13. Lust In Broad Daylight
Chapter thirteen
Lust In Broad Daylight
Chloe
“Don’t tell me I did all this for nothing.”
Half in a daze, I look up from my plate and find my mom watching me. I haven’t touched a thing, and there’s a full breakfast feast spread between us, my favorite blueberry pancakes, French toast, eggs, sausage, piles of bacon, and diced fresh fruit.
I make an attempt to look like I'm interested in the eggs on my plate. “Sorry, Mom. I guess I’m not that hungry.”
“Not an option.” She flips two more pancakes onto my plate, her breakfast mission fully underway.
“ Mom… ”
“Your dad sprung his boat trip on me last minute, and now this.” She fixes me with one of her no-nonsense stares. “I don’t ask for much, Chloe. Two meals a week—one breakfast, one dinner. You missed our last dinner, and…”
“I explained why,” I argue, setting down my knife and fork. “And I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Are you, though?” Her voice slices through my defenses. “You’re pushing your food around on your plate, and you haven’t said a word to me since you got here. I can tell you have a lot on your mind. What’s going on? ”
Oof. She has a way about her, that’s for sure. I could never hide anything from her growing up, and now as an adult, I’m finding nothing has changed. The back of my neck starts to burn— traitor . If she spots even a hint of pink, I’m screwed
My eyes drop to my plate stacked with food. If I don’t at least pretend to eat, she’s going to start grilling me again.
“I’m here, Mom.” I jab at my eggs and force a bite, then drown a pancake in syrup. “It’s been a really busy time for me with work and... stuff.”
Stuff.
The word sticks in my throat as last night barrels back into my mind. Brody’s hot breath on my neck, his body pressed tight against mine. Oh God. I can still feel him.
I shovel in another bite to keep my mouth busy, following it with a quick gulp of juice. It turns into cold, syrupy sludge in my mouth, but at least it keeps me from blurting something I can’t take back.
She’s right, though. I’m not here. Not really. I wasn’t in my apartment earlier this morning, either.
Because I never actually left that room with Brody. He got a call and bolted, then I slipped away to one of the vacant guest rooms to pull myself together. No way was I doing the walk of shame while half the night staff was still hanging around
“How was dinner?” she asks, eyeing me over her coffee. “I hope you managed to hold your own, he strikes me as the type to talk circles around people.”
Dinner? Hold my own? More like hold me down , Brody—my face pressed into the soft leather of the sofa as he takes me from behind…
“It was fine.” I clear my throat, clenching my thighs together under the table. The thought of him makes my ovaries high-five. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Fine?” She narrows her eyes, tilting her head to the side. “What do you mean, it was fine? He didn’t steamroll you, did he? Is that why your dad shot out of here to meet with Miles?”
I shake my head abruptly. “No, Mom. I mean, I don’t know what the deal is with Dad, but Brody—Mr. Stirling didn’t steamroll me at all.”
Steamroll me? More like... okay, yeah, he kinda did.
He railed me, if we’re getting technical.
The thought knocks me sideways. I reach for my glass and take a long sip, anything to keep my mouth busy. No way my mother’s the first person I’m confessing this to.
“Okay, that’s good,” she sighs, holding her hand over her heart. “It’s good to know he’s not a total snake.”
Snake? I nearly spit out my juice at the mental image of Brody slithering up next to me.
Get your head out of the gutter, girl.
It’s weird hearing her talk about him like that. I used to feel the same way. But he’s not a snake. Not anymore. Last night, I saw something that makes me question everything I thought I knew about him and his company.
Clearing my throat buys me a second. I’m desperate to change the subject. “How’re the gardenias coming along? ”
All this talk of Brody is only making his clamoring assault on my mind worse. I need to stop thinking about him.
His mouth on me, his touch setting me on fire.
My mom’s face lights up. “You didn’t see the bed when you came in?
The soil nutrients Cathy ordered did the trick.
I’ve never seen a plant shoot up that quickly.
She says they’ll be flowering in no time if I keep at it.
I asked your dad if I should make a pathway in the back garden too, but as you can imagine, he didn’t have an opinion either way. What do you think?”
Relief washes over me, and I settle into my chair. “Show me.”
I know my mom well enough to know that this is my ticket out of this sticky situation.
Garden talk is my mom’s love language. Get her talking about gardening, nod like I care as much as she does, and eventually, I’ll be off the hook.
No more chances to interrogate me about Brody and whatever may or may not have gone down over dinner.
It takes about an hour, start to finish.
She walks me through both the front and back gardens, gushing about her winter bulbs and her latest obsession, which she’s dubbed "gardenia mania.
" She’s so excited to have a captive audience that she completely forgets I hardly touched my food and pulls me into a warm, cinnamon-scented hug when I say I have to leave.
Whew, escape plan successful.
By the time I stumble back into my apartment, my head’s a chaotic mess of seasonal charts and garden color schemes. I drop my purse on the floor and collapse onto the couch, totally drained .
My eyes land on the folder sitting on the coffee table, notes for the campaign to protect Bluepeak’s natural sites. Great. I still need to finish that before the town meeting.
Then something else grabs my attention, wiping out any thoughts of campaigning or garden talk: the dress I wore to dinner last night.
It’s crumpled on the floor, right where I left it after crawling into bed in the early hours.
I’d stripped out of it and crashed into a restless sleep full of explicit, no-one-can-know fantasies. Some were reruns of last night.
Others were new... things I’d never admit out loud. All of it hot enough to leave me waking up horny and out of my mind.
I flip onto my back and dig my phone out of the back pocket of my denim cutoffs. Only one text, and it’s from Harper.
Lunch. Greenhouse. DON’T leave me hanging.
I slide my phone onto the coffee table without replying. She knows I’ll show up.
Sinking into the soft cushions, I toss my legs over the armrest. Mentally, I brace for the grilling ahead, one that’ll make my mom’s interrogation feel like a warm-up. No dodging questions or dancing around certain… very sensitive matters.
My cheeks flush. Blushing alone in my apartment is one thing, but catching myself grinning like an idiot? And the heat creeping lower and lower…
I shift, squeezing my thighs together as that ache pulses in my core. Ever since I woke up with Brody in my head, it hasn’t let up. And the more I think of him, the worse it gets, my body lighting up, hot and needy .
One hand slides down, popping the button on my shorts before slipping inside my underwear.
My fingers find a warm, eager wetness and glide over my aching clit.
My breath shudders as I sink deeper into the couch, eyes closed, Brody front and center in my mind.
It’s his touch I feel, circling me in patterns that make me swell and ache.
“What do you want me to do, Chloe?” He grates low in my ear.
He’s struggling to keep it together. It’s in his voice and the way his cock presses against me. A ripple runs across my skin.
A long moan draws out of me, and my movements grow more urgent.
What started slow now intensifies coaxing me closer to the edge.
My lips part, my breath coming in rapid, desperate pants.
Toes curl as I rock my hips, trying to ease the anticipation building deep inside.
I need to let go. I need Brody to take me there.
“You’ll be good?”
So good. My lower lip trembles as I bite down, tasting the salt of sweat on my skin.
My legs tense as I slide another finger inside.
The thought of him flashes through my mind, and my pulse quickens.
My hips roll instinctively, chasing that release.
I picture how he’d react, his grip tightening around me, his breath a ragged whisper in my ear.
I clench at the thought, desperate to pull him deeper, to push us both to that point where there’s nothing but raw, electric heat between us.
My fingers move faster, the once-slow circles turning into sharp, desperate strokes as my body tightens with every pulse. My muscles quiver, my climax nearing, building inside me like a wave, threatening to crash over and consume me. To obliterate me, like Brody did last night.
“That’s my girl.”
His voice is what does it. My body erupts into a series of tiny tremors, leaving me breathless and weak. All that tension finally unravels, draining away in a rush that leaves me shuddering, completely undone.
“Brody…” His name falls from my lips, my hand still in my shorts, but only because I’m too spent to do anything about it.
I’m floating in post-orgasm bliss, my senses drifting... until…
The ringing in my ears is replaced by more ringing, loud and intrusive.
There goes the afterglow, shattered by the harsh interruption of my ringtone.
It’s enough to shift me from a horned-out mess into something resembling a human being, just enough clarity to grab my phone from the table and answer it.
“My express instructions were to not leave me hanging,” Harper’s voice comes at me, loaded with expectation.
I glance at the clock above the bookshelf, then sink back further into the couch, covering my eyes with my hand like it’ll somehow erase the situation. Busted.