31. Circles
Circles
Imust’ve dozed off.
One minute I was warm, floating in the afterglow, my cheek pressed against Broderick’s shoulder…and the next, the car was slowing under the soft glow of street lamps. My building coming into view, familiar and surreal after the night we’d just had.
“Hey,” he says gently, thumb brushing over my knee. “We’re here.”
“You brought me home?”
“Just for a minute.”
I sit up, stretching, the seatbelt digging into my ribs. My skirt’s wrinkled. My heart still feels too full.
“What for?”
“Part two,” he says, eyes still on the road. “Go upstairs. Pack a bag. Something warm, hold the slutty.”
I chuckle. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
I squint at him. “Sometimes. It’s hard to tell with your face.”
He grins, completely unfazed. “Ten minutes. I’ll wait.”
I open the car door, then pause. “You’re not gonna tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Elena,” he says, leaning closer across the console. “Trust me.”
Something about the way he says it melts my resolve. Of course I trust him.
Upstairs, the apartment is dark except for the dim hallway light I always forget to turn off. I drop my purse on the counter, kick off my boots, and pull a duffel from the hall closet. Jeans. Sweater. Jacket. Toothbrush. Moisturizer. Socks. The essentials.
I’m halfway to the door when I catch the time on the oven clock.
12:01 a.m.
My fingers pause on the zipper.
It’s his birthday.
I dart back into my room, pull open the drawer beside my bed. I’ve had the gift for weeks—small, heavy, wrapped in matte-black paper. Something personal. Simple. Him.
I tuck it deep inside the duffel, zip it up, and sling the bag over my shoulder.
Back in his car and we’re headed towards his building. I spend most of the ride trying to pry out the details of the rest of our evening. To no success.
The elevator doors open directly into his penthouse.
Broderick drops my bag by the armchair and shrugs off his coat, letting it fall over the back. I follow, slower, coat still wrapped tight around me.
“You want something to drink?” he asks, already heading for the kitchen.
The same kitchen he had me bent over…
I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”
I watch him for a moment, silent. This night—this not-date—is more than perfect. It’s unforgettable. And somehow, I’m standing here with the man who made it happen.
What did I do to deserve this?
“Enjoying the view?” he asks, smirking.
“I am.”
I saunter over, and before I can say another word, he scoops me up. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist, my skirt riding up as his hands slide beneath, gripping my ass to hold me steady.
“Broderick—tonight was incredible,” I murmur against his ear. “Thank you.”
He chuckles, low and rough.
“Do you know how much you mean to me?” I ask, the words slipping out quieter than I mean them to—the feelings from New Year’s Eve, bubbling up to the surface.
His breath catches.
“How much?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“You mean the world to me.”
He laughs, a smile breaking through whatever just flickered across his face.
“You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday,” he teases. “Butterin’ me up for some birthday buffoonery.”
“Take me to bed and maybe I’ll give you some cake.”
His expression shifts—just slightly. Still amused. But darker. Intent.
“Okay, trouble,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “We’ve been edging each other all night.”
“Yes,” I breathe, already aching.
He carries me to the bedroom and drops me onto the mattress like a gift he plans to unwrap slowly. His eyes burn into mine as he pulls off my sweater, then my skirt. My bra’s gone with a flick of his wrist.
“We’re keeping these on,” he says, nodding at the black thigh-highs I still wear.
I lay there, breath ragged, body buzzing.
He crosses to the nightstand, pulls something from the drawer, and turns back to me.
“Your eyes, Elena,” he murmurs. “Are my undoing.”
Heat pulses low in my belly.
He slides the blindfold over my face—black silk, soft and cold against my skin.
“You trust me?” he asks, kneeling over me.
I nod.
“Words, Sweetheart.”
“Yes,” I say. “I trust you.”
“Good girl.” He growls the words into my ear, and heat flashes between my legs, my pussy clenching like it already knows what’s coming.
The blindfold settles over my eyes. Darkness blooms. The bed shifts. Leather rasps.
One by one, my wrists are pulled up and cuffed to the headboard. My chest rises, sharp and fast.
I can’t move. I’m at his mercy.
I can’t see him. I can only feel.
The graze of Broderick’s stubble brushes along my skin as his mouth skims down my neck, over my breasts, slow across my stomach. Teasing. Torturous. Making me squirm under him, helpless and hungry.
He goes lower.
Broderick hooks a thumb in the waistband of my lace panties and drags them down—the fabric pull across my skin, I feel the air hit me.
He hums in satisfaction.
For a beat, time stands still.
Then—
His tongue is hot, steady, unrelenting. Lips soft, fingers firm as he holds my thighs apart and devours me. His tongue strokes, circles, presses—like he’s listening to every gasp, every broken sound I make.
I arch into him, hips lifting, but he holds me down. His mouth locks to me.
Then he pulls back and blows across my soaked, swollen pussy.
A shudder rips through me.
“Oh, God,” I moan.
“Stay still,” he murmurs.
Just as I adjust to the chill—his mouth is on me again. Hot. Wet. Ruthless.
My thighs tremble, stomach flutters. My orgasm hovers, sharp and high and terrifyingly close.
Then, he stops.
I gasp, “No—”
He slides up my body, his mouth grazing my ear.
“Not yet.”
My skin prickles as he shifts on top of me.
“I want to fuck that smart mouth, baby.”
Oh my God.
“Let me taste you,” I whisper. The words leave me before I can stop them.
“You greedy girl.” He turns my head to the side and I feel the bed dip, I open my mouth, the thick head of his cock brushes my lip. I flick my tongue against the tip, it’s salty and warm.
“Open wider,” he says, squeezing my cheeks.
I obey.
He slides into my mouth, inch by inch, stretching me, filling me. I moan, loving the way he groans above me, hips rolling slow.
He holds my face, guiding the rhythm. My jaw aches, throat full, and I love it.
I gag.
“Fuck, Elena,” he growls.
He pulls out with a wet pop.
“I need to be inside you.”
“Who’s greedy now?” I ask, breathless.
“For you? Always.”
Broderick slides between my thighs, one hand resting on my breast, the other cupping my ass. He eases in slow—stretching me, filling me. My back arches, bound wrists pulling against the cuffs.
His hand brushes at the base of my neck with every thrust.
“Choke me.”
The words catch even me off guard—clearly, my late-night research has gone a little too far.
His body stills. “What?”
Oh well, down the rabbit hole we go.
“Choke me,” I repeat, breath shaky.
His cock throbs and I’m unsure if he heard me.
“Please?”
Broderick chuckles softly, before I feel his hands wrap around my throat, pressing down with enough pressure with the hand he’s got wrapped around my neck. My breath catches and my pulse skitters.
He pulls out his cock almost completely—then slams back in.
I cry out, overwhelmed by the stretch, his grip, the blindfold. Burying himself deeper. Every thrust hits like a wave crashing over my ribs.
“Take it,” he growls. “Take all of me.”
And I do.
Coming hard, breath caught, body breaking beneath him—every muscle twitching, heart fluttering nerves on fire. And somewhere between the last thrust and his name on my lips—
I drift.
Weightless.
As far as not-dates go—This was mind-blowing.
I wake to a hand on my hip and the whisper of my name. I think I’m still blindfolded—everything is black and warm. My limbs too heavy to move. Then I realize it’s the room. Still dark. Too early.
“Hey,” Broderick murmurs, voice low and rough with sleep. “Elena.”
I blink slowly, my body stiff, used, every muscle pleasantly sore.
“What time is it?” I rasp, voice barely working.
“Four.”
A beat passes.
“In the morning?” I groan, burying my face into the pillows.
I feel his breath on the back of my neck before he presses a kiss there—soft and unhurried.
“We’ve got a long drive.”
“I just fell asleep,” I mutter.
“You passed out after your fourth orgasm,” he says, amused. “That was hours ago.”
“Stop keeping score.”
He chuckles against my shoulder, fingers slipping beneath the blanket to rub slow circles into my hip.
“I let you sleep, didn’t I?”
“Barely.”
“You drooled.”
“I, what?”
“Just a little. It was cute.”
I finally turn toward him, squinting through the dark. The glow of the city below bleeds faint, silver through the windows, just enough to outline the sharp curve of his jaw, the bedhead, the way he’s smiling at me makes my chest flutter.
He kisses my forehead.
“You can sleep in the car,” he says. “Come on, baby. Let’s go chase the sunrise.”
And damn it, the way he says it—I almost don’t care what comes next.
Within the hour we’re dressed, I’ve popped his gift in my bag to give to him later if the opportunity presents itself.
In the car, the heater blasts against my shins, and I’m curled into the passenger seat with Broderick’s hoodie wrapped around me like a blanket. Even though I’ve got a sweater and coat on, it’s his hoodie that makes me feel safe. The CD from last night plays “Beyond” by Leon Bridges.
The streets are a mixture of people starting their day and ending their night. As we leave the city limits the traffic things with only the occasional truck passes in the opposite direction, headlights slicing through the dark.
“You okay?” he asks, hand steady on the wheel, eyes on the road.
“Cold,” I murmur. “And hungry.”
“We’ll fix that.”
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into a tiny roadside diner glowing like a beacon in the dark. It smells like burnt coffee and hashbrowns.
Inside, has cracked vinyl booths and condensation on the windows. A sleepy woman behind the counter pours us coffee without asking, like she used to the kind of people showed up in the early hours of the morning.