Page 35 of Dirty Like Brody
It wasn’t like I’d never had a man slide a piece of lingerieontomy body before. At photo shoots and fashion shows, I’d had all sorts of people, men and women, dress me in all kinds of things. But this… this wasdifferent.
This wasBrody.
Sliding a delicate, frilly garter over my toes and up my leg… slowly. While everyone watched, whistled, and tookpictures.
At least now he was acknowledging my existence. Didn’t mean he was looking me intheeye.
“Higher!”
“HIGHER!”
It was just past midnight, most everyone was at least half on their way to shit-faced, and as Brody slid the garter up over my knee and stopped, the crowd, as one, urged him to slide it higher upmyleg.
Sohedid.
He slipped it right on up my thigh, taking the hem of my dress with it… sending tingles all the way up tomyclit.
I bitmylip.
Morewhistles.
Morepictures.
Brody’s warm fingers grazed my thigh… and I stirred restlessly as my pussy clenched.Oh, damn.He had the sexiest hands, ever. Manly and strong but not overly-large, a little rough from just the right amount of time spent doing manly things. All I could think about was that hand continuing up, up… and touching me between my legs… and my girl parts throbbed withlonging.
I almost wanted him to do it. Right here, right now. With everyone watching. Ididn’tcare.
But maybe that was thechampagne.
Finally, his blue eyes lifted to mine. And I heard Roni’s voice inmyhead.
Hey Brody, did you know my pussy’s bare beneath thisdress?
That was exactly what she’d said, in her best imitation of me, as she’d convinced me to go commando.I saw her now in the crowd, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat, eating up every second of this torture… as Brody’s hand and that frilly garter slid higherstill…
Shit.
I tensed, leaned into his ear, and whispered, “I’m not wearing anyunderwear.”
His hand froze on mythigh.
Like he gives one flying fuck what I do with mypussy.
That’s what I’d said to Roni in response to her teasing. At the time, I’dbelievedit.
Except now that he was giving some sweaty-bearded photographer an eyeful of it, apparently, he did care. I knew this because he suddenly lunged, punched the guy straight in the face, seized the camera, took out the memory card and handed it to a stunnedKatie.
Yeah, he cared.Alot.
Enough to draw blood, which was now dribbling down the photographer’s face from his probably-brokennose.
Then a blur of giant men descended on the scene, including Jude and his brother Piper, the big-ass biker, and I got the hell out oftheway.
Someone grabbed my hand and pulled me from the fray. “What the hell was that about?” Maggie asked as she drew me acrosstheroom.
“Um… I’m goingcommando?”
“Oh,Jesus.”
