23. Brody
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Someone kill me now. Slay me dead. I'm done with this man's lecture.
"Are you even listening, Brody?" My father's condescending tone grows tiresome through my cell phone.
"No."
He sighs, his irritation palpable even though he's not standing in front of me. It makes no difference with this man. He's a member of The Council, and that doesn't change when he's at home or speaking with people outside of that capacity. He's business, through and through. No exceptions.
"I think we're done," he mutters, and I scoff.
"I already thought we were."
Another sigh. Another gold star on my chart for being an upstanding son.
"You know, Brody, one day you'll wish you had listened to the wealth of knowledge I have to offer."
A wealth of knowledge. Fuck off. I can picture him now, bushy eyebrows gathered as his lips mush together, disappointment oozing from him. His so-called wealth of knowledge has made him nothing but predictable. Which is why I know exactly what to say and do to make him fuck off.
"And maybe one day you will actually hear me when I speak. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."
I can envision his nostrils flaring as he heaves yet another sigh. "I'm not discussing this with you again, Brody. It's final. It's irrelevant what you think or feel. Some decisions are greater than you. That's life."
My chest squeezes in the grasp of an unrelenting vice as anger thrums through my bones. "But?—"
"Enough. I have to go. I have another call."
"Of course you do," I snap, but the call is already over.
Discarding my cell phone on the bed beside me, I brace my elbows on my knees and shield my face in my hands as I take a few pointless deep breaths. My head pounds as I feel my pulse throbbing with my increased heart rate. Despite how familiar I am with this man, he still affects me in every way I despise.
His ability to get under my skin is a trait I know I got directly from him, and I hate to admit that I truly dislike being on the other end of it.
Not that I'll learn my lesson. I never do.
Sighing, I sit tall, rubbing my palms over my thighs before focusing on the window. The late afternoon sun peeks through the glass, cascading over my room with a kiss of bliss that I wish I could absorb.
It helps to soothe me. The sun is always a beacon for my calmness and joy, especially after I've had the pleasure of speaking with my father.
"You can't go in there. I said you can't go in there!"
I frown at the shouting coming from the other side of my bedroom door before a knock pounds against it. What's going on now? It's probably some idiot complaining to me about how another mage is being unfair, like it even matters to me.
Pushing to my feet, I cut the distance between me and the drama awaiting in the hallway.
"Are you dumb? I said?—"
The mage slams her lips shut when I swing the door open to find her pointing and yelling in the face of my favorite little fae.
Adrianna Reagan.
"I'm sorry, Brody. This girl won't listen," Clara grumbles, offering me a sympathetic smile before turning her wrath back to Addi. "You," she starts, pointing in her face. "Don't get to come in here and—" She's muted once more, but this time it's not from my appearance; it's from Addi's hand wrapped around her throat as she slams her into the wall beside my door.
"I quite specifically warned you not to aim that finger in my face again, or you would face the consequences," Addi hisses, nostrils flaring with agitation before she flips her gaze my way. "Hi."
It's soft, delicate, sweet even.
"Hey," I breathe, completely caught up in the way the sun lights up her hair, making the small smile on her lips even more alluring.
"I was hoping to ask for a favor," she states, ignoring the mage in her grasp.
Favor? Yes, please. Put this woman in my debt and seal it with the wax of King Reagan himself.
"Of course, come in." I take a step back, swinging my arm out wide for her to follow me, but before she moves a single inch, she looks back at Clara.
"Did you hear that?" she asks, cocking her brow as Clara's face scrunches in discomfort.
"Fuck you," the mage spits out, wincing a beat later when Addi tightens her grip.
As hot as this is, and it's fucking smoking, I'm intrigued by the favor she wants. "Let the poor mage go, Addi. She's not worth your time," I murmur, extending my hand in her direction.
Her glare at Clara stretches out for a few more beats before she looks down at my hand that awaits the warmth of hers. She purses her lips, considering the offer, then releases her hold on Clara's throat and places her hand in mine.
I pull her inside without wasting a single second, and she drops her hand from mine as soon as the door shuts. She saunters into the center of my room, slowly spinning as she casts her eyes over every inch of the space.
Trying to envision it from her perspective, I trail behind her gaze.
Soft gray walls are barely visible behind cluttered shelves and cabinets, which also frame the window straight ahead. They're all filled to the brim with books, ingredients, and everything in between. You name it, I probably have it. I see being a mage as an art form. One that requires access to items some people haven't even heard of.
My bed is central on the wall to my right, a nightstand on either side, with a doorway in the corner leading to my private bathroom. A desk sits against the wall by the door, the wood matching the cabinets, while the drapes and sheets are an olive green, lightening the room despite so many dark fixtures.
"What brings me the pleasure of a favor from the sweet dagger in my life?" I ask once her gaze settles on mine. Her blonde hair is braided in a crown on her head, but a loose tendril still dangles around her face. She busies herself, attempting to tuck the loose curl behind her ear as she seeks the words.
"I was wondering if you have any sand."
"Sand?" I clarify, and she nods, clearing her throat as her lips rub together.
"That's not what I was expecting at all," I admit, running my eyes over her, and she grins.
"Surprise." Her sass brings out a smile of my own.
"What do you need it for?"
Her eyebrows pinch together as she folds her arms over her chest.
"Does it matter? It's just sand."
"Color me intrigued."
"Color you a pain in my ass," she snaps back, irritation fluttering over her skin as my gaze narrows on hers.
"I'd be a real pain in your ass if you let me."
"You did not just say that," she says with a snicker, waving me off, and I shrug.
"I did."
She shakes her head at me, glancing away, and I'm certain there's the slightest tinge of pink to her cheeks, but it disappears too quickly for me to be sure.
"I want to make a glass vase."
My eyebrows pinch in confusion. "Wait; you want sand to make a glass vase? For what?" She seems to be one-thousand percent hitting me with surprises today.
"What goes in a vase, Brody?" She gives me a well-deserved pointed look, and I roll my eyes back at her.
"Flowers, obviously, but I'm intrigued by the flowers that may need a vase. The questions I have are endless."
Like, where the fuck is she getting flowers from? Are they from someone specifically, or is she gathering them herself?
"Can you help me or not?" she asks, cocking her brow at me, and I nod.
"Of course." Sauntering over to the cabinet to my left, I crouch down to look through the small drawers. I know it's in here somewhere, but knowing exactly where is a different thing entirely.
In the fourth drawer, the familiar grains of sand in a glass jar come into view.
"Is this enough?" I lift it up for her to see, watching as excitement dances in her eyes,
"It's perfect."
Standing, I offer her the jar, and she snatches it out of my hands, cradling it like a baby.
"So, are you going to make it yourself?" I ask, not wanting the moment to end yet.
"I hope so," she murmurs, eyes still transfixed on the jar in her grasp, but the glazing over her eyes makes me frown.
"You hope so?" She's a royal. She should be able to use whatever magic she pleases.
"Kiss of amethyst, remember?"
Her eyes meet mine, her pain evident before she swiftly blinks it away.
"You've got this. One hundred percent," I insist, stepping closer to squeeze her arm in comfort. She offers me a soft smile, like my words of encouragement aren't quite enough to fill her with positivity. "Can I watch?"
It's her turn to frown. "Watch?"
"Yeah, like, watch you make the vase." Why the fuck do I sound nervous?
"Why?"
Clearing my throat, I move my hand from her arm to rub at the back of my neck. "Magic fascinates me," I admit, and it's true, it does, but not as much as she does. That's the secret factor here.
Her lips purse as she thinks, and it takes everything in me to keep my mouth shut while she comes to a decision.
"Where?" she finally asks, and I can't contain the grin on my face.
"Here's fine," I insist, pointing to the center of the room. "Do you want a table or anything?"
She frowns at the center of the floor where I'm pointing to before looking at me with real uncertainty dancing in her orbs. "But what if my magic?—"
"Don't worry about it. I'm a mage, remember? I can combat any issues we might have," I insist, not really sure if that's where she was going with her worry, but when she nods, I hope I've hit the nail on the head.
"A table isn't necessary, but something that won't burn when I'm done with it would be handy," she breathes as she drops to the floor, crossing her legs as she unclips the lid on the jar.
I grab what she needs and place it in front of her. She doesn't look, though; she's too engrossed in the sand to pay any attention to anything else.
Stepping back, I lean against the wall, watching her every move as she scoops out a handful of sand. I'm mesmerized as her hands start to move, red and orange hues dancing between her palms as she uses her magic. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Her eyelids are at half-mast, and her hands move on their own as she brings the sand to life. All too quickly, she places the newly made glass down on the heat-resistant plate I put before her and smiles down at her masterpiece.
At first, it looks like a simple vase, but as I peer closer, I notice the intricate design etched into the glass throughout. It's like small, thin vines intertwine up the sides, embedded in the glass.
"What's that old film my mom used to make me watch?" I murmur, and she blinks at me, her eyebrows pinching together.
"How am I supposed to know that?"
I wave her off. "Obviously, you don't, but I'm sure you will. Where the guy was dead, but he helped her make something with the clay. I can't really remember much about it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do, for sure you do. I think he was a ghost. Wait, is that what it was called?"
Her nose scrunches. "That sounds weird."
"It was, but she loved it," I reply with a snicker, the memories flooding me, but I stop the thoughts before the heartache sets in.
"Loved it?"
"Hmm." I glance away, running my fingers through my hair as I turn my attention back to her.
She runs her tongue over her bottom lip as she turns back to the vase. "How is this similar?"
Before I can think better of it, I drop to the floor, planting my legs on either side of hers before intertwining our fingers. "In the movie, they molded the clay together. A song was playing in the background, making it all cute and shit." I run her hands over the vase, my heart hammering at our close proximity as her back presses against my chest.
She sighs, the weight of it vibrating through her body and resonating in my own. The sweet floral scent of her hair intoxicates me as she shuffles slightly, getting comfortable enveloped in my limbs. Before I can think better of it, I inch closer, running my lips over her neck. She shivers, tilting her head, encouraging me to press a kiss to the same spot.
Her back arches, inviting me further in as I bring our hands to her waist. Still intertwined, I run my thumb along her stomach, hating the t-shirt that sits between us. My mouth has a mind of its own, trailing pathways in every direction as her head tilts to the side, offering me more access.
Fuck.
Releasing one of her hands, I tug at the back of her cloak, searching for the fastening before it cascades around her waist. The outline of the kiss of amethyst is visible through her t-shirt and I can't stop myself from revealing the delicate purple gem.
Her skin is raw and sore around the edges where it's clawed at her flesh. Running my finger around the edge, she stiffens. "I might not be able to remove it, but I can soothe the broken skin," I explain, quickly muttering the chant quietly. She softens, her tension easing as her head lolls forward.
"Thank you."
"Anytime," I promise, pressing a kiss just above the offensive object digging into her flesh.
She tugs her hand from mine and I immediately feel the loss. Before I can heave a sigh of disappointment, her hand is on my cheek, fingers splayed as she peers deep into my eyes. She shifts so we're facing each other, and my hands immediately fall to her waist.
There's uncertainty in her eyes, uncertainty over me, I'm sure. So, I hold my position, waiting for her to be the one to make the move. I want this more than anything, my cock bulging against the cotton of my boxers, desperately seeking her, but this has to be her decision because we both know she's aware of what I desire.
Her.
She inches closer, our breaths mingling together as I hold her gaze, watching her pupils dilate just before she lets her eyelids fall closed and her lips press against mine.
The feel of her fingers against my face as she claims my mouth is all-consuming, and I'm moving before I can even think about it. Standing with my hands fixed on her waist, I hoist her into the air while our lips remain connected.
I take the three necessary steps to my bed before lowering as gently as possible. Her hands stroke down my neck and latch onto my shoulders as her legs wrap around my hips.
Fuck.
Crushing my lips further against hers, she moans against my tongue as I taste every inch of her I can get my lips on.
I need to feel her skin against mine.
Now.
Blindly searching for the hem of her t-shirt, I grip it tightly with both hands, but before I can tug at it, she pushes against my chest, parting our lips.
"Don't you fucking dare tear my clothes when I have to walk home. I'd rather not do the walk of shame naked," she grumbles, making me cock a brow.
"Walk of shame? Is that what this is?" I ask, following her order and pulling her t-shirt over her head instead of shredding it like I want. I toss it aside, reveling in the pretty pink bra covering her chest.
"No, but you know what I mean," she mutters, slipping her hands beneath her pants, and I shift, undressing along with her. In a flash, we're both naked, chests heaving as we stare at each other. "Are you going to take care of?—"
I eliminate the distance between us, diving face-first between her legs and effectively bringing her sass to an abrupt halt. As I run my tongue through her folds, her back arches off the bed and her hands clench the sheets beneath her.
Fucking her outside was one thing. Watching her leave her mark on my personal belongings is something else entirely. I need more of it. I rake my teeth over her clit, loving the gasps that part her lips as I tease one finger at her entrance.
"Please, Brody," she whispers with a gasp, making my lips curl against her skin.
"That's it, Dagger. Beg me." Thrusting two fingers into her core, I don't get more pleading like I want, but the cry of pleasure that echoes around my room is even better. "I want you to come all over my sheets. I want the scent of your essence all over my room. Then, when I wake up in the morning, you're going to be all I can think about, all I can smell, and all I can envision from this moment right here. It's going to be too much for me to bear. So much so that I'm going to have to slip into my shower and fuck my palm so hard and fast it's going to be over too quickly. But it'll be worth it. Won't it, Addi?" It's not a question. Not really.
She nods, eyes wide as she looks at me, and I twirl my fingers in her pussy, watching her pulse flutter at her throat before I lap at her clit again. She writhes beneath me like it's exactly where she was meant to be, and I'm going to prove to her that it is.
"Please. Please. Please," she chants, like the perfect harmony to fit the way I play her body.
Adding a third finger, I thrust deep inside her, feeling her core clench around me as I sink my teeth into the sensitive flesh around her clit. Like an orchestra reaching its crescendo, she hits her peak, cries of ecstasy parting her lips as she climaxes.
I lap at every drop, making sure to wring every ounce from her. Her tense muscles turn to puddles beneath me as she tries to catch her breath. Trailing soft kisses over her pussy, around her belly button, and between the valley between her breast, I find my way to her mouth.
She doesn't shy away from the taste of herself on my tongue.
No.
Her kisses deepen, making my cock harder than ever.
Reaching for the top drawer of my nightstand, I pull a condom out, tearing at the wrapper and sheathing my needy cock with quick precision.
"I want my sheets wetter, Dagger. Do you think you can do that?" I ask, lining my cock up with her entrance as she shuffles up onto her elbows, peering down at the already damp material.
"Take me like this, and I will," she purrs, running her tongue over her lip as she shifts to her front, tilting her ass up in the air. Her back is arched perfectly, and I run my hand down her spine before stroking the globes of her ass.
She presses her shoulders into the mattress, reaching her hands underneath her chest to pinch her nipples.
"Fuck, you're a damn tease," I grunt, desperate for her, and she grins, eyes closed as she consumes every fiber of me.
Eager to turn that smile into a face of raw pleasure, I realign my cock with her core and thrust inside. Her heat intoxicates me as I pause, unsure whether I'll last more than five seconds if I don't give myself a moment to catch my breath.
One of her hands shifts, clinging to the sheets beneath her again, bracing for impact, and I let everything else in the world fall away as I give her a reason to hold on.
Retreating, I slam my cock deeper inside her. Harder, faster, it's everything.
The slap of skin on skin echoes around us and my hold on her hips tightens. I hope there are bruises for her to see tomorrow, to remind her.
Her legs tremble beneath me as I slam into her again and again, chasing the euphoria I know she brings. Reaching a hand around to her pussy, I pinch and nip at her clit, making her groans of pleasure grow louder until she's a panting mess.
The telltale signs of her core contracting around me tell me I'm close to feeling her climax. I need it more than I need my own.
It takes everything in me to keep my pace and not lose myself to my own needs until her cries reach new heights.
"Fuck, Brody. Fuck."
Doubling down, with the feel of her release dripping between us, I tumble over the jagged edge with her. My vision darkens, my orgasm ripping through my body as I fall forward, rugged thrusts prolonging the taste of ecstasy between us.
Holy fucking shit.
Perspiration clings to us as we try to catch our breaths, and one thing is for certain.
I thought being a fuckboy was fun, but learning every inch of her body is even better.