9. Closer #3
“I’m going to have fun breaking you in,” he says, his hand tangling tighter in my hair, pulling my head back so I’m arching for him, taking him deeper.
“Not…if I break you first.”
He spanks me hard, and I scream, the heat radiating from my ass cheek almost sending me over the edge.
“Well, now you’re gonna take everything I give you,” he grunts.
And God, I do.
I spasm around him. “You’re so fucking tight, El—you’re gonna make me bust before I’ve had time to enjoy this perfect little cunt.”
My knees quiver, and the moan that escapes my lips is animalistic.
He pounds me so hard into the bed, I’m sure there will be an imprint left there. Every filthy word he whispers, every sharp slap of his hand, makes me moan louder than I want to admit.
My body trembles, gasping, falling apart for him.
“Brody—please—” I whimper, already teetering on the edge.
“Please what, baby?” He thrusts harder, deeper, grinding into that spot that makes me see stars.
“Don’t stop.” My nails clawing at the sheets.
“Oh, I’m not stopping until I get my fill of you.”
His hand slides between my thighs, rubbing tight, steady circles over my clit while he slams into me.
The sound of us echoes off the hotel walls—skin on skin, sharp, relentless. The neighbors can probably hear, but in this moment I don’t care.
My mind is scrambled, fucked into perfect submission by this beast of a man. When Broderick said he liked it rough, I had no idea, sex could be this. This primal. Carnal. Raw. In every sense.
The sensation builds inside me, unbearable as he drives into me, his skilled fingers rubbing me with ruthless precision.
“You’re so fucking wet—who knew you were a gusher.”
His words tip me over. Heat scorching my veins, ecstasy flooding every nerve.
“Brody—fuck…Broderick!”
Burying my head into the bed, muffling myself as my body shatters around him. My orgasm ripping through me, violent and consuming, leaving me trembling, gasping for air, my arousal streaming down my thighs.
Which splashes all over us with each thrust as he groans and grips my hips tighter using me to find his own release. Then with a final grind, he calls out my name, holding me steady, both of us falling apart together.
We lay there, breathless and wrecked, limbs tangled, skin damp.
Months of tension. Months of teasing, of skirting the edge until the dam finally broke. Relief courses through me, leaving me weightless, boneless—undone.
He rolls onto his back, dragging me with him. One arm locks tight around my waist, the other lifts to brush sweat-slick hair from my face. He kisses my temple—a gesture so tender it takes me aback, considering the absolute pounding he just unleashed on me.
“Now we’re even, sweetheart,” he mutters, pulling off the condom, tying it off, and tossing it toward the bin.
I laugh, still catching my breath, I turn to face him, curling closer until I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “For now. You broke the rules, though.”
He hums, not the least bit remorseful. “Which one?”
“No bed sex.”
“El,” he says, voice all mock innocence, “technically, it’s the hotel’s bed.”
“You still broke the rules.”
He grins, shameless. “And what can I do to make it up to you?”
I lift my head and look him dead in the eye. “I want you raw. No condom. I want to feel every fucking vein, every inch of you.”
His laugh punches out of him, cocky and incredulous.
I drag my nails lightly down his chest. “I want to feel your cum dripping out of me.”
He groans, loud.
“You trying to kill me?”
“I want you to come so deep I feel it when I wake up.”
He slaps my ass, fingers gripping after. A giggle rips through me. He makes me feel safe enough to share my filthiest fantasies.
His green eyes light up with mischief. “Keep talking like that and you’re gonna get it.”
“That’s the idea.” I smile against his chest. “I’m on the pill. So, give me what I want and fill me up.” I plant a kiss against his glistening skin.
“El—I have a short refractory period. I’ll fuck your pussy so raw. You’ll remember me with every step you take for a week.”
And true to his word, he’s hard again.
And I’m soaked, dripping, just waiting for him to make good on it.
Hours later, the room now smells like us.
Sex and sweat. The sheets are a mess—half off the bed, tangled around my ankle.
My thighs sticky where he’d come, and I don’t bother moving.
My muscles tender, sweet and spent, the kind of ache that comes from being used and teased and stretched and filled over and over again.
We hadn’t stopped.
We fucked, passing out, waking up and doing it again. Over and over, until my voice was hoarse from begging, laughing, moaning his name.
He had me bend in every which way.
Somewhere around 4 a.m., I’d dozed off facedown across his chest. Sometime after that, he drags me back on his cock, murmuring something filthy against my mouth. I’m not even sure if it was a dream or not.
But my body felt too used for it to be a lie. Months of pent-up emotions manifesting into a marathon fuck-fest.
Now the sun was bleeding golden through the hotel curtains, pale and unforgiving.
And we were still here. Still naked. Still wrapped around each other.
His arm heavy across my waist. His breath, slow and deep, tickles my neck. His chest rises and falls behind me. I could feel the exact place where we fit together, every inch that would make it hard to walk straight and even harder to think.
Shit.
My eyes fly open in a cold panic.
No bed sex.
No sleepovers.
The first rule. Gone. Obliterated. Swept right off the damn table and buried under a pile of orgasms and zero self-control.
“Brody,” I whisper, wriggling in his grip. “Wake up.”
He groans, thick and rough with sleep, tightening his hold like I’m a pillow he’s not ready to give up. “Mmmph. Don’t wanna.”
“Wake up,” I say again, firmer this time, elbowing his ribs lightly.
He groans louder.
“Jesus, woman.” Then he shifts behind me, his erection pressing lazily against my ass. “You’re insatiable.”
“That’s not why I’m waking you up.”
He kisses the back of my neck, lazy and smug. “Pity.”
“Broderick,” I say, turning to look at him. “We slept.”
One eye cracks open. “You say that like it’s a crime.”
“It is,” I hiss. “We broke the no sleepover rule.”
He stares at me for a beat. Then grins, dimples dancing on his cheeks. “Technically,” he says, stretching like a cat, “it wasn’t a sleepover. Just…an extended break. With our eyes closed. A technicality.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you,” he smirks, trailing his hand slowly down my back, pulling me into him, “are overthinking.”
It didn’t mean anything. Just one night. Just a broken rule. That was all.
It didn’t count if we were too tired to move. It didn’t count if we were tangled up and half-asleep.
I tell myself that as I lay there, beside him.
It didn’t count.