25. Tejano Blue #2
Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Time no longer exists.
After we’ve recovered our senses, I shower first. By the time I’m dressed, he’s still in there, so I busy myself in the kitchen—my version of post-orgasm aftercare. I’m still floating a little, but the domesticity helps anchor me.
Broderick walks out of the hallway—shirtless, damp-haired, wearing nothing but khaki-green sweats that hang way too low on his hips. They’re thin enough that I can see the outline of his perfect cock.
My thighs clench, still tender, a slow pulse already returning between my legs.
I’m addicted.
He stops, cocking his head at the sight of me crouched on the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, amused.
“Picking up the casualties.” I grin, holding up a button between two fingers. “Your shirt didn’t make it.”
He stares at me for a beat, then lets out a soft laugh. “Rest in peace to Giorgio Armani.”
“We hardly knew thee.”
In two steps, he’s beside me—scooping me up off the floor.
“Broderick!” I squeal, arms looping around his neck.
He just smirks, striding toward the couch with me. He drops onto the cushions with me still in his lap, one arm tucked around my waist.
I curl into him, still warm from the shower, hair damp, heart light.
We sit like that for a few seconds—breath syncing. That sweet, quiet beat between chaos and confession.
He breaks the silence first.
“So,” he says, voice casual but eyes sharp. “You never answered me.”
“About what?”
He leans in, noses against my temple. “Did you like it?”
I know what he means.
Heat rushes back into my cheeks, all the way to my ears. I nod once, small.
“Yes.”
His grin spreads slowly, full of cocky satisfaction. “I knew it.”
I swat his chest, but he catches my wrist, brings it to his mouth, and kisses the inside.
“Your ass was begging for it,” he says, voice low and wicked. “Perfect. Pink. Winking up at me—begging to be filled.”
“Broderick,” I groan, hiding my face in his neck. “Please never say winking and my ass in the same sentence ever again.”
He just laughs, his hand sliding lazily over my thigh.
Then, quieter, “Why’d you come over?”
That stalls me.
I pull back slightly, looking up at him.
“I was horny.”
I missed you.
He laughs so hard his chest rumbles.
“How was Atlanta?” he asks, shaking his head.
“It was okay.”
It was awful.
He tilts his head, like he caught me in a lie—which he has.
“I saw the videos online—you were amazing, as always. I loved the Christmas-themed design of the stage. That was new.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, staring at my hands, remembering Atlanta, not for the high it was but seeing him—I hated that he tainted that experience for me.
“Did something happen?” he asks, his tone softer now.
I shake my head
“El—talk to me.”
“I’m just tired…it’s okay,” I sigh, I don’t want to bring him up, even breathe word of his name after Broderick all but erased him from my mind.
Something shifts in his face—just a flicker. A seriousness under all the teasing. His fingers flex lightly around my hip.
“You want to know what I think?” He smirks.
I nod.
“I think you missed me.”
My breath catches.
“Say it.”
I shake my head, pouting my lips at him.
“Breaking and entering. Stalking. Obsession.” He stretches. “You definitely missed me.”
“I know your code. Technically, that makes this extremely consensual trespassing.”
He still doesn’t let up. Just stares at me with that open, raw look—inviting something deeper, begging me to say it. But I don’t want to. Admitting that I missed him means admitting that perhaps there’s more here—and we’re already dancing, painfully fucking close to that line.
I pivot.
Point toward the rooftop patio. “Do you ever use the hot tub?”
He exhales through his nose. “Nice dodge.”
I shrug, fingers slipping along the edge of his waistband. “Take me in there, and maybe I’ll give you the answer.”
He raises a brow. “A confession?”
“A moan,” I say, tilting my head.
He groans and stands, tugging me up with him. “Hot tub it is.”
The second he opens the rooftop door, cold air slices through us—sharp and biting against damp skin. I shiver instantly, already regretting the decision. He’s shirtless. I’m wearing nothing but another stolen shirt from his closet.
“You first,” he teases, already shivering.
“Together on one,” I shoot back, the chill tightening my nipples beneath the thin cotton.
He nods. “Okay.”
“Three...two...one.”
I dash across the freezing stone, feet numb, wind whipping through my damp hair. I yank off the shirt mid-run, then lower myself into the water with a gasp.
Heat blooms across my skin. I moan, letting it spread through me.
I look up.
He’s still inside. Watching.
That scoundrel.
“Are you serious?” I yell, dipping until the water is up to my collarbone.
He chuckles, finally sauntering out. “Damn, sweetheart. That was quite the show.”
It hits me—I’m completely naked.
“You ass.”
He grins.
I stare up at him from the tub, caught somewhere between flustered and aroused. God, I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing his body all carved muscle and mischief, abs tight, chest broad. His cock’s already hardening, totally unfazed by the cold.
My mouth goes dry.
He steps over the edge and sinks into the water slowly, goosebumps chasing across his skin before the heat swallows him whole.
He moans too as the heat of the water works its way into every sore, spent muscle.
We sit in silence across from each other, the jets buzzing softly beneath us. Steam curls around our shoulders, mist rising in lazy swirls. His hand slips under the surface and finds mine. Our fingers lace together.
Still, we don’t speak.
Then, without warning, he yanks my arm, pulling me across the water, tucking me into his side.
The cold still clings to our hair, but everything else melts away.
“So,” he murmurs against my temple. “Did you miss me?”
I close my eyes, rest my head on his shoulder.
“Maybe.”
The water sloshes softly as I shift beside him, my legs float up, brushing his under the surface. His arm rests behind me, fingers trailing lightly along my shoulder.
He glances down at me, eyes soft but steady. “Why won’t you be honest with me?”
I shrug. “Because teasing you is half the fun—and I only tease pretty boys.”
He barks a laugh.
I sigh. “Because you’re really fucking important to me. And I don’t even think I’m ready to be honest with myself.”
Not after everything. Not after my heart was hurt and is only now starting to be pieced back together.