20. Got Me Started #2
Broderick watches me from across the room, sipping a beer as he chats with Luca, who’s finally taken a seat—after I badgered him for twenty minutes about relaxing and letting me live a little. “I’m not in danger,” I had told him. “I’m just drunk, not dying.”
I dance wildly with Ava, our bodies loose and glittering with sweat, until I make my way back to Broderick, plopping myself directly onto his lap.
“Luca, are you gay?” I blurt, tipping my head toward him.
He raises a brow. “No. I am not.”
“Hmm.” I squint. “Then why didn’t you want fuck Riley? She’s so hot. And beautiful. And I miss her face,” I slur the words with a dramatic pout.
Luca just shakes his head—exasperated.
Broderick’s hand snakes over my mouth.
I cackle behind his palm.
“Okay,” he mutters. “You’re cut off. Water—now.”
Without warning, he stands and hoists me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of rice.
“Brody!” I squeal, kicking my feet in the air, smacking his ass. “I’ll make you my friend, Luca!” I call over his back. “I’m on a new friend-making journey! Living life and shit!”
Luca shakes his head, and I almost see the crack of a grin on his face.
Gotcha.
I hear Ava somewhere behind us, yell over the music, “You can fuck her in my room!”
“Woo!” I scream back, upside down.
Broderick pushes open one of the guest bedrooms in Ava’s penthouse with his foot and tosses me onto the massive bed like a carnival prize.
I land with a bounce, limbs sprawled, heart thumping in my ears.
“Now we’re talking,” I purr, rubbing my arms and thighs across the cool, high-thread-count sheets. They feel like silk against my overheated skin, soothing and sinful all at once.
Broderick walks over to the bedside table and grabs a bottle of water. He cracks it open, the cap clicking, the faint hiss of pressure releasing. He kneels beside the bed and pulls me upright with one strong arm.
“Drink,” he says, voice low.
I shake my head slowly, a wicked grin curving my lips. “Kiss me first.”
His brows lift. “Water first.”
“Kiss,” I whisper, leaning in.
“Water,” he repeats, tilting the bottle just out of reach.
“Kiss.”
He smirks, holding my stare. Then he takes a long sip from the bottle himself.
I don’t even have time to protest before he pushes me gently back onto the bed, his body sliding over mine, settling lazily between my thighs.
His weight presses me into the mattress—firm, solid, grounding—but his eyes are all spark and fire.
He leans down, mouth hovering just over mine.
I open for him, expecting his tongue—aching for it—but instead, a trickle of cool water pours from his mouth into mine, mingling with the faint taste of him. It’s shocking, refreshing, and impossibly hot. I swallow, gasping slightly.
“More.”
He takes another gulp and does it again—this time slower. The water spills past the corners of my lips, running down my chin, my neck. His hand slides to my throat, thumb gently smearing the moisture as he kisses the line of my jaw.
My hips lift involuntarily against his.
“You like that?” he asks, his voice a gravel scrape.
I nod, lips parted. “I like everything you do.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my chest. “Dangerous thing to say, baby.”
Then he kisses me—deeply—and I drink him in like he’s the only thing that could possibly quench my thirst.
“Fuck me now,” I demand, voice breathless and ragged.
Broderick presses his forehead to mine, his palm cradling the back of my neck.
“Not here, El,” he murmurs. “Not until you sober up a little.”
“Fucking tease,” I whimper, shoving him off. Frustration coils tight in my core. I grab the water bottle from the nightstand and down it in long gulps, the liquid sloshing uncomfortably in my stomach.
“Good girl,” he says softly as he stands.
He reaches for me, but I twist away, annoyance prickling under my skin.
“Let’s go,” I snap, shoving the half-empty bottle into his hand and sauntering out of the room, hips swaying with purpose.
When we return to the suite, Ava doesn’t miss a beat.
“Phew, that was quick,” she says, raising a knowing brow.
“Just friends,” Broderick replies coolly.
I can’t help the way it stings a little when he says it.
Ava throws back a shot of tequila and nods—barely—like she’s humoring him.
Broderick steps behind me, his warmth pressing into my back. His mouth lowers to the shell of my ear.
“Are you mad at me?” he murmurs, voice husky with concern.
He snakes an arm around my waist, gently turning me to face him.
“Baby,” he whispers.
I pout, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “You kissed me and wouldn’t fuck me,” I say, dragging the words like silk across his skin. “That’s against our rules.”
“Not when you’re this drunk, El.”
I roll my eyes and grab a slice of pizza, biting into it with a huff. Sober. He wants me sober. Fine.
He smiles at me then, and just like that, the anger dissolves. Those damn dimples are my undoing.
Always.
My eyes drift toward the balcony. The pool glimmers under the Vegas lights, steam rising from its surface into the cool desert night.
“I’ll forgive you,” I murmur, stepping closer, “if you do something with me.”
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, smiling. “What’s that?”
“Jump in the pool with me.” I grin. “That’s sure to sober me up.”
He snorts. “No way.”
“Chicken.”
“I’m not chicken.”
I start clucking—loudly—bawking like a lunatic walking backward toward the balcony, laughing as I peel my top off and toss it to the floor.
“Come on, think of how much fun we got up to the last time we were in a pool.”
His eyes darken. And there it is—that smile. That slow, wolfish grin that tells me he’s remembering exactly what I’m talking about.
“Good boy,” I purr.
He pulls his shirt off in one smooth, practiced motion—and the room erupts.
“Oh my God, did it just get hotter in here?” Ava whistles, already stripping her top off too.
Wolf-whistles, gasps, applause.
His torso is on full display, all chiseled muscle and that fucking V-line I love to drag my tongue along. Every inch of him carved and golden under the glow of the lights.
My body tightens with a mix of arousal and frustration. It’s almost painful.
Ava, Broderick and I stand at the edge of the pool, goosebumps prickle across my skin from the night air. Broderick’s eyes narrow on the water below.
“That water’s gonna be ice,” he mutters.
And suddenly I’m back in Sweden—lakeside with Alex. The memory cuts through me like a blade.
“It’s heated.” Ava’s voice yanks me back. “Okay, one, two—”
We never make it to three.
A pair of Ava’s bandmates rush us, laughing, and shove us in.
The water hits like a slap—sharp and electric—but then warm hands find me under the surface, pulling me close. Broderick’s mouth crashes against mine, and we kiss beneath the water, desire blooming between us. My fingers knot in his hair. His body presses to mine, hard and hungry.
We break the surface gasping.
“Woo!” Ava shouts as she swims to the edge.
I turn to Broderick, water streaming down my face, hair clinging to my skin.
“I’m sober,” I say, voice low and certain. “Take me back to my room—now.”
I need you to fuck the shadows of Alex away.
I wake to the warmth of him. Broderick fucked me so hard last night we passed out, tangled in sweat and sheets. He also, very conveniently, forgot to book himself a room—what with the last-minute decision to fly out and see me.
So. It was either sleep outside or in my bed, apparently.
It’s just sex. Still just sex.
Even though we keep breaking the rules.
“If I could wake up like this every—” he starts, voice thick with sleep.
I press a finger to his lips. “This isn’t happening again.”
He licks the tip, then pulls it into his mouth, biting down gently before sucking—slow and dirty.
A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, and I scowl at him, despite myself.
“You’re grumpy in the mornings.” He pouts, all mock innocence, and God help me, he looks unfairly cute when he’s being a menace.
“I’m a little hungover,” I grumble.
“Can I offer some morning sex for your pleasure?”
“My pussy is so fucking raw from last night, Brody.”
He barks out a laugh. “Well, can I kiss it better?”
“Maybe.”
I gasp as he slides down the bed, fingers hooking around my thighs. My hands claw at the sheets when his mouth finds me—and I’m melting beneath him all over again, aching pussy be damned.
He nestles between my thighs like he owns the space. My legs trembling as my heels dig into the thick muscle of his shoulders. His tongue circles, maddeningly slow.
“We broke the rules again,” I breathe, voice already unraveling.
He pauses just long enough to graze his teeth along the inside of my thigh—a light teasing scrape.
“Rules,” he murmurs, “are always open to negotiation.”
“Not this one,” I pant, though the words are already crumbling on my tongue. “Oh?” His breath fans hot across my skin. “Because Boston said otherwise. And Chicago? Your sister’s wedding.”
“That was a lapse in judgment,” I hiss, just before he flicks his tongue where I’m throbbing, wrenching a moan from deep in my chest.
“You keep fucking me so hard I pass out.”
“Which, for the record,” he says between strokes, “was a mutually beneficial outcome. High satisfaction rate. Zero complaints filed.”
Broderick chuckles, low and smug, and the sound vibrates through me. His mouth returns to work—deeper now—and I can feel him grinning against me like he’s got all the time in the world.
“I told you,” he murmurs in between each motion, “sleepovers are just efficient. All-night sex. Morning sex. One room, lower overhead.”
I try to glare down at him, try to find some last shred of indignation, but all that comes out is a broken whimper as his mouth clamps back onto my clit—lapping, licking, sucking me into oblivion.
“You—have to go—oh—fuck—Brody—”
After Broderick finishes me off like I’m his first meal of the day, we order room service—because, frankly, I can’t be bothered getting dressed, let alone venture outside to find food. My legs are still jelly.
We lounge on the sofa, lazy and sated, the sunlight spilling through the curtains.