Page 39 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

Brody

I’ve been all over the world. I have been to some of the shittiest, most absolutely disgusting and fucked up places, seen some of the worst things you would never believe if I told you, but nothing is worse than the smell of Detroit, Michigan to me.

There is a heavy scent of rotten eggs that just festers in the air and latches on to the insides of your nostrils, making you nauseous all day and just overall disgusted and peeved.

We’ve been here for three hours and already I want to hop back on the plane back to LA but we have a lot of fans here waiting to see us so I push through. I’ve had a disgusted expression on my face all day that’s starting to feel permanent and even when I’m in my hotel room, I can still smell it.

The door jolts open and I gasp, completely caught off guard and ripped from my thoughts.

The aggressive entrance brings me back to that night and a rush of anxiety takes me over and has me gasping in fear, my stomach dropping.

I inhale and relax when I find it’s Harvey and when he sees the fear on my face he scowls.

A second later, his expression softens, “Just me,” he drops a brown bag off on my nightstand and cups my chin in his large hand.

“You never have to be afraid of anyone coming into your room, Brody. I told you I would never let anything happen to you,” he reassures me, the anger rising back to the surface of his expression.

I know it isn’t anger with me but rather anger with the man that traumatized me, anger that he wasn’t there to stop it earlier.

I nod, exhaling as I look down. I didn’t want to ruin the good mood he seemed to be in when he entered but it seems I did what I do best and fucked it up.

He tips my chin up slightly in silent command for me to meet his eyes and I oblige.

“Talk to me. You still never told me what was bothering you in the studio yesterday and right now you’re making the same face,” his voice is gentle, concerned.

I shake my head and force a smile, “I don’t want to talk about it, it’s stupid.” I glance at the brown bag and give him a curious look while hoping to change the topic of conversation, “What’s in the bag?”

He gives me a disappointed look that tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll show you,” he presents the ultimatum.

I frown, weighing out how curious I am about the contents of the bag and sharing my feelings.

Fuck him and fuck the bag I don’t need to know what’s in it.

But I know I’m full of shit and that the suspense will kill me.

Fine. “Ugh,” I huff, rising from the bed and walking around the room so that I don’t have to face him.

“I was just bothered by the hate comments.”

“Brody, fuck them,” he says angrily. “There will always be people who don’t like you or don’t support you for whatever stupid reasons they have.

That isn’t just part of being a rockstar, that goes for everyone.

Do you know how many people would love to watch me crash and burn?

But I don’t let them get to me because I don’t care about what other people think and you shouldn’t either.

People will hate on you because they know they’ll never be as talented as you or nearly as beautiful and at the best of times, extremely annoying,” his lips curve into a smile that elicits a matching one from me as I lean against the dresser with my arms crossed.

Only he can produce a smile in a time like this.

He walks closer to me, stopping only a few inches away.

“You’ll never actually live your life if you continue living it for other people.

Show them who you are, take the mask off, and stop hiding how perfect you are from the world, Brody Drake. ”

His eyes gleam with something I can’t quite place but I’m in complete awe of him.

The rush of sentimental emotions washes through me and pumps my veins with something that I’d rather not address at this moment, but they’re enough to have color rising to my cheeks and a smile forming on my lips.

Nobody has ever said such kind things to me nor has anyone actually meant them.

Harvey has seen me without the mask and he sees someone worthy of so much, I wish I could see in me what he sees.

It gets a little easier though, the more time I spend with him.

I grow more confident by the day and don’t feel a need to resort to drugs or alcohol, in fact I haven’t thought of either in so long I nearly forgot they existed.

He caresses my cheek with his fingers and I say quietly, “Thank you.”

He leans in and kisses me chastely before smirking, “Anytime, Little Rockstar,” he pulls away a second later and walks back toward the brown bag, removing it from the nightstand.

“As for your anxiety, I think it might be a good idea to talk to someone because what happened to you was traumatizing. It doesn’t have to be me or your friends, not even Selene, but maybe someone else.

You shouldn’t keep things inside, it isn’t healthy,” his tone becomes serious.

My smile falls, “And you know all about being open and talking about your feelings?” I raise a doubtful brow at him.

He smirks, “Of course not. I’m a hypocrite but you know I’m right.”

I mutter irritatedly under my breath, “Yeah, yeah.”

“What was that?” he prods, a knowing look of arrogance on his face.

I frown, “I said fuck off and eat shit.”

He smiles, “That isn’t very nice. I’ll have to fuck that attitude out of you after I show you what I got.”

I clench my thighs together as heat pools low in my belly at his promise. My attention quickly shifts however, to the brown bag as he sets it down on the bed and starts rustling through it. “I got a few things for you,” he says as he rummages around in search of something specific.

I take a step closer to him, my curiosity piqued, “Gifts, you say?”

He removes a large, three wicked candle from the bag and I gasp when I read the label on the front.

It’s my favorite candle, the one I have in every single room of my house back home, the Japanese cherry blossom candle.

“Oh my God,” I gasp as he hands it to me and I open the lid to sniff it, my eyes practically rolling to the back of my head.

“I know the smell of Detroit has been bugging you and I also know you’ve been a little homesick so I figured you could use that,” he explains.

I beam at him, “Thank you. I love it. How did you know this was my favorite?”

He tilts his head at me, “It’s in every room of your house.”

“Always so observational. I’m impressed,” I compliment him.

He reaches back into the bag, “There’s more,” he says as he removes a scratchy looking gray cardigan, a pair of skinny jeans with not one rip in them, black framed glasses, and a brown wig.

He holds the items out to me and I frown as I look at them. “What the fuck is that?” I point at the clothes like they’re toxic.

He snorts a laugh, “Clothes.”

I cross my arms over my chest, “Yeah maybe for someone’s grandma but not me.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s the point. It’s a disguise.”

“A disguise?” I ask, doubtfully. “What is this, a fucking Fast and Furious movie?”

He gives me an impatient look, “No this is me wanting to take you out without cameras and paps following us around.”

My lips part. That’s actually pretty sweet. “When?”

He checks his watch and then smirks, “Half past right after I fuck that attitude out of you,” he jokes but before I can react, he grabs me by my hips and tosses me onto the bed. I giggle as I land on a pile of pillows and he crawls into the bed to hover over me.

He kisses me hard and I kiss him back with just as much need.

No amount of time with him will ever feel like enough and every time he touches me, it still feels just as good as it did the first time.

In a matter of seconds, he’s torn my clothes off my body and exposed me to him.

He rolls a condom onto his impressive length and slides his tip through my already soaked folds.

He lubricates himself with my arousal and presses the tip against my entrance to tease me.

“Sometimes I think you give me attitude on purpose just so you can get fucked.”

I smirk, “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

He tisks, “Such a bad girl.”

He leaps off me, removing the rest of his clothes, and standing at the side of the bed. Once he’s fully naked, I grip his length in my fist and start working him. He groans as my hand moves up and down his shaft, “Fuck.”

“Take the condom off and let me taste you,” I demand. He’s licked and sucked me so many times and I’ve never returned the favor. He’s never asked or expressed interest in me using my mouth.

He removes my hand from his shaft and strokes himself, “Not now. I’m too impatient.

I need to fuck you before I explode inside this condom,” he practically growls and I’m about to push him, ready to argue that he’s made me come countless times with his mouth but never let me give him the same pleasure, but he silences me by catching me completely off guard.

He grips my hips and drags me to the edge of the bed, pushing my thighs apart.

With one beautiful, heady thrust, he pushes all the way inside me and I cry out at the feeling of being full of him.

He reaches between us and grips my wrists tightly in his palms while he develops a rhythm, pushing in and out of me.

He holds my wrists in place as he pounds into me and the feeling of giving up all control to him ignites a fire within me.

I’m so used to vanilla, boring sex that sex with Harvey has changed and ruined me entirely.

I’ll never be the same or want the same from anyone else. It will always be him I think of.

His skin slaps against mine and the sound is so beautiful to me. “You still feel like being a brat?”

I moan, “No.”