to be inside you, querida,” he said, his voice gone hoarse. “I can’t…control this. Not right now.”

  I smiled, loving his admission. Feeling even closer to him because of it. As I heard the crinkle of a condom packet opening, I took a few steps to the side, until I was behind the one large chair next to the couch, and propped my hands on it, arching my back and exposing myself to him. The sound he made, deep in his throat and chest, almost an animal growl, made the tops of my thighs even damper than they were. “Bella,” he whispered, as he positioned himself behind me. “You are…you… are…ah…Jesus, yes.”

  He slid into me with one firm stroke, making us both groan. He buried one hand in my hair again, pulling hard, making me cry out as he pounded into me. “I’m going to come, Melody. I can’t stop. Holy shit!”

  “Si, mi amor,” I said, even as I put my finger on that most tender, sensitive place he’d shown me, rubbing fast until I came again with a full body shudder and loud cry of happiness even as he was groaning behind him, shoving in deep, caught in his climax while I found my own.

  He draped himself over my back. Our sweaty skin made us slippery as his hips kept moving against my ass. I yelped when he bit down on the spot where my neck met my shoulder, but didn’t use my safe word. I didn’t need to. I wanted him to bite me. To put his mark on me. He licked and kissed the bitten spot, then pulled out of my body slowly with a loud sigh of satisfaction.

  I remained bent over the back of the couch, legs spread, face down on my arms, relishing the tiny aftershocks that were consuming my entire nervous system. When I stood again, he was there, holding a wet cloth. He helped me up and held it between my legs, where I was now aching. I gasped and winced, but the cloth was warm. He pulled it away, frowning at the pale splotch of red. “I hurt you, bella,” he said, walking to the kitchen to rinse and rewarm the cloth.

  I grabbed my robe, but he pulled it out of my hands. “No. We are going to stay naked the rest of the day.”

  I smiled at him, wincing again when he put the cloth between my legs.

  “I’m sorry, angelita,” he said, kissing both my cheeks as he removed the cloth. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t,” I insisted. “It’s been years since I’ve had sex. I probably grew my…my…”

  He chuckled as he tossed the cloth into a wash basket in the laundry closet. “No, I doubt you grew your hymen back, sweetness.”

  I flushed hot. He pulled me down onto the couch and dragged the blanket up over us. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk or to patronize you just then.”

  “I know,” I said, snuggling into his side, sucking in deep breaths of his scent—the sweat, combined with his cum, and all mixed with my own, suffused his skin. “I have to go work later,” I reminded him. “At the diner.”

  He frowned down at me. “I think you should quit that job,” he said.

  I leaned away, glaring at him.

  He held up the hand not already cupping my ass. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. Sorry. Do your job. Do more jobs. Do anything you want. As long as you sleep with me every night.”

  “I think even that is getting a little ahead of things, don’t you, guapo?”

  He heaved a huge sigh as his eyes shut. “Probably.” He kissed my hair. “But let me sleep on it a bit, here, with you.”

  “Okay,” I said, settling in to watch him sleep and surprising myself by dozing right along with him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Six weeks later

  “Dad!”

  Taylor snapped her fingers in front of Trent’s face. He flinched, then blinked fast, pulling himself out of his trance. “Sorry, Tay. What did you say?”

  “I said, it’s time for us to head to the church. To feed the smelly homeless guys? I changed it this week, remember? You’re not even supposed to be here. You have a fight with your latest gal pal, or what? You told me you’d be gone from Thursday to Sunday.”

  “Right. Okay. And none of your damn business.” He got up, rubbing his eyes, his mind spinning with all that had gone down in the last few weeks. “Hey, uh, Taylor?” She was slipping her feet into her sandals at the one large hall closet. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Hmm?” She grabbed the keys. “Can I drive?”

  “Yes. Listen, I…”

  But she’d already slid open the large metal door and was headed for the elevator. “Come on, Dad. I have things to do.”

  He eyed her, suspicious all of a sudden. Ever since the incredible, scary, life-changing night he’d spent at Melody’s apartment, he’d been more than a little checked out when it came to Taylor. She’d finished her two-week suspension, kept her room clean, her homework done and her mouth shut. Of course, she still spent most weekends with her mother, which freed him up to do whatever he wanted.

  And he had. He’d taken Melody up north to his lake house twice already where they’d fucked their way through every room—indoors, outdoors, on the pontoon. She kept angling for more from him, wanting him to release the full force of his Dominant personality, but he knew she wasn’t ready for that. Nor was he. He kept it ninety-percent vanilla most of the time, which was perfectly fine. More than fine, really. Which, in and of itself, was strange. He’d always considered himself the sort of man who’d use vanilla sex to get past a woman’s basic defenses. Then he’d show her how he really liked it.

  But he liked it any way he could get it with Melody. Which was starting to freak him out.

  He sighed and followed his daughter into the elevator. She babbled on about something he barely heard, until he realized she was asking him a question. Something about the lake house.

  “What? No. Hell, no you are not going up there with a bunch of your friends without any adults. You know I’d never allow that, Taylor.”

  She climbed in behind the wheel of the Jeep. “I know. Just thought I’d try.”

  His suspicions rose again, making him feel even more guilty about being so absorbed in Melody that he’d almost forgotten about his own daughter. Time to slow it down, he thought as Taylor careened around corners on her way to the large Catholic church that housed a homeless shelter.

  Yes, that would be best.

  Three hours later, the giant kitchen was clean and the men who were taking refuge at the shelter were either smoking outside or sitting around drinking coffee. He and Taylor waved to the priest who ran the place and headed for the Jeep. This time he got behind the wheel.

  “What did you want to ask me, Dad?”

  He didn’t answer for a bit. “I was going to ask you if it was okay if I invited my new…friend over for dinner. To meet you.”

  She frowned at him, then gave him a diva-worthy hair flip. “I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

  “Well, I know I can do that. But…” He hesitated, then pulled into the underground parking garage. “I don’t know if I’m going to introduce you quite yet.”

  “You’re weird,” she said, as she jumped down to the garage floor. “I pity you.”

  “Yes, pity me,” he said. “How about a pizza tonight, kiddo?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him as she pressed the elevator button before she turned away. “Fine. Whatever.”

  “Great. The famous whatever pizza. I’m on it.” He yanked her against him, hooked his arm around her neck and gave her a noggin noogie until she shrieked and shoved him off her. She ran into the loft and into her room, shutting the door softly behind her. He looked at it, hands s
tuffed into his jeans pockets. “I’ll order it,” he hollered.

  “Whatever, Dad,” she sang back at him.

  “Yeah. Whatever. Dad.” He sighed and slumped against the wall outside her room, his brain aching and his pulse racing with the need to call her, to hear her voice, to have her here, with him, sharing his whole life, not just a part of it.

  He’d fucked himself up so royally once. He’d fallen hard for the painfully gorgeous Shelia after just a few weeks, too. Of course, two women couldn’t be more unalike than the ex-Mrs. Hettinger and the feisty, unpredictable, gorgeous Melody Rodriguez. Not at all.

  And yet…

  He sat at the table again, stroking the light stubble on his jaw, his brain doing that thing again—the thing where all he could think about was Melody. Which rendered him useless. With a mild curse, he shook his head and reached for his phone. After ordering their favorite local pizza, with a side of garlicy breadsticks, he headed for the shower, hoping it would clear his head.

  He wanted to call her even worse when got out, dried off and re-dressed. Despite his best efforts, he kept reliving the night before. He’d taken her to his favorite bed and breakfast, having rented the whole place out, not wanting there to be any limitation on how much noise they could make. She’d been pensive, something he’d picked up on right away but had left unmentioned.

  They’d shared a nice dinner—salmon on the grill, roasted potatoes, spinach salad, expensive wine. She’d stayed quiet, answering in monosyllables and not giving back in her usual, snarky manner. Finally, after they’d taken a walk after dinner, hand in hand around the edge of Silver Lake and he’d convinced her to stop and make out a little while the sun set, turning the horizon a blaze of orange, pink and purple, they’d lain on their backs in the sand, fingers entwined.

  He’d brought her knuckles to his lips, loving that now familiar combination of spice and cocoa that he swore she wore on her skin like a powder. She’d sighed and pulled her hand free, sat up and leaned her elbows on her knees. Reading her reluctance, he’d sat beside her, not touching her, giving her the space to cough up whatever had been bugging her.

  “I want to know why you won’t introduce me to your daughter,” she’d said, not looking at him.

  He’d put a hand on her shoulder. She’d shrunk from his touch inside the strapless excuse for a shirt he’d been ogling all day. “Are you ashamed of me?” She’d turned to glare at him. Her deep brown eyes had blazed in a way he’d come to recognize as the leading edge of a very angry girlfriend—a girlfriend whose anger could at times outmatch his own.

  He’d smiled to himself and scooted forward so he was sitting next to her. He’d draped his arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Don’t distract me with your damn kissing and…stuff.”

  He’d grinned into her neck. “My stuff, huh?” He’d walked his fingers up her bare thigh but she’d smacked his hand away. “I thought you liked my stuff, mi diosa.” He’d loved the way the Spanish words rolled around his mouth as he said them.

  She’d sighed and moved out of his reach.

  “All right, I’ll invite you over for dinner with my evil spawn.”

  She’d jumped up, brushing the seat of her shorts. “Don’t put yourself out.” Confounded, he’d watched as she’d stomped back toward the empty B&B.

  “Okay,” he’d said to himself as he got to his feet. When he’d caught up with her, she’d been busy opening another bottle of wine in front of the large bank of windows, overlooking the lake where they’d been sitting.

  He’d sat, waiting for her to get a grip on herself and talk to him. But she’d simply poured herself a glass, grabbed a book off the shelf and headed into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. He had glared at it, anger pinging around in his brain as he knocked. “Melody?”

  Silence.

  He’d knocked again, firmer this time. “Melody. Open the door.”

  “Go away,” she’d insisted, her voice devoid of emotion.

  “I’m not going to operate like this. If we can’t talk about what’s wrong, then we…”

  “Go away, Trent. Leave me alone.”

  “I won’t go away, Melody. I haven’t been keeping you from Taylor. It’s just that…”

  “That you’re ashamed of me. Your silly Mexicano puta.”

  “You aren’t—Jesus.” He’d leaned his forehead against the door. “Why would you even think that?” Fury had built in his brain so fast his temples had pounded and his mouth had gone dry. None of these were signs pointing to a nice weekend away. “God damn it, woman, stop making me feel bad for something I never said or thought.”

  “I can see it in your eyes.”

  He’d groaned. “No, you fucking well can’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to meet her anyway.”

  “Well, she is a giant pain in the ass most days so I can’t blame you there.” He’d jumped back when the door wrenched open, revealing Melody, her eyes blazing, her color high, her hair in a wild tumble around her face.

  “Don’t you dare talk about your own daughter that way. Teenaged girls need their fathers.” She’d shoved her finger into his face. He’d taken a breath and moved it aside with his hand. With the other hand, he’d grabbed her and yanked her close.

  “I know that, Melody. I also know that I fucking love you, you moody bitch.”

  She’d shaken her head, still fighting his efforts to draw her out of her funk. To his surprise, she’d jerked herself away and stood glaring at him, her fists clenched at her sides. “You say that, Trent. But you don’t really mean it. You’re holding back from me. And I don’t just mean your family.”

  He’d sighed and tried to rally, to purposely not understand exactly what she meant. Because it was rising in him now, rolling up his spine, filling his chest, clogging his throat. The need to dominate her, to show her what he really meant when he said he needed—that he required—control at all times.

  Her eyes had flashed as if recognizing the shift in him. She’d lifted her chin.

  But he’d shaken his head. “You’re not ready, yet, Melody. Stop pressuring me.”

  She’d blinked and seemed to deflate. Which was not at all what he wanted. He required the full force of her, the Melody that he’d rescued from her inner, cowering, teenaged victim. He would not go full-bore on her until he believed she was all the way back, when she’d have no reason to fear him. When she could meet him halfway as his submissive. Not his victim.

  “I’m leaving,” she’d declared, stomping past him to the bedroom.

  “Fine,” he’d said, leaning in the doorway, impotent with rage and his own inability to explain it to her.

  “Fine.” She’d thrown her few items into her bag and shoved past him. As he’d turned to watch her, he’d realized that she had no way of leaving. He’d driven them and he still had the keys.

  But she’d kept walking until she was out of the front door. He’d waited for her to return, smug in the knowledge that she’d have to, so they could hash this out…somehow. But after fifteen minutes, he’d followed her, reaching for the keys in his pocket, only to find himself gripping air.

  “Holy shit.” Half pissed, half admiring, he’d looked out where his Jeep had been parked, fifteen minutes ago. The sun had set. The night noises had filled his ears. He’d grabbed the wine she’d opened and sat in the warm summer air, drinking straight from the bottle until he’d passed out in the lounge chair and awoken to find himself covered in a scrim of dew.

  He’d called a ride share car and made it home by nine this morning. Since then he’d written a dozen text messages then deleted them before sending. He’d held his phone to his ear after hitting Call by her number at least that many times, only to hang up before the first ring.

  And now, here he sat, pissed off, hungry, horny, miserable.

  His phone buzzed, startling him. He grabbed it, praying it would be her, knowing it probably wouldn’t be.

  It wasn’t.


  Hey, asshole. What did you do to my friend?

  He sighed and tapped out a response. Lovely to hear from you again Evelyn. How’s Austin?

  None of your damn business. Why is my friend unhappy? I need her to help me make this damn Fitz Pub operate in the black. But she’s fucking miserable and I know it’s your fault.

  He glared at the screen. Damn women. After dragging his hand down his face he got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap and sucked back half of it straight from the bottle, like a philistine, as Melody would say.

  How in the world could you possibly know that it’s my fault?

  Because you are a man. Ergo, it is your fault.

  He hit Call, his ears buzzing with a combination of anger and desperation.

  “What?” she barked. He could hear the sounds of the bar behind her. “I’m busy trying to pull my friend out of her funk long enough to do the damn job I hired her to do.”

  “You hired her?”

  “Yes, dumb ass.”

  “And you’re working for Fitzgerald now too.”

  “Yes. Can I go now?”

  “No, wait.” He sighed. “Listen, Evelyn, I’m… I don’t know…”

  “Oh Lord, here we go.”

  “You aren’t helping me. I helped you, you know. If it weren’t for me, that putz Austin would still be standing in my store, ogling your ass as you stomped away from us, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what happened?”

  “I… It’s hard to explain.”

  “Hmm…is it maybe because you still haven’t taken her to a real club, to show her the real you?”

  “The real…what?”

  “And that you keep her at a distance, won’t share all of yourself, when she’s told you all her worst secrets.”