Chapter 10
ten
MAC
The drive back to Brady’s apartment was ... a little tense.
We didn’t talk much. There was no playlist critique or Brady sing-alongs to make me laugh or “Name That Tune” with songs he picked.
I drove exactly six miles over the speed limit, and Brady, well, he watched me pensively from the passenger seat. He stared at me like I was a riddle again. A puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out.
The date* had been fun. It was hard to explain. Brady was a fun-loving guy. A walking good time. But in all of our years of pranks and practical jokes and endless bickering, none of that good-timing had been directed at me. Or if it was, it was in a way that I perceived to be at my expense. A mocking joke or a well-timed zinger.
Finally being on the receiving end of Brady’s charms had made our little outing at the Haunted Forest a fun experience. I liked his sweetness as much as his teasing. And I didn’t know how I’d never realized it before, but Brady was affectionate. He liked being close—holding hands and touching. It turned out that I liked it, too.
Maybe the date had less of an asterisk beside it than I wanted to admit .
But the date wasn’t what tonight was all about. It was a means to an end. A way to gather up all this wayward attraction and the unexpected pull I felt toward Brady and channel it into a solution.
If my dating history proved anything, long-term wasn’t something I specialized in. One night of hot—or mediocre—sex with Brady Judd should get whatever was happening out of my system.
Hopefully.
Because how was I supposed to live my townie life with Brady around every turn? He was there every Monday for trivia and every Friday at the bonfire. And again at the farmers’ markets downtown on Saturdays. Our families knew each other. We ended up at the same events, festivals, and church picnics. Kirby Falls was not a big place, and Brady and I were in the same line of work. Our paths crossed often.
I didn’t want to feel like this every time he walked into a room. The constant buzz beneath my skin—the awareness. I couldn’t look at him or hear his voice without remembering how it felt to be snuggled up against him in a freezing storage shed or grinding on top of him on a hay bale. I was off-balance and questioning myself, which wasn’t like me at all. Plus, I couldn’t even encounter an orange Tic Tac without blushing like a schoolgirl, for Christ’s sake.
Tonight would fix all that. I needed it to.
Brady spoke for the first time in half an hour, directing me to a visitor’s spot behind his building. It had the added benefit of keeping my Jeep off the street where anyone could spot it.
My heart was pounding as I followed him inside and up the stairs to his apartment. Nerves tangled in my belly, but I forced them down. This wasn’t a big deal. Just like I’d told Brady, it was only sex.
He unlocked his front door and stepped inside, flipping on the light.
Brady took off his shoes and placed them in a closet off the entryway. I watched in a strange, disconnected way as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the same closet. He held out a hand, and it took me a moment to realize he wanted me to pass him my coat, too .
I hurriedly peeled away the black fabric and handed it over while he looked on in amusement.
It was such a casual, domestic activity that my brain sort of locked up and misfired. Brady Judd had a closet for his jackets and took off his shoes when he came home. Had I ever seen his socked feet before?
I stood awkwardly just inside the threshold while Brady walked into the kitchen.
The whole apartment—that I could see—was spotless. Very little clutter on the coffee table and end tables in the living room, and a simple vase of flowers sat in the center of the kitchen island.
“Mac?” Brady’s voice interrupted my perusal of the space.
“Yeah?” I replied distractedly.
He was standing there watching me, still poised near the cabinet, two glasses in hand. “I asked if you wanted something to drink. Some water? A beer?”
“Oh.” That weird, nervous energy was back, churning in my midsection. “Sure. Water, please.”
Brady stared a moment longer and then gave me his back as he moved toward the refrigerator.
This was dumb. I was being dumb. It was just sex, I chanted inwardly, willing my body to walk fully into the apartment and stop acting weird.
We’d do the deed and be done with this whole thing. We could go back to being archenemies, giving each other shit. Brady could keep up the social media snark, and we’d duke it out during trivia night. Or maybe things would be awkward.
Maybe we’d be nothing after this.
The thought had me taking an involuntary step back, where I bumped into the door at my back.
“You can come all the way in, you know,” Brady called, back still turned.
Spurred into movement by low-level panic and my own cowardice, I slipped off my shoes and moved into the kitchen. I put my bag on the island while Brady filled our glasses from a pitcher.
“I think we should talk,” he said as he replaced the pitcher .
I peeled off my socks and dropped them on the floor. “Talk? Why?” Then I released my belt and slid the leather through the loop in my jeans as my heartbeat climbed into my throat.
Brady turned in my periphery, and I heard the water glasses thunk abruptly onto the countertop. “What are you doing?”
Gripping my sweater, preparing to bring it up and over my head, I said, “Getting this show on the road.”
“Mac,” he protested and made his way around the island in record time.
Brady batted my hands away and smoothed my shirt back down, covering my midsection. “Stop it. I wanted to do that.”
I laughed, somehow less manic with his hands on me. “You wanted to?” I asked, finally meeting his gaze.
All playfulness gone, Brady answered seriously, “Yes.”
Then he circled behind me, hands on my hips.
“I just thought—” My voice faltered as I felt his fingers unbutton my jeans and lower the zipper. “I just thought we’d get down to business.”
Brady left my pants unbound but didn’t move to lower the denim and reveal the lacy thong I’d talked myself into earlier. He brought his hands to the hem of my sweater and toyed with it for a moment before slowly raising it over my head.
“I’m not a get-down-to-business kind of guy,” he admitted, sweeping my long hair over one shoulder.
For some reason, I closed my eyes as his touch unfurled around me.
“I like to take my time,” Brady continued. “Make a detour or two.” I felt his soft lips against the nape of my neck, and I swallowed hard. “Take the long way around and maybe a back road every now and then.”
I sucked in a trembling breath as he traced a knuckle up and down my spine for long moments. Finally, on the next downward pass, he stopped to unhook my bra, like we had all the time in the world instead of just one night.
He teased, “Haven’t you ever heard of foreplay, Mac? ”
With my eyelids clenched shut, I stood unmoving, hardly breathing as Brady’s hands and lips traced abstract designs across my shoulder blades and back. He slid the straps of my bra gently down my arms. I heard the sound of the fabric hitting the floor, but Brady made no move to touch my breasts. I felt my nipples tighten and fought the urge to grab his hands and place them firmly on my chest, to end this needless seduction.
But the man was in no hurry at all. He kissed down the length of my arm, encouraging it to bend at the elbow, and then he placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss on my inner wrist. That was a sensitive spot, and I made an embarrassing sound as a result. I felt his lips smile against my skin.
Finally, his palm came to my stomach and urged me back. The bare skin of my back met the soft flannel covering his chest, and the warmth he radiated nearly made me sigh in relief. Lips worked their way up my neck to just behind my ear.
And then a rough whisper said, “Open your eyes.”
When I did, I nearly jolted in surprise. We were facing a mirror I hadn’t noticed. It hung near the hallway on the wall opposite, and it reflected our bodies wrapped up in one another. My upper half was fully on display, breasts heaving with every breath and a flush of pink painting my neck and cheeks. Brady was watching me in the mirror, blue eyes dark and heavy lidded as his gaze followed the path of his hand across the pale skin of my stomach, up to cup my breast. His arm banded across my chest and held me to him.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he murmured, eyes fixed on our reflection. “And I’m not going to rush anything about tonight.”
With one hand plumping my breast, he brought the other around my body and dipped into the opening of my jeans, beneath the fabric of my underwear.
I drew in a sharp breath as his fingers danced along my seam.
“So soft, Mac,” he breathed against the shell of my ear. “You feel so good.”
Brady’s touch wasn’t firm enough to get me off like this. I needed more. But somehow, I knew that wasn’t his goal just yet. True to his word, he was taking his time, exploring and meandering as he built me up slow and steady.
I felt the hard length of him behind me and gave an experimental push with my ass. His eyes shot to mine in the mirror and one long finger slid inside my pussy like he was trying to distract me and slow me down once again. It worked. I groaned and clenched around his digit.
“You’re wearing an awful lot of clothes,” I managed as his finger moved slowly, in and out. “Do I get to undress you?”
Brady’s grin was wicked. “Only if you’re good.” The heel of his hand ground down on my clit and a moan escaped me. “But not yet. Widen your feet.”
For once in my life, I complied when Brady demanded. The space created gave him more access to fuck me with his fingers. My hips moved in time with his thrusts, the pressure on my clit almost perfect.
Brady’s fingers toyed with my nipple, drawing my attention to the mirror and him. He kept his eyes on me with an intensity I wasn’t used to, but I liked it. I liked the way he was watching me—watching us.
“I’m going to make you come, right here, where I can see. Then I’m going to prop you up on this counter and eat you out until you come again. And then you can take off my clothes, if you want. But I need you to talk to me, to tell me what you need. How to get you there. I wanna hear you, MacKenzie.”
I stared at him in the mirror, transfixed as he took charge with his blatant honesty and dirty words. Like he’d thought about what he’d do to me if he ever got the chance, and now we were acting out the fantasy step-by-sexy-step.
“Okay?” he prompted.
I nodded, so rattled and turned on I wasn’t sure I could speak. I could hear how wet I was as his fingers continued working me.
“So, what do you need, Mac? Another?” He pressed a second finger into me as he asked, and I nodded again. “I want to hear you,” he reminded me.
“Yes,” I gasped. “And harder, on my clit. More pressure.”
Brady obeyed, bearing down, the heel of his hand firm and so, so good, right where I wanted it.
“Like this?” he asked.
I started to dip my chin in agreement but remembered in time, hissing out a desperate yes .
“You’re perfect. God,” he said raggedly. “So hot and tight. I want to feel you come around my fingers and against my tongue and on my dick. I want you every single way I can have you, Mac.”
My breath came in shaky pants as Brady’s filthy words worked to bring me closer to the edge. He was going to kill me if he kept talking with that dirty mouth.
Plus, I could still feel him behind me, impossibly big and hard, as our bodies moved together. Despite being on the verge of my own orgasm, I was eager for more, the next step. I wanted to strip him down and touch him in return. I ached to feel him inside me.
“I’m close,” I whispered.
Brady’s brilliant blue eyes came back to mine in the mirror, and I groaned long and loud as all my muscles tensed before releasing in wave after wave of perfect pleasure.
My eyelids drifted closed, and I heard Brady exhale a broken “Fuck” as I pulsed around his fingers. My body sagged against him, but he didn’t falter, just clutched me tighter to him.
There wasn’t time to feel embarrassed or awkward because Brady removed his hands from my underwear and spun me around, kissing me hard. It was needy and worshipful, and, I realized, a precursor to how he planned to use that dirty mouth.
He pushed down the fabric of my jeans, but then paused when his hands touched the bare skin of my ass cheeks. His lips broke away from mine, and he looked over my shoulder, presumably at my lacy thong.
“If I had known that’s what your underwear looked like, I would have taken your pants off first thing.”
I smiled a satisfied grin as I rested my forehead against his collarbone and laughed. “Want me to take them off?”
“Fuck, no,” he replied swiftly. “Not yet.”
Then he lowered himself to the wood floor, helping work the tight denim down my thighs before flinging my jeans somewhere over his shoulder into the living room .
I smiled down at him, thinking how good he looked on his knees for me. I gave in to the urge to run my fingers through his messy hair. As I sifted through the surprisingly soft strands, I was rewarded with a quiet moan as Brady leaned into my touch.
Rough palms smoothed over my backside, kneading and stroking. Then he rested his forehead against my stomach and groaned, the sound muffled by my skin. “This ass. Jesus.”
It turned out that Brady Judd was good for the ego because I had never felt so comfortable (mostly) naked in my whole life.
I’d never felt other things too ... so cherished and cared for and completely overwhelmed. I was turned on again and ready for more, which was also new. I’d never come twice with a partner before; usually I was too sensitive to bother trying, or the guy was more worried about his own turn.
Something told me Brady wasn’t thinking about himself right now.
True to his word, he rose to his feet and lifted me onto the counter and ate my pussy like a starving man. There was no slow, careful seduction or playful teasing touches this time around. He pulled my underwear to the side and feasted, with eager lips and teeth and tongue.
If I was a less confident person, I might have been embarrassed by the sounds I made or how wet Brady’s chin was. If I hadn’t been so lost to the pleasure he drew out of me, I might have also been self-conscious about the way I’d gripped his hair in my fist and then shouted my release for God, Brady, and his neighbors two doors down to hear. But I didn’t care.
When Brady helped me off the counter, he steadied my boneless legs, and I draped my arms around his shoulders, smiling the dopey, satiated smile of the recently well serviced.
“Want me to carry you to bed, Macklemore?”
“Yes,” I murmured and then squealed when he bent low and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Brady!” I clung to his hips as he sauntered down the dark hallway.
He smacked my ass, and I yelped out a surprised laugh .
Brady set me down on a plush rug in the middle of a tidy bedroom. He steadied me until I had my feet under me, then stayed close.
The room was dim but not dark. There was light coming from the attached bathroom, and I could see well enough to make out Brady’s features. I could have seen the specifics of the furniture or the décor as well, but I was too distracted—too aware of the man in front of me.
With efficient movements, he started unfastening his flannel. I went to work on his belt and button-fly jeans. It wasn’t an elegant striptease by any means. We were both too anxious for what came next. But when I pushed his pants and underwear down his lean hips, I paused to take him in. I’d felt his size a couple of times—the morning we woke up together in the shed at Grandpappy’s and then earlier in the kitchen—and he didn’t let me down now.
I managed to get his clothes the rest of the way off, along with my thong.
Then I wrapped my hand around his hard length, and he made a rough sound in the back of his throat. It reminded me of that first kiss in the front seat of his truck. His eyes closed tight as I pumped up and down in a slow, steady rhythm.
Brady balanced himself with his hands on my waist, and I watched as a pained expression moved over his features. Then words poured out of his mouth in a rush. “When we wake up in the morning, I’ll make you breakfast. Pancakes. Stuffed French toast. Bacon. Whatever you want.”
I paused my movements, feeling amusement bubble up inside my chest. His eyes popped open as he regarded me solemnly.
“Brady, you’re a twenty-eight-year-old man, and you have me naked in your bedroom. You want to talk about cooking breakfast and staying over to cuddle?”
He frowned. “You have a tragic view of masculinity.”
I squeezed his very prevalent masculinity and made to resume my teasing motion, but Brady stopped me with a gentle touch on my wrist. “I have you for one night.”
“One time,” I corrected. Why was he bringing this up? I hadn’t even been able to judge the thread count of his sheets yet, and he wanted to talk about after .
“One night,” he insisted. “You said so yourself.” His hand journeyed from my waist around to my ass where he gave a firm squeeze. Then he leaned his tall frame down and placed hot, wet kisses along my jaw. “You’re so worried about getting this—getting me—out of your system.”
His tongue grazed the sensitive skin below my ear, and I shuddered.
Voice soft and measured, he said between kisses, “But I’m only thinking about getting under your skin and staying there.”
I swallowed hard, struggling to focus on his words. “This feels like a conversation we should be having when you aren’t doing that with your tongue.”
Brady shook his head and dragged his teeth down to my shoulder, making my eyes roll back in my head. “You’re not ready for it,” he whispered.
We fell into bed then, a tangle of limbs and searching hands and lips. I briefly noted a fluffy white duvet before I was distracted, pulling Brady over me. He stretched his long body out, reaching toward the bedside table.
A moment later, I watched him sit back on his heels, rip the condom wrapper, and start to roll it on, but I batted his hands away and gave him back the line he’d given me. “Stop it. I wanted to do that.”
He grinned as I took over the job of protecting us both, but the cheeky smile faded quickly as I gave him a rough squeeze.
“You ready?” I asked, bending my knees as he settled between my thighs.
“Yeah,” he gritted out. “You?”
At my nod, he slowly—and I mean slowly—eased inside me, one hand gripping the base of his shaft and the other wrapped around the outside of my thigh.
I breathed through it, adjusting to his size and girth, grateful I was slick enough to ease the way.
Halfway through, Brady shifted onto his elbows and bowed his head, resting it against my shoulder and letting out a string of curse words.
Finally, when he was completely seated and I was so full I thought I might split in half, Brady’s breath whooshed out, and he laughed hoarsely. “I am never going to last. Holy shit.”
I shifted my hips a little, and he groaned, causing me to grin .
On an experimental thrust, Brady’s hips pulled back slowly and then pushed in again. I felt him everywhere. When he bottomed out, he ground down, his pubic bone hitting me in just the right spot. I reached around, gripping his ass, encouraging him without words to please, please do that again.
He did, over and over. Shallow, gasping thrusts that forced me higher on the mattress. I brought my trembling thighs over his hips, and he settled even deeper, making me cry out.
“You feel so good,” he praised. “I want to fuck you all night. I don’t want to come yet.”
“I’ve had two orgasms, Brady. You don’t need to hold out on my account.”
Amused, I watched as he shook his head. Suddenly, we were moving, rolling across the mattress, still connected as he settled me on top of him. I took the change of scenery in stride and planted my hands on either side of his head, rolling my hips and shifting back and forth.
“Shit,” he breathed, trying desperately to still my movements. “That did not help.”
“It helped me,” I laughed, rocking over him, loving the angle.
His eyes couldn’t decide where to focus. Brady tracked my bouncing tits and then down to where we were joined before his lids shut tight and his jaw clenched.
“Talk to me, Mac,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you need.”
“Sit up and grab my ass,” I panted.
Complying instantly, Brady jackknifed up, lean muscles flexing. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him close as I rode him. His hands smoothed down the globes of my ass before squeezing and urging me on.
Everything was lined up perfectly, and with Brady chanting in my ear, telling me how good this was and how he’d never recover, I came in a blinding flash. Pleasure radiated through my limbs and held me hostage in its grip.
I felt Brady bucking up into me in jerky movements until he stiffened and groaned, the intimate sound vibrating against my sternum and making me squeeze tighter around him .
With a groan of my own, I collapsed onto the bed, side by side with Brady, who lay panting on top of the covers.
He had an arm thrown over his eyes, but when he felt my noodle body settle next to him, he uncovered his face and turned his head to look at me. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take that hot chocolate. Because you were definitely the first one to scream.”
I blinked as my brain caught up with our bet from the Haunted Forest, and then I laughed until I couldn’t catch my breath.
Minutes later, Brady had gotten rid of the condom and we were back to being sweaty in bed and staring up at the ceiling. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I know it wasn’t very good, but the next time will be better.”
My brain stuttered to a halt, and I frowned. I’d thought—I’d thought it was the best sexual experience of my entire life. That last time, I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out. I still couldn’t feel my toes.
When I looked over at Brady to see if he’d possibly suffered a brain injury, he was already watching my reaction, grinning like the fool I must be.
“I can’t believe I fell for that,” I mumbled in disbelief.
“I mean, it wouldn’t have killed you to argue with me,” Brady said, his warm shoulder nudging mine. “I thought that was your favorite pastime anyhow.”
Part of me worried I had a new favorite pastime, and it involved this bed and the man in it. Which was unfortunate because this was a one-time thing. I needed to get up and find wherever he’d flung my pants.
“And, you know, I would take a compliment,” he added. “If you had one lying around.”
Reaching blindly with my opposite hand, I gripped a pillow from his headboard and brought it around, whacking him in the face.
Brady laughed and tossed the pillow aside, wrapping me in his arms and hauling me on top of him once more. I stretched out, sliding a thigh between both of his and propping my head up on his chest. He was all warm skin and loose limbs, completely at ease, naked in bed with me .
It should have felt weird, considering how we’d spent the majority of our relationship over the years. But it wasn’t, and that had a little kernel of concern twisting in the back of my mind.
Something must have registered on my face because Brady gripped me tighter. “Stay. I can probably improve upon perfection if you give me an hour or so.”
I cleared the roughness from my throat. “Perfection, huh?”
He pinched my backside, making me laugh. “You know it was good, Mac. Fucking fantastic even. You’ll be thinking about me all day tomorrow.”
I felt like I’d swallowed a ping-pong ball, aware that he was probably right for more than one reason. I could detect that delicious soreness already, the stretch and awareness that only came from really good sex. I knew I’d feel him tomorrow. I’d probably be sexy sore for a couple of days. It had been a little while for me in the bedroom department, and Brady was definitely above average in size. And he knew what he was doing.
That knowledge made the uneasiness spread.
This was supposed to be the end of whatever this was so I could get out from under the weird attraction and move on with my life. I should not be thinking about tomorrow in any capacity where Brady Judd was concerned. Maybe I just needed to clean up and sleep on it. Take a shower and wash away the scent of him on my skin, his fingerprints on every inch of my body.
Brady turned so I was back on the mattress. Then he threw an arm across my middle and nuzzled his nose into my tangled hair.
I willed my breathing to slow as I stared up at the ceiling. This wasn’t part of the plan. Cuddling and tomorrow and the rising tide of panic radiating throughout my limbs. Sex was supposed to be the answer. It was supposed to get it out of my system, not make me want more.
I needed to get out of here. Clearly, my initial instinct to avoid Brady had been the right one. I’d let my hormones and my body take the reins, and look where it had gotten me. Snuggled up to a dirty-talking golden boy.
It didn’t take long. Soon, Brady’s deep, even breathing warmed the side of my neck. I counted to three hundred in my head and then carefully slid out from beneath his arm .
Standing by the bedside for a moment, I took in Brady’s ridiculously long body stretched diagonally across his king-size bed, sleeping soundly. Pressure behind my rib cage made me take a sudden step back, unwilling to consider the reason for it.
Then I grabbed the opposite corner of the duvet and draped it across him before I lost my nerve.
I looked around until I found my underwear. Next, I crept down the hallway, collecting articles of clothing as I went. When I was dressed and there was nothing left to do but retreat, I took one last look around the apartment, the comfortable, ultra-tidy place Brady called home.
Finally, I quietly shut the door, feeling like a coward and a liar all the same.
Brady
I knew she was gone before I even opened my eyes.
Rolling over beneath the edge of my comforter, I squinted at the clock on the bedside table. It was 2:48 a.m., and it seemed my brain wasn’t going to let me drift back to sleep tonight. It was awake and replaying the evening with Mac and how all the possible scenarios where she snuck out ended in disaster.
With a sigh, I got up and threw on some basketball shorts and a tee shirt. I’d shower in the morning. I wasn’t ready to scrub away what had happened. I wanted to hold on to the memory for a bit—it might be the only one I got.
Walking into the kitchen, I figured I could bake something to bring into work tomorrow. Cinnamon rolls seemed like a good option. They were high maintenance and needed time, and, well, I had plenty of that.
So I wiped down the counter while my mind recounted the way Mac had propped her feet on my shoulders and screamed her release. Then I mixed the dough and wondered where we went from here. Was she going to avoid me? Did she truly get me out of her system the way she’d wanted? Surely she felt it, how good we were together, how important this was, how right .
Mind wandering through the minefield of worst-case scenarios, I left the dough to rise and made myself some coffee. My eyes drifted to the empty spot on the refrigerator. Thank God I’d remembered to take down the mug shot. Now, though, I walked over to the drawer that held my dish towels and opened it, revealing the folded piece of paper. Smoothing it out, I popped it back onto the fridge, holding it in place with a magnet.
With my attention on my phone, I took a sip of coffee and pulled up the Chatter app. Nothing new from Mac and the Grandpappy’s account. Not that I’d expected there to be.
I scrolled for a while, distracting myself, before tapping the icon to create a new post in Chatter.
The optimistic side of me was having a hard time rationalizing the way Mac had left. I couldn’t find the silver lining or talk myself into a promising outcome. We’d had a good time tonight—a great time—from the asterisk date she didn’t want to the life-altering sex. I knew she couldn’t deny it, but she was stubborn enough to ignore it. Sex hadn’t changed anything for me. I still wanted her. But it might have changed things for Mac. And maybe not in the way I’d hoped.
@JuddsFamilyOrchard: @GrandpappysApples, I can still smell you on my skin, warm and sweet. I know your scent will fade, but I just want to hang on to it—and you—a little longer.
Then, I saved the draft and exited the app before I did something stupid.