Sweet Jesus . . .
A groan rips from my throat and she hops from the vehicle, a triumphant, naughty laugh trailing through the wind behind her as she enters the lobby.
I adjust my now-throbbing dick and move inside the hotel, everything in me knowing what I said to Amber when we first met is correct: this girl is sure to be the ride of my life.
With Amber by their side, Mark and Cathy are in the midst of checking in. I head to the bar, deciding a drink will serve me right as I wait for Amber to join me.
Gaze scouring the low-lit hotel, I find a seat and place an order for a shot of scotch. A football game, consisting of the Ravens killing the Steelers, catches my attention on a corner screen, temporarily distracting me from the army of nerves attacking my blood.
Two shots in, and with a third on its way, warm hands sweep around my abs, cashmere-soft lips teasing my ear as Amber’s raspberry scent crashes through my senses. I shift and snake my arms around her waist, pulling her down onto my lap. A soft hum escapes her, the sweet sound igniting my desire for her. I’ve been with a lot of girls, too many to count, but with Amber it’s different. She somehow fills the crater inside my heart, giving me a reason to wake up every morning, a reason to push on.
“They’re getting cleaned up and changed for dinner,” Amber says, her eyes a caress as she loops her arms around my neck. “It shouldn’t be too long.”
I nod and lean in, sweeping my tongue across the seam of her lips. I don’t wanna talk—I can’t. I need to feel a part of her inside me. Something to dull the numbness taking up residence in the center of my chest. Amber’s sugary-sweet tongue delves over mine, a light moan escaping her as she tightens her grip around my neck. I deepen the kiss, my hands slipping up the graceful slope of her back. My pulse accelerates, my need to fuck her senseless increasing as I glide my fingers across her delicate shoulders.
With palpable reluctance, Amber breaks the kiss, the concern in her eyes ripping through me as she brings her hands to my cheeks. “Talk to me, Brock. Tell me what you’re thinking.” It’s not a request, but a gentle demand.
I swallow the tightness creeping up my throat. “There’s a possibility my family won’t show.”
“Big deal,” she whispers. “We don’t need them to. We’ll still have fun.”
“And if they do,” I bite out, “it’ll turn into a shit show and fucking embarrass you. Embarrass all of us.”
She sighs, her gaze stroking the planes of my face. “Stop it. Even if it does turn into a shit show, it’ll be fine. You’re acting like I’m some kind of delicate petal that can’t take it. I’ve been there. Seen worse than anything your parents can dish out.”
“True, but you don’t know them,” I press.
“No, I don’t,” she answers, her stare resolute, breathtaking. “But I know you, and that’s all that matters.”
I’m about to respond when a peppy voice zips through the air, interrupting our conversation. “Someone needs to get a room.”
My attention darts from Amber’s to the source. A petite pixie blonde with glittering blue eyes and cherry-red lips. My sister, Brittany. I can’t help but smile. After Brandon was taken, and I became the target of my mother’s hourly hostility and my father’s daily put-downs, Brittany kept me hanging on, kept me from murdering someone until I got my own place.
“You gonna buy me a drink or what?” Brittany asks, sauntering in our direction.
My sister defines “spitfire.” She makes up for her small frame with a ton of personality and quick wit. A chuckle flips from my mouth as Amber moves off my lap, slipping into the seat next to mine. I watch as Amber studies Brittany, who happens to be dressed as if she owned the hotel. My sister’s what most girls would call a fashionista. She wears nothing but designer threads and rarely, if ever, leaves the house without being done up. The total opposite of my Amber, my angel. My vanity-unconcerned gift.
No doubt they’ll hit it off.
“Get over here and buy your own drink.” I shake my head, my smile widening as I motion her our way. “And while you’re at it, buy me a goddamn drink.”
Brit bumps my shoulder, playfulness glinting behind her eyes. “Still not a gentleman, I see.”
I laugh and grasp Amber’s hand. “Brit, this is my girlfriend, Amber. Amber, this is my mouthy, pain-in-the-ass, always-has-to-be-right, can’t-take-no-for-an-answer sister, Brittany.”
Amber smiles, extending her free hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
Instead of taking Amber’s hand, Brit leans in and gives her a hug. “So you’re the girl who’s finally brought a smile to my broody brother’s face.”
“Broody?” Amber asks incredulously. “I haven’t heard that one yet.”
“Let’s not go there,” I mutter, knowing anything, shit included, could fly outta my sister’s mouth. I toss back the rest of my drink and order another, including a round for the two gems in my life. Dealing with some of the finest scum on earth has its advantages, getting a fake ID made up for Amber being one of them. “Are they here?” I ask pensively, praying something came up. “Or did we get lucky and they ditched?”
A sigh beats past Brit’s lips. “No such luck. Mom had to run to the bathroom, and Dad’s waiting in the lobby.”
Body stiffening, I inhale a deep breath, trying to quell the stabbing sensation tearing through my gut. It doesn’t work.
Brittany looks at me, pathetic sympathy hopping across her features. “Don’t stress, bro. Mom wasn’t that bad when I picked her up. Both seemed to be in a . . . decent mood.”