Crushed (Torn #7)(39)

“I don’t care. I want you so f*uking much.” Cupping my breasts, I bit down on my lower lip, enticing him to touch me, feel how wet I was for him. “I need you to make me feel good,” I seductively said, slightly parting my legs before slipping my middle between my wet folds, sliding through the wetness there. Then I brought it up against his lip, slowly rubbing against it before dipping it inside his mouth. “Make me feel beautiful again.”

Lust was potent in his eyes. I knew that look, the one that indicated how much he wanted me and no one else.

Getting ahold of his pants, I was shocked when he slapped my hands away.

“If you want me bad, then you’re starting it all wrong,” he ground out, his eyes clashing with mine—his with determination, mine with one objective in mind. “You have to kiss me first before you can f*uk me. I’m not here just so you can use my cock to make yourself feel better. No more of that.” He relayed his conditions in a manner that told me he was dead serious, that I couldn’t get my way without giving in to his demand.

“Jesus, fine, I’ll kiss you,” I said in frustration. He was making this so much more difficult than needed. At the end of the day, the journey wasn’t important, the ultimate destination was. In this particular instance, it was his lusciously delicious cock.

“Good,” he rasped out, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s more like it.”

Empowered by his inviting eyes, I decided to shift my body to straddle him. However, much to my shock, Brody wasn’t having my bold motives. Instead, he gently shoved me back down on the couch, cheerlessly seating me right next to him.

“You can’t seduce me with your pu**y dry humping my cock, Amber. If you want to f*uk, you have to work harder than that.”

f*uking hell. Why was he being such a f*uking annoyance just when I needed him most? It wasn’t like I was solely using him for such activity. Okay, maybe it was more like that, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t get any pleasure out of it, either, so what was the big deal?

“You’re making me work harder, all right,” I retorted tartly. “If this was any other man, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

He stilled, breathing heavily against my lips, exasperated. “What’s my name?”

His random question threw me off guard. Frowning as I looked at him through my lashes, I raised my brow at him. “What are you on?”

“What’s my f*uking name?” he roughly demanded again, unrelenting.

f*uk. Me. Literally.

“It’s Brody. What the f*uk is wrong with you?” I almost growled at him, confused and unsure about where he was taking this conversation, straying far from sex and seemingly more into warzone territory.

His nose flared, still hung up on something I wasn’t sure of. “Good. Now we both know I’m not just any other man, so don’t insult me just because I don’t want to jump your bones the way other men would.”

Firing his words without a care, he kept on rolling them out of his lips. “Why do you do this to yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He glared at me. “Do you?”

Well … uh… He had me there; I had nothing smart to retort back, so I stayed mum while I readied for further moral lecture.

“Stop making yourself cheap. I hate seeing you this way. You’re beautiful, Amber. But my words are meaningless unless you believe them yourself.”

Jesus. What was this? The Wisdom Brigade? It was probably six in the morning by now, and he chose this of all the times to give me some words of wisdom? f*uking hell. Coming back home, I had all sorts of ideas of what would happen once I got there. But this? This wasn’t part of the plan.

I was drunk and feeling as though I was the ugliest fool there was for throwing sex into his face then having him let me down by giving me this whole spiel. I was clearly mortified and aggravated, not to mention sexually frustrated, as I roughly detached myself from him.

Why did I have to keep making such idiotic decisions? I silently scolded myself as embarrassment left me.

I plucked my skirt off the floor, but lo and behold, much to my dismay and surprise, Brody took the rest of my clothing: my thong, my bra, and my crop top. My temper was about to skyrocket in a second if he chose this time to play his stupid mind games. This wasn’t the time to f*uk with me, most especially when I was naked.

“Give my clothes back,” I softly demanded as calmly as I could.

The sex Grinch wasn’t paying attention to my demands, however. He completely ignored my question. “Where do you think you’re going now?”

“Outside.”

“Why? So you can f*uk another man?” he grunted out almost in my face. “How often have you done that, I wonder?”

Oh, he did not just go there!

If he wanted to fight, well f*uk, let’s have at it.

“f*uk. You! How dare you throw that in my face!” That was the nastiest insult he had given me to date, and I wasn’t going to stand there and let him put bullets through my very thin scrap of armor. “Why? How often have you done that, huh? f*uking every girl out there and imagining it was Lindsey you’re f*uking!” My eyes grew wide as my hands got animated while I silently recalled all the women who had come and gone in his life. What a double-standard *. “How often did you do that to me? Do you even know you called me ‘Lindsey’ after f*uking me drunk? Do you?”