Page 17 of Property of Brute & Axl
“I heard the heartbeat.” Her voice is barely louder than the sounds of the water running over our bodies. “It was beautiful.” Palming her legs above her knees, I rub soothing circles with my thumbs, hoping to relax her.
“I bet it was.” Hoping she tells us more, I don’t move.
“I’ve been so confused.” She whispers the agonizing confession.
“About what?” Brute’s voice matches hers.
Slowly, her lids open, and she gazes between us, trying to gauge our responses. “The baby.” Wasn’t expecting that. “How I should feel now; how I might have felt before,” she expounds.
“What did you discover?” Christ, never in a million years did I think we’d be sharing a moment like this with a woman—silence, softness, caring for her well-being. We’re typically hard and dirty with our women.
She swallows before answering. “I want to be a mom.” Suppressed tears now freely flow down her cheeks, and a renewed torture haunts her eyes.
“Why does that hurt?” I ask. No other words are needed to tell that she’s struggling.
“What if I’m too broken to be a good mom?” She stutters her words between sobs.
Skimming my hands up her thighs, I lean forward and brush my lips across her belly several times. The small bump is attractive in a way I never expected. My dick stirs, but I know she’s not ready for that yet.
Getting to my feet, I try to reassure her, “You know what makes you a good mom?” Her tear-filled eyes meet mine as she shakes her head. “Worrying if you’ll be a good mom.” Tugging Brute’s hand to her front, we cup her belly together. “We’re hard men. There are not many boundaries we won’t cross for the ones we care about, so who knows if we’ll be good dads or not, but I have no doubt about you.”
“You don’t even know me,” she hiccups, but the tears stop.
I caress my knuckles along her jaw, tipping her face up. “We know the important parts,” I whisper against her lips, taking it slow, and licking across the seam until she opens for me.
She’s now sandwiched between us with just enough room that we don’t squash her ribs. Her pebbled nipples stab me in the chest, rubbing against the coarse hair there, and my dick swipes across her belly.
“Oh!” she gasps when Brute grips her jaw and positions her head for his own taste.
Turning around, I lift off the shower head, switch the massager functions to a more intense flow, and spread her feet apart with mine, then press the head against her pussy. She whines but tilts her hips into the motion. I reach behind her to grab a handful of her juicy ass, and my knuckles bump into Brute’s erection as he humps between her cheeks. The man groans, and I watch as he opens her mouth wider, taking more of her as he remembers the way she felt between us the first time.
Moving the shower head around her pussy, her mewls are eaten up by Brute’s fiery kiss as he swallows each one. Leaning forward, I flick my tongue along her pulse, bathing her throat before sucking on her. At her ear, I whisper, “Come for us, princess,” and drop the shower head, massaging her clit with my finger and holding her close as she comes apart in our arms.
“Relax, relax,” Brute encourages so that she doesn’t hurt her ribs or pull stitches with her tensing and twitching.
She whimpers, coming down from her high, and I have a brief moment of concern that we took it too far and she’ll regress in her healing.
“Thank you,” Finleigh whispers, eyes shut, chest, neck, and face flushed from the pleasure.
“Not too soon?” My fingers rub along her belly as I wait for her answer.
Her chin wobbles and her face pales slightly, but when she opens her eyes to stare at us, the golden flecks around her irises are clear and present. “No, just right.”
“Thank fuck,” Brute grunts, earning a delicate smile from our girl.
Chapter 11
Brute
The light in Finleigh’s eyes hasn’t ignited, not like the night we met her, but she’s not as wary as when we reconnected with her in the hospital again. The tension that clenched her jaw every day since is missing, though, and she’s curious instead of observant and fearful since we brought her back to the clubhouse.
Her steps don’t falter as I rest a hand on her waist and lead her to the bar where my dad and his wife, Candy, are sitting. I’m hoping that means she’s growing comfortable here.
“Pops, Candy,” I call out, and they turn around. Pops, with a permanent scowl on his weathered face, but Candy offers the smile and welcoming that I knew she would.
“You must be Finleigh!” She’s on her feet and about to yank Fin in for a hug when I shake my head. “Right, sorry, forgot about all the injuries. It sure is a pleasure to meet you, honey. I’ve been waiting on this one to give me grandbabies for years.”
“Nice to meet ya, girl.” Pops' eyes roam over her injuries. He’s had more than his share of them over the years.