Page 122 of Stolen Faith
“Remind me to add lube to the grocery list,” Brennon murmured.
This time Izabel did laugh. “So noted.”
Izabel stepped closer and ran her fingers down the center of his chest, her touch light.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Rowan said.
“We’re also not going to take any chances,” she insisted, as she placed a kiss on one of the bruises on his chest, then stepped to his side, placing another on a particularly dark bruise on his upper arm.
“Kissing it all better?” he murmured.
“I could. Though I think it would take a while.”
Rowan pointed to another bruise, this one lower down on his stomach. “I’ve got time.”
Izabel was tempted to take the bait, but the things they were going to do tonight—abbreviated, thanks to their injuries—had been too long coming. Reaching out, she pulled the duvet down, gesturing for Rowan to lie on the bed.
“Slide to the middle if you can,” she said, concerned.
Rowan sat down, tossing the pillows off the bed then shifting into position with an ease that proved he wasn’t feeling that much pain. Their man was ready to roll.
Which was good because she was too.
Rowan lay flat, his head turned toward them, lifting his hand. “Undress our wife, Brennon. Get her ready for us.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d referred to her as their wife in the heat of the moment. And while that title wasn’t official…yet…it was still sexy as fuck.
Brennon, unlike Rowan, didn’t have a damn bit of trouble with taking orders in the bedroom, as he turned toward her without a moment’s hesitation.
Izabel had taken Brennon’s “celebration” announcement to heart, grateful to him for finding a way to help them move past yesterday’s heaviness. Since arriving in L.A., she’d pushed all thoughts of the torture from her mind. Talking to the therapist had brought it all back up, and it had taken her some time to get her emotions under control afterward.
Because she wanted to make tonight special, she had put some effort into getting ready. She’d traded her yoga pants and T-shirts for a sundress, brushed out and curled her hair instead of pinning it up in a ponytail, and she’d even put on makeup.
They’d shown up in L.A. with the scrubs on their backs, and for the first day, Rowan and Izabel had borrowed clothes from Brennon’s closet, but after an entire day of hitching up sweatpants that were two sizes too big, she decided to put that old adage that money could buy anything into action. And L.A.’s delivery game put Boston’s to shame. She really could get anything delivered.
It also gave her a chance to do a little retail therapy from the comfort of Brennon’s couch. By day two, she’d managed to acquire at least a week’s worth of new clothing, shoes, and toiletries for her and Rowan, as well as cosmetics for her.
Her parents had wanted to fly to L.A. approximately three minutes after Izabel called to tell them she was okay. She’d managed to talk them out of that. Mercifully, they were overseeing the repairs to Izabel’s condo, promising there wouldn’t be a trace of the break-in upon their return. Her mother had packed up a large box of clothing for her, shipping that, as well as Rowan and Brennon’s suitcases. It had all arrived this morning, and this sundress—one of her favorites—had been in the box.
Slipping the spaghetti straps over her shoulders, Brennon pushed the soft material down. Due to the dress’ design, she hadn’t bothered with a bra, something neither Brennon nor Rowan had failed to miss, both sneaking glances when they thought she wasn’t looking during dinner.
Her breasts popped free as he tugged the dress lower. Bending at the waist, he sucked one nipple, then the other, into his mouth, playing with them until they were taut. His touches, like hers on Rowan, were too soft, too careful.
Then he lifted his head, glanced at her face, and she knew his actions were calculated. Her quietness upon returning from the therapist hadn’t gone unnoticed. Obviously, Brennon was afraid of triggering her, making her recall that time in the bathroom with the Tweedles.
Izabel cupped his face, captured his gaze, held it. “I’m not scared. I want this,” she reassured him. “Want you to take off the kid gloves.”
Rowan growled, the sexy sound urging Brennon to up the ante, the two of them giving their fiancé a show. Brennon added his teeth to the game, biting down on her nipple until Izabel threw her head back and groaned.
“Fuck,” Rowan whispered. “Harder, Brennon.”
Brennon continued playing with Izabel’s breasts, her hands finding his hair, gripping it roughly. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rowan stroking his thick cock slowly, and her pussy clenched with the need to be filled.
As he sucked on her nipples, Brennon pushed her sundress the rest of the way down, a soft swish sounding as it hit the floor.
Rowan’s low curse had Brennon lifting his head, glancing down.
“Jesus,” Brennon muttered, as both men stared at her thong. It left very little to the imagination.