30. Been Waiting #3
He leads me toward one of those rigged carnival games—the kind no one ever wins. But Broderick does, obviously. Knocking over three grimy cans with one throw, smirks at me like he’s just solved world peace.
“What will you have?” the carnival operator asks.
Broderick glances down at me.
“That one,” I say pointing to the stuffed gorilla.
He pulls it off the hook with ease and hands me the prize without a word.
I hug it anyway, an excited giggle escapes me.
“Can’t believe you actually won.”
He leans in, voice low. “I’m very good with my hands.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
A shiver skates down my spine.
“You cold?” he asks.
“A little.” I place the stuffed gorilla on the bench and step into him, closing the space between us, arms snaking around his waist, sliding beneath his coat.
His body is all heat. Dense muscle. Familiar.
I press my face into his chest and inhale slow, like I can drag him into my bloodstream. His scent—dark and a little smoky—settles behind my ribs and stays there.
I ache to kiss him.
Not out of want.
Out of need.
And maybe he feels it too, because his arms tighten around me. His chin brushes the top of my head, his breath warm against my temple.
My heart kicks harder—wild, warning, wake up.
“Broderick,” I whisper, barely audible.
“Hmm?”
I look up.
His green eyes dazzle under the park lights.
His hand comes to my jaw—then slides, firm and sure, just beneath my ear, thumb resting along the hinge of my jaw, palm curling slightly around the side of my neck. His grip isn’t rough. But it isn’t light either. It anchors me.
And then he kisses me.
Fireworks. Real ones. Behind my eyes, across my skin. My knees nearly give. Everything in me snaps to life. His mouth moves slowly—kissing not to take, but to give.
Like he wants me to feel it.
And I do. Everywhere.
We’ve kissed before. Messy. Heated. Desperate.
But this—
This is quiet devastation. This should have always been our first kiss.
It feels like something shifting beneath the surface. Like it did on New Year’s Eve—something my heart’s known long before my mind ever caught up.
When we pull apart, the world doesn’t feel the same.
His thumb lingers against my jaw, still barely touching. My hands are still inside his coat. I haven’t moved.
Neither has he.
The kiss sits between us.
But neither of us says a word.
Broderick lets out a slow breath, forehead resting against mine for a beat.
“You good?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.”
He smiles like he doesn’t believe me, then nods toward the hulking shape ahead.
“Come on. Time to scream.”
I blink. “What?”
He tugs my hand. “Cyclone. Let’s go.”
My brain’s still tangled in that kiss, but my body follows. The metal groans under our feet as we climb the steps, the wind slicing across my flushed cheeks.
We slide into the car and pull the bar down. My legs barely work. I can still feel the press of his hand on my neck, the way his lips opened something I didn’t know I was guarding. My skin buzzes like I’ve swallowed live wire.
Broderick says nothing.
Just looks at me and grins.
“Still not scared?”
I can’t answer.
The park blinks in soft neon as we crawl up the first hill. The wind’s sharper here, slicing through the haze he’s left me in.
Click. Click. Click.
My heart hammers—not from fear, but from trying to hold the line between what’s safe and what I know I’m falling into.
I reach for his hand.
He glances at me. “What are you doing?”
I pull his hand to the bare strip of skin between my skirt and thigh-high socks.
“Making sure you’ve got something to hold on to,” I say, biting my lip.
“Elena,” he warns.
The second his fingers graze my thigh, his eyes darken.
“You want this? Here?” he asks. Like part of him is hoping I’ll say no.
“Yes. Please.”
And that’s it.
His resolve shatters—because this man lives to please me.
His grip tightens on my thighs, spreading them. His touch slides beneath the hem of my skirt—lazy, like he’s got all night.
Click. Click. Click.
We climb higher.
At the top, his fingers slip beneath my underwear.
And the world drops out.
The wind steals my breath—but not like his hands do. He moves slow at first, then more certain, stroking with the kind of precision that makes my vision blur. My back arches, my grip digging into his arm, but he just laughs—low, wicked, amused.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Enjoy the ride.”
The next hill comes. Click. Click. Click.
I gasp as his fingers curl, coaxing every nerve to attention. I clench around him, thighs shaking, and still he doesn’t stop.
We crest the next peak.
Then plunge.
He moves faster, deeper. My pussy drenches his fingers, the rush of the ride blurring with the friction, with the unbearable pressure building at my core. I’m nothing but sensation—his touch, the wind, the noise, the speed.
The whole world narrows to the place where he touches me.
By the time we screech to a stop, I’m trembling. Shaken. Breath ragged, thighs still parted.
Broderick leans back in his seat, smug as hell.
“Guess you were just in it for the screaming.”
I barely resist the urge to punch him.
Or kiss him again.
Maybe both.