For the Record (Record #3)(81)
Author: K.A. Linde

Liz felt for an instant as though she finally understood Clay. She could see his life stretched out before him. The second brother with Brady the prodigal son, the golden boy always one step ahead. Maybe he had even once wanted to become a politician. Maybe he had wanted to become president, but his father had encouraged Brady. And Clay’s love for both politics and Brady had hardened with time. What would become of the man now that it was finally thawing?

Clay kissed her forehead softly at her clear astonishment. “Be good to him. He needs you.”

And then he walked away.

“What was that about?” Brady asked when he appeared at her side a minute later.

“Nothing. Clay just told a reporter off for degrading our relationship and basically endorsed you for Congress.”

It was Brady’s turn to look startled. “Are we talking about my brother still?”

Liz smiled and nodded. “He loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Brady seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Well . . . I suppose at least we have that in common.”

“You have a lot more in common than I think you’ll ever realize.”

“Well, I’m thankful I have you to realize that for me.”

“I’m always going to be here,” she told him.

“I sure hope so, or else I’m going to need my ring back,” he joked.

Liz slapped her hand over the ring. “You can’t have it.”

He grabbed her firmly around the middle and kissed her lips feverishly. “Good. You’re mine?”

“Always.”

He brushed his nose against hers. “It’s worth it?”

“You’re worth everything,” she whispered.

Chapter 32

BRADY

Every Election Day morning growing up, Brady would wake up super early with his family. He would dress with care in what his mother had put out for him the night before. She would make sure he looked presentable, and then the whole family would pile into his father’s Mercedes and he would drive them to the polls.

As a child, Brady remembered liking it more than Christmas, even without the presents. The months of anticipation leading up to this one big momentous day for his entire family brought them all closer than they ever were. And every other year, when his dad came home victorious once more, they celebrated—just the four of them, and then when Savannah was born all five of them—before his father went to all the necessary parties.

When Brady got older, he thought that the ritual might diminish—that he would enjoy Election Day less, since it really was so much work, but the small moments with just his family were unlike anything else. As time passed, Clay helped and participated only begrudgingly, and as they grew further and further apart so did Clay’s love of the election. Clay saw it as a duty, whereas it remained to Brady a gesture of love and devotion.

Brady remembered the first time that he walked into the voting booth after his eighteenth birthday. He cast his ballot for his father and knew as he had known his whole life that there was nothing else for him. Politics was what he loved more than anything—his greatest joy from his childhood and his deepest ambition as an adult.

All of that had changed with the entrance of Liz into his life. He had never thought that anything could replace his dreams of becoming president. When he had fallen for her, he had fought tooth and nail to keep his life exactly how it was. But he couldn’t do that with Liz. Without even meaning to, politics slid down a spot, and she became his number one priority.

Liz was still sleeping when he woke up on Election Day. Her bare chest was pressed firmly against him and her head nuzzled his shoulder. An ache throbbed in his groin at the sight of her nearly naked in his bed. Exactly where she belonged.

He was seeing the spark of a new Election Day tradition.

“Baby,” he growled into her ear. He ran his hand demandingly down her side, under the covers, and onto her thigh. She roused softly and he felt himself harden further as her body moved against him.

“Brady,” she whispered.

His hand slipped in between her thighs and brushed lightly against the black lace boy shorts she had worn to bed. He preferred when she slept naked, but he couldn’t keep himself from wanting to fuck her all night. The panties didn’t help all that much, though. He had ruined a few pairs.

“Mornin’,” he muttered. He rolled her onto her back and brought his lips down hard on hers. She responded with the fervor that always exploded from their kisses. He couldn’t get enough.

“Someone is in a good mood.” Her blue eyes were alight and he could see the need evident in them.

He bent down and nipped at her neck. The moan that escaped her lips urged him on. “I love your body.” And he let his hands worship the soft, smooth skin of her breasts, down her flat stomach, to her hips.

His thumbs hooked around the boy shorts and he eagerly dragged them to her feet. She squirmed under his scrutiny, but held his gaze, ignoring any self-consciousness. He had forced that out of her. Or maybe he had just opened her up to what was already lying dormant inside of her.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

Fuck! The way she said that. The way she pleaded with her big blue eyes. Begging was a particular weakness for him. And some days he just wanted to fuck her senseless when she opened her mouth and asked for it. But he could make love to her. He wanted to. God, he loved her.

Love sliced through him. It held on tenaciously, never giving up even when he had wanted to give up. It didn’t care about the past, present, or future. And every day that he held on to that searing emotion, he felt as though he was finally living.

He kissed up her thighs and she whimpered at the tender caresses. He would take his time with her, savor every inch of skin, her eager pants of pleasure, her body as it responded so perfectly to his commands.

He spread her wide and slowly slid his fingers into her. She was already wet and needing him, tightening around him, trying to fill that ache. He slid in and out and in and out until her eyes rolled back and her body struggled for release. Then, when he felt her dying for it, he leaned forward and flicked his tongue against her clit. Another groan left her mouth, encouraging him, and he feasted on her body until she came apart at the insistence of his mouth.

Then he discarded his boxers and readied himself before her opening. Her eyes fluttered back open when he pushed her legs even farther.

“God, yes,” she said in the same breathy voice she got right after orgasm. “Take me.”