“I mean it, Jamie.”
“Fine,” she said, grabbing her fork. “Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
After thinking about my kid sister in a kink club, I wasn’t sure I could ever eat again.
*
Brax
(The cowboy)
MOVING SUCKED. LIKE, SERIOUSLY FUCKING sucked.
It was made all the worse when you were moving damn near across the country. Granted, this wasn’t the first time I’d been uprooted only to move several states away from the place I’d called home. My parents had left North Carolina when I was twelve. I never understood why they opted for the blistering heat of Texas but that was where we ended up and I hadn’t had a say in the matter back then.
This move was different. For one, I got to make the decision. Well, not only me, but Case hadn’t put up a fight when we received the offer to relocate our lives from Texas to Illinois.
Did you know that the driving distance from Dallas to Chicago was roughly nine hundred sixty miles? Well, it was. And of those miles, I’d just driven all of them.
Yes.
All.
Of.
Them.
Because Case was a diva, and somewhere during our years of friendship and routine sexual encounters, the diva had come to the conclusion that I was his chauffeur. And his chef, and his maid. And his… Well, you get the idea. Having spent the past twenty-six months with Case, in the most passionate relationship of my entire life, I’d gotten used to doing things for him. And yes, he returned the favor because that was how we made it work.
Not that I minded driving. I’d seen Case’s skills behind the wheel, or lack thereof. Unless you were a NASCAR fan or one of those people who drove the Autobahn on a daily basis, I didn’t recommend it. Since my desire to actually make it to the Windy City was rather great, I hadn’t argued too much.
“How much longer?” Case grumbled from the passenger seat as he wiped his eyes and peered up through the window, his thick neck straining to hold his head up.
And why couldn’t he sleep for the last ten miles of the trip?
“Depends,” I told him as I set my now cold coffee in the cup holder.
He frowned, his dark eyebrows darting down toward his nose. “On?”
All right. I had to admit the man was ridiculously appealing to the human eye. All those sleek muscles and the enormous dragon tattoo that somehow defined the beautiful planes and angles were definitely my cup of tea. I’d spent my fair share of time trying to memorize every inch of his six-foot-three-inch frame with my tongue.
And perhaps the reason I tolerated his inner diva was because I happened to be in love with the guy.
Love or not, he still irritated the shit out of me at times. Especially after I’d spent the better part of the past two days sealed in a car with him.
“Whether or not I kick your ass out and make you walk the rest of the way,” I told him, my drawl thicker than usual due to my exhausted state.
His head jerked toward me and I could see the concern there. He was trying to determine how close to the rocky edge of sanity I was hovering.
I could admit it. I was cranky. I was tired. And I was damn sick of being in this damn car. I needed to stretch my legs and more coffee certainly wouldn’t hurt.
Case chuckled as he pressed the button to lift his seat. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” His hand slid over and patted my thigh. “I’ll keep you company the rest of the way.”
If you knew Case, you’d understand the threat those words implied.
“It’s twelve thirty,” he noted. “I thought you said we’d be there by now.”
I cast a quick look his way. His dark hair was as pristine as it always was. No bedhead for him. Then again, Case didn’t have any hair to muss because he kept it military short for whatever reason. His iridescent green eyes were filled with amusement, as always.
“You know, if it weren’t for the exquisite blow jobs, I would’ve kicked your ass to the curb a long time ago,” I huffed even as I grinned. His blow jobs were exquisite and the rest of him wasn’t too bad, either.
He leaned his head back and turned it my direction, those hooded eyes fixed on me. “I do give good blow jobs, huh?”
My cock certainly thought so, proven by the way it was hardening in my jeans. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Or yours?” He slid his hand up my thigh, his fingers brushing my cock through the denim. “Never mind.” He chuckled. “Too late.”
I instantly thought of the ruthless Sadist who had become a fixture in my head for the past … month? Two? Ever since that damn flight from Dallas to Chicago when Zeke Lautner commanded us to strip and kneel before him, I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head. He was taking up too damn much space, taunting me with that evil smirk and those Prince of Darkness black eyes.
