Page 47 of Líadan's Code

“Are you going to force me?” Jordan asks, using humor to avoid the question, but his stomach grumbles as the savory scents of the food perfume the air. “Fuck, food does sound good, though.”

“I thought as much,” Brendan muses, half turning to face him. “Your face looks awful. Does the rest of your body match?”

“Yep,” Jordan grunts. “It’s not too terrible, I’m just getting stiff from sitting so long.”

“Bullshit,” I mutter. “Take your sweater off.”

“I’m not stripping for you unless you’re giving me something for it,” he says, snorting in continued amusement.

Rolling my eyes, I climb onto the island, scooting over until I’m in front of him and spreading my legs wide as I pull my shirt away to give him a clear view of my pussy.

“How’s that?” I ask as his eyes grow wide.

Brendan makes a noise that passes for fucked up glee as he says, “No dessert before food, Lía.”

“Jesus fuck, Princess,” Jordan groans. “That’s quite the welcome home.”

My heart gives a weird flip flop at his words, and then I’m distracted as he spreads my thighs wider so he can enjoy the view.

“Pretty and pink,” he growls. “The pussy that can bring this man to his knees and remove every argument from my mind. Well done.”

His nose runs up my skin as his lips pepper it with open mouthed kisses. This man is worshiping me throughly.

“I don’t remember. Was there something you wanted me to do?” Jordan asks.

My lips tip up further than they have in a long time as I nod. “Yes, I believe you were going to take off your shirt for me,” I remind him. “Off.”

Biting down on my thigh teasingly, he smirks when I moan as he releases me. Slowly, Jordan pulls off his sweater, struggling to keep the pain off his face.

“Don’t hide from me,” I tell him. “Out there, do whatever you need to, but don’t hide from us.”

“Habit,” he grunts as he drops the article of clothing next to my thigh. “I won’t hide if you won’t, Little One.”

“Deal. What happened?” I ask, my eyes bouncing over the bruises littering his torso.

“Your father sent Bruin,” Jordan says, as if that’s the most natural thing in the world. I guess it is in my family. “He was very worried about how I was going to corrupt you.”

“Ah, that ship has sailed, I think,” I say as Brendan comes over with the food. Scooting over, I drop my shirt and cross my legs, continuing to sit next to him. Brendan sits on the stool I vacated, his large hands massaging my thighs comfortingly.

“Daddy knows all about how not innocent I am, so it’s one of his ridiculous mood swings.”

“Milseán,” Brendan warns as I shrug. I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.

“I’ve noticed he’s contradictory with his words,” Jordan says, picking up his fork to take a bite. I watch for the moment when the flavors all hit his palate, reveling in his deep moan. “This is so good.”

Brendan smirks at the words as he inclines his head. The time he spent in Ireland for a summer means he learned how to cook Irish food incredibly well. Just because the family put him through hell, doesn’t mean he didn’t have time to spend with the cook.

Maybe that’s where his love of feeding people he cares about comes from. I’ve always been the one who’s carried that favor, so it’s interesting to watch his intense gaze eat up every noise and groan Jordan makes as he consumes every morsel.

“Ireland was good to me as much as she was a bitch of a taskmaster,” Brendan says. “I spent a summer there learning how to…”

He makes a face as I remember the summer his dad shipped him off to teach him how to be a man.

“Be a killer,” I finish. “That summer sucked for both of us.”

“I came home to find Lía black and blue because grown men decided to beat on a twelve year old girl for being in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time,” Brendan growls.

“Hold on, back the fuck up,” Jordan says, pushing his plate away. Thankfully, he ate every bite and we aren’t going to take away his appetite. “Who did this?”

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