25. Tejano Blue
Tejano Blue
For all the times he’s shown up for me, it’s time I return the favor. Broderick’s due back in a few hours—I’ve been tracking his flight on my phone. It baffles me that, as a billionaire, he still prefers to fly commercial. It’s endearing, really.
For all his grandeur, his size, his wealth, he’s never felt intimidating. I’ve never felt safer than I do in the warmth of his sunshine.
The second I step inside his penthouse, his familiar scent wraps around me—masculine, woodsy, a hint of cedar.
I love this place.
Heading to the kitchen, I flick the lights on the way and drop my bag and the groceries I grabbed on the way on the counter, knowing Broderick rarely keeps a stocked kitchen.
It’s a beautiful kitchen—a shame it hardly gets used. But tonight, I’m going to change that. Do something stupid and romantic to show him how much I appreciate him.
He told me nothing was sexier than a woman who knows how to cook—and honestly, there’s nothing sexier than watching him eat.
Shrugging my coat off, I place it in the closet—I’m wearing a red lace lingerie set with the red-bottom heels he liked so much.
I pour myself a glass of wine before heading to his bedroom, walking past his magical Transformers BDSM bed and head to his ample walk-in closet, stocked to the brim with tailored suits, designer shoes, belts and his exquisite collection of watches. The man has taste.
Though I’d imagine having not grown up with much, it was a small way he liked to distance himself from his past by enjoying the finer things his success affords him, without excess.
It’s another thing I admire about him.
I select one of his white button-up shirts—putting it on, leaving it unbuttoned just enough to see what’s underneath; the hem brushing the tops of my thighs—it looks more like a dress than a shirt on me.
I roll up the sleeves that swallow my arms, and head back to the kitchen, kicking off my heels and begin preparing a meal fit for a king—mashed potatoes, wagyu steak, garlic buttered greens.
He said homemade sandwiches would be perfect—but he deserves something heartier.
He deserves to come home to the warmth of a home-cooked meal filling the air. To make him feel cared for. Wanted. Special. He wouldn’t let me take care of him when he was sick, so I want to make up for it and…
To soothe the burn Alex left behind in Atlanta.
I hear the elevator ding just as I place the finishing touches on dinner.
Scurrying over, I slip my heels back on, one at a time, steadying myself with the edge of the counter. The clack of them against the tile makes me feel taller. Sexier. More confident.
I fluff my hair out and smooth down the front of his shirt and step out from the kitchen. I lean against the counter, wine in hand.
Let him walk in and find me like this.
I can’t help but feel smug at how Alex would react if he could see me now.
He’d be furious and it made me feel brave—I had you first.
Not anymore.
My heart hums in my chest.
The thought of driving Broderick wild with lust makes my thighs clench with anticipation.
Did I mean nothing to you?
I shake Alex’s words away as Broderick steps into the open living space, suitcase in one hand, phone in the other. He looks tired—rumpled from the flight, jaw dusted in scruff, his collar loose.
Then he looks up.
Stops in his tracks, eyes dragging over me—bare legs, red lace, his shirt hanging open just enough to tease the edge of my breasts.
The door slams shut behind him, but he doesn’t move.
“Elena,” he says, low and rough with travel.
I tilt my head, lips curling. “Welcome home, handsome.”
He doesn’t speak. Just stares—as if I’m a mirage.
“You’re just in time,” I say, nodding toward the table. “Dinner’s ready.”
He blinks, finally scanning the space before his eyes fall back on mine, softening at the edges.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I smile turning to pour him a glass of wine. “I hope not—I worked hard on dinner.” Throwing him a glance over my shoulder.
He drops his bag to the floor with a thud. Crossing the space between us in three long strides. His hands grip my hips, hard, pulling me flush against him.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“Welcome home, handsome.”
He kisses me—rough, like he’s been starving for me. Like I’m the only thing that can bring him back to life.
When really it’s him keeping me alive.
I moan into his mouth, letting him take and take until he evaporates any remaining trace of Alex.
“Damn, baby,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “It makes it a lot nicer to come home when you’re here waiting for me.”
When the work’s all said and done, Broderick, who do you come home to?
Andrew’s words echo in my mind.
I pull him in, desperate to feel his lips on mine again. The way his stubble tickles my skin, his tongue caressing me gently.
The stove ticks softly behind us. Dinner’s still hot.
But his mouth is already moving down my neck, and I’m not sure either of us will make it to the table.
“Let’s eat,” he growls, then turns me around and spanks me. Hard.
I yelp.
For a second, I don’t know if he means me or the food.
He demolishes his meal like he hasn’t eaten in days, moaning low at the garlic greens, licking the mashed potatoes clean off his plate. I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips as I watch him savor every bite.
“Damn, sweetheart,” he says, leaning back, rubbing his stomach. “I could get used to this.”
“Good, I like taking care of you.” I stand starting to clear the table.
“What did I do to deserve this?”
I shrug, a little shy. “Because you’re kind of special to me.” Resting my hands over his shoulders.
He moans softly at my touch, moving down over his chest before he pulls me into his lap.
“Am I?”
His eyes travel from my face down my neck, locking on the lace barely visible under my shirt. I shift on his lap, rubbing against his growing bulge.
“Yes, my very special sex friend,” I tease.
He groans, face pressing into my chest, growling low against my skin. The warmth of it ripples through me, the sound vibrating straight down my spine. I shift, roll my hips just enough to feel him—hard and ready, thick against the lace.
“I think my pussy wants you,” I whisper into his ear. “But…” I drag the word out, slipping off his lap slowly, grinding all the way down as I stand. “I should get this cleaned up.”
I turn toward the kitchen, hips swaying, giving him a full view.
He lets out a satisfied hum, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s trying to behave.
I take a step.
Then another.
He lunges to grab me.
I dodge him, laughing, heels clicking as I dart around the kitchen island.
“You fucking tease,” he growls, voice darker now, deeper.
“If you want me,” I spin to face him, lick my lips, and back up slowly, “you’re gonna have to get me.”
He smirks—feral, full of heat. And then, he’s after me.
I squeal, try to circle around again, but he’s faster. He catches me around the waist, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and slams me—gently but firmly—against the kitchen island.
Before I can catch my breath, he yanks open the shirt I’m wearing—buttons popping, fabric hitting the floor.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to the cool marble, running his hand down my body before flipping me over so my ass is on full display.
“You’ve been a very, very naughty girl,” he mutters, dragging the lace of my panties down in one slow pull.
I whimper, my cheek pressing against the countertop, breath fogging the polished surface. My thighs tremble.
Then—
Smack.
A sharp, stinging slap to my ass.
I whimper. Heat surges.
Another.
Smack.
My body jolts forward. I’m panting now, pleasure curling tight in my core.
Smack.
Harder. Desperate moans crack out of me.
He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Keep teasing me like that, and I’ll fuck this ass ragged.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I grunt back.
He stills behind me, letting the tension hang for a beat.
“You’re sassy tonight.”
I swallow hard. My body says yes before I do.
A hunger clenches inside me—molten and reckless.
“I own this ass,” he growls, spanking me again—lower this time. My thighs tingle.
Stars. I’m seeing stars.
“I need to hear it, baby,” he rasps. “Say yes.”
I force my lips to move. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, you own my ass.”
I feel him line up behind me, his cock sliding through my slick pussy, teasing me with that unbearable pleasure.
Broderick sucks on his thumb. I catch the motion from the corner of my eye, and the sight alone makes me wetter.
He slides into me, filling me in one slow, aching thrust—thick and deep, his cock dragging against every nerve ending.
My mouth falls open.
He presses his thumb over the entrance of my ass, before pushing it inside.
I cry out, fingers scrambling against the countertop.
“How’s that?” His voice is raw, guttural. Strained.
“Good,” I gasp. “It’s so good.”
Broderick pulls out of me slowly, groaning as he does it, almost trembling with restraint, his thumb still firmly in place.
He slams back inside me.
I scream.
My hands grip the edge of the counter, my body bowing under the weight of him. He slams into me again—harder, deeper.
He fucks me like he owns me. Like I’m his to punish and please in equal measure. His thumb twitches inside my ass with every movement, and I lose track of everything but the feeling of being held open, filled, wrecked, by him.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he growls as he pounds greedily into me, burying his thick cock into my pussy, filling and stretching me out.
“Broderick—it’s…oh—God,” I cry through every thrust.
God help the next man who tries—he’ll never get past the front door.
And I take all of it—every inch, every spank, every growl against my ear—moaning his name like a prayer.
Post orgasm, I’m draped over the kitchen island, gasping, his hands still gripping my hips. My legs shake as sweat cools on my back, his chest pressed to me, his heart hammering hard against my spine.
“You take me so well, baby,” he says, breathless. “Did you like that?”
I don’t answer—my voice gone from crying out his name.