Chapter 13
OPHELIA
The MacNamaras made it clear that I could use their dock whenever I wanted. That access to it was part of my rental agreement.
Still, I told Broderick that I wanted to practice at the library. Something about floundering around in a cove populated by seal shifters sapped my confidence.
Now, we sit, side by side, on the edge of the floating dock as I work up the courage to slip into the gentle waves.
“Here, let’s try this.” Broderick pushes himself off, disappearing slightly in the less-than-clear water.
But I never fully lose sight of his fiery hair.
He pops up a moment later and flicks the soaked red strands out of his eyes.
“How about I stay right here?” He drifts to the ladder, then floats a short distance away.
“You climb in. Don’t jump. Just take it easy at first. Hold on to the ladder for as long as you want.
And I’m here to help if you need me.” He smiles wide. “But I bet you won’t.”
His confidence in me strengthens my own.
Also, I really want to dip my sweaty body in the cool lake.
Following his directions, I keep a tight hold on the ladder as I ease myself in. The water soothes my overly warm skin, and though it’s a little terrifying to descend, the weightlessness is also exhilarating.
“That’s great. Just like that,” Broderick encourages. He doesn’t crowd me. He doesn’t tell me to hurry up—or worse, demand I get out before I hurt myself.
Broderick supports me. And I trust him.
Which gives me the confidence to let go.
“I’m doing it!” I crow as I aggressively tread water.
Waves churn around me because of my desperate movements, nothing like the effortless motions Broderick makes to keep himself afloat. The surface barely ripples by him.
But my head stays above water, and that’s what counts.
I’m swimming. Really, truly swimming.
“Yeah, you are!” Broderick fist-pumps the air, and the gesture has me laughing and grabbing for the dock again because I don’t know that I’m skilled enough to giggle and swim simultaneously.
Small steps, but steps nonetheless.
Broderick paddles up to me, taking hold of the ladder himself. “That was great. And you still have a few weeks until the Gauntlet. I’ll come out here every day with you, if that’s what you want.”
The way he makes the offer, with eager hope on his face, makes one fact undeniable.
This is a good man.
A man I want.
I let go long enough to wrap my arms around Broderick’s neck. Hugging him, but not like before. All those times were only hugs.
This time, I want to hold him close so my face has easy access to his.
“How do you feel about kissing?” I ask.
From the comment he made earlier, about shutting his babbling mouth up however I want, I think this is what he meant. I hope it is.
But I don’t want to guess with Broderick. I want to know.
“Good.” He chokes on the word. “Very good. Yes, very much extremely good—”
I shut his mouth up with my mouth.
These past few months, I spent most of my free time on my own in my room in Georgiana’s house.
But not doing nothing. With access to the internet, I watched movies and shows and searched things I’d always wondered about.
Luckily, I found ethical porn websites before I got lost in the free, unrealistic porn that seems to make up a lot of sexual content online.
I read romance books from Never Judge a Cover, and I binged the knowledge that my father had refused to give me access to.
So, I’m not unaware of how everything works. I merely lack practical experience.
Meaning, this is my first kiss.
I don’t know if I’m lucky or if all kisses are like this. Because every moment is divine.
Broderick worships my mouth with gentle yet firm pressure against my lips. He teases and coaxes. Maybe he’s awkward sometimes when speaking, but he’s saved all his suave skills for kissing, and I’m glad for it, learning from him as we go.
He deviates from my mouth, kissing over my cheek and along my jaw, dragging my internal fire with him, as if the magic in me wants to chase his mouth.
“That feels so good,” I gasp. “I didn’t know kissing would feel this good.”
Broderick pauses, and I let out an involuntary whimper of protest.
He raises his head, staring at me with wide eyes. “Is this your first kiss? You … you … you haven’t … of course you haven’t.” He closes his eyes, a pained look on his face.
And my fire rises with panic and anger and want.
“Broderick.” His name comes from my throat in a hard demand. A tone I don’t know I’ve ever used before.
His eyes snap open, and in his green gaze, I can spy a reflection of the sparks in mine.
Good. I have his attention.
“You will not coddle me,” I inform him. “You will not decide what I want. When I tell you to kiss me and touch me and fuck me”—I love the simple erotic word and plan to use it again—“you will trust me. Trust that I am being honest and know what I want. Do you understand?”
If he doesn’t, then this is over. No more time with the red-haired witch I crave so much.
Because even if I want him desperately, I refuse to have another person dictate my life.
“Gods be damned,” Broderick mutters. “Tell me to do anything in that voice, and I will crawl on my knees to you. I trust you, Ophelia. What do you want from me?”
In this moment? Everything.
But I only say, “Kiss me again.”
Broderick dives for my mouth, and this time, there’s a fevered need.
I respond in kind, learning quickly how to move my mouth in concert with his.
I consume the groans and grunts as I wrap not only my arms, but also my legs around him.
Broderick keeps us floating with two hands on the ladder, and I feel the cold metal bite into my back.
But I’m too consumed with the pleasure in front of me to care.
A hard length wedges in the space between us.
His cock.
I gasp at the knowledge that his body wants mine the way mine wants his. When I’m alone in bed, for months now, I’ve explored my pleasure with thoughts of this witch. Fantasies of him taking me in all the ways I learned in my research.
I think it’s time to share.
Broderick frees my mouth, kissing down my neck, and I tell him my truth.
“Every Wednesday,” I gasp, “when I come to the university, to your department, I want to push you into your office and lock the door behind me.”
His body stiffens.
“Hells,” he whispers against my neck. “Then what?”
“You’d sit in your chair.” I close my eyes, playing out my favorite fantasy on the back of my eyelids. “And I’d mount your lap and rub myself against you like this.” I rock my hips, angling so his shaft presses against my clit. “I think about you when I touch myself at night.”
Broderick lets out a deep groan and nips at my neck. I jump from the sharp pinch, then hunger for more. Digging my heels into his lower back, I bring him against my pleasure center again and again.
“I want to come,” I pant. “Right now.”
Who cares if I just had my first kiss? I want what I want. No need to wait.
But will he trust that I mean it?
“Gods, yes.” Broderick thrusts against me, helping drive the sensation between my legs to a new level. “Anything you want. Use me. I think about you all the time, Ophelia. Every damn second of the day, I want you.” His breath is ragged against me, body straining in my arms.
“Broderick.” I moan his name as we find the perfect rhythm. “I want you.”
“You have me,” he promises. “I’m yours.”
The pleasure is a free fall on fire. I let out a scream that the witch claims with his mouth, kissing me hard through my orgasm.
When I finally return to reality, land back in my body, Broderick is still, his body hard as a rock in my hold.
“Do you mind,” he rasps, “if I come too?”
I’m momentarily stunned as I gaze at him in realization. The man waits for my permission to seek out his pleasure. I’m in full control of this situation. Of him. Broderick has truly given himself to me.
“No,” I say. “I don’t mind.”
His lids flutter in relief, and he rocks his hips, his erection pressing against my belly. Now that I’m relaxed in my postorgasmic bliss, I find myself bravely fascinated with my first access to a penis.
“I want to touch you,” I tell him, honest, slightly demanding, but still waiting for his permission.
“Gods, yes. Anytime. Anywhere. For as long as you want.”
The familiar words have me smiling eagerly as I reach between us and dip my hand past his waistband.
When I grasp his member, Broderick lets out the most delicious grunt and rocks faster, stirring waves around us with his movements.
Curious, I drag my thumb over the slit at the tip, where he emits a wetness of a slightly different texture than the water.
“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, “and I’m going to die so happy.”
With the hand that isn’t exploring his jutting cock, I twine my fingers in the silky crimson hair at the base of his neck, tugging until green eyes meet mine.
“You can’t die on me,” I say, knowing he was joking. But my response is completely serious because he needs to know, “Not when I’ve just started living.”
His emerald gaze stays locked on mine, even as his stare clouds with pleasure.
Still, I go on, confessing and claiming. “I’ve never had anything that was truly mine before. And I know now, if I can have anything, if I can keep anything, I want that to be you.”
“Yes. Yours,” Broderick promises as his body shudders and his cock erupts in my hand. “I’m yours.”