Chapter 4 Hannah
FOUR
HANNAH
Brody’s mouth is heavenly.
His lips make me dizzy. Sparks of color burst behind my eyes with every swipe of his tongue, and I have to wrap my arms around his neck to anchor myself to him.
I’ve kissed a lot of people in my life, but it’s never been like this: all-consuming. Rough and possessive. Desperate.
A moan rattles out of me when I feel the strain of his hard cock through the denim of his jeans, and I need more.
“You’ve been taunting me all night with this goddamn skirt.” His palms slip under the leather and move up my legs. He runs his fingers over my thighs, pausing when he reaches my underwear. “I couldn’t look away from you.”
His hands move, pulling my—his—sweatshirt over my head and yanking down the front of my shirt, exposing my breasts. It’s the most determined I’ve ever seen someone to get my clothes off, and I feel wanted in a way I never have before.
“Is that why you were scowling at me?” I ask, a sigh stuck in my throat when he pinches my nipple. “You looked like you had a stick up your ass.”
Brody’s laugh is a rough exhale in the crook of my neck.
“I was trying not to imagine what your cunt felt like, but I couldn’t help it,” he says, pressing his lips to the line of my throat.
He sucks on my skin, leaving behind a mark.
When he pulls my hair free from its ponytail, he puts the ribbon holding it together somewhere I can’t see.
“Would you be tight? Would I have to work for it? Or would you take me so well because you’re as desperate for me as I am for you? ”
There’s not a rational thought left in my brain, and when he leans forward, biting the soft part of my breast, I swear I see stars.
“Take my skirt off and find out.”
“What do you want from this?” he asks.
I look down at him, finding flushed cheeks and messy hair. There’s a small drop of saliva on the corner of his lips. I wipe it away, mimicking his move from earlier, and the last fragments of my rationality splinter when Brody turns his head and sucks my finger into his mouth.
“You,” I blurt, adrenaline-fueled. My hands move to his chest. I try to memorize every divot, every hard slope of his body under my fingertips. I peel his shirt over his head, marveling at his sculpted physique. “Jesus Christ.”
“My name is Brody, sweetheart. Try to get it right next time.” He cups my cheek with the hint of a smile. “Tell me, Hannah. Was this your plan all along? Bag the coach, get him to reveal his deep, dark secret about his crush on you, and have some fun?”
“Fuck you,” I say, embarrassed when he shoves my skirt up my waist and traces his fingers over my underwear.
There’s a damp spot on the cotton already, and he groans when he finds it.
“My only plan was to attempt to be your friend, but from the way you were eye-fucking me all night, it seems like you’re the one with a plan.
You’re conflicted, aren’t you? You want me, but you’re trying to justify why you should stay away from me.
You think I’m too young.” I take his hands and pin them against the curve of the couch.
Mischief gleams behind his eyes. “Too off-limits.” His pulse jumps when I kiss his cheek, his throat.
“Guess what, Brody? I’m a woman who knows what she wants, and tonight, I want you. ”
“Where is your room?”
“Down the hall, but we can—”
Brody stands and lifts me in his arms. He carries me, each step purposeful as he opens the doors on his right and his left. I hide my giggle in his bare chest when he finds the bathroom and curses under his breath.
“It’s a goddamn maze in here.”
“Walk straight.” A full laugh bursts free when he tries the linen closet. “Straight, Brody.”
He finally opens the door to my room and stomps across the rug. He deposits me on the bed and steps back, a hand on his belt and his beautiful body bathed in moonlight.
“You should know something about me, Hannah.”
“What’s that?”
“I like to fuck my women where I can enjoy them.” His fingers work the zipper on his jeans, pulling down the fly before popping open the silver button keeping them on his hips. “Where I can eat them out until they come.”
My heart nearly flatlines when he steps out of his pants, leaving him in only a pair of gray briefs that show off strong legs honed from years of playing hockey.
Brody kneels on the edge of the mattress and crawls toward me. He eases me onto my back. Strokes his fingers across my stomach in the cruelest form of torture I’ve ever experienced. He bends, whispering, “Let me take care of you.”
“Beg,” I say, and his nostrils flare. He grips my knee, fingers digging into my skin. I lift my chin, realizing the power I have, and my mouth curls in a smile. “Show me how badly you want to take care of me, Brody. How attracted you are to me.”
“Please,” he croaks. He shoves a hand in his briefs, giving himself a slow stroke. The other palm moves higher, to the inside of my thigh. “I’ll make it so good for you. Let me get you out of my fucking head. I want—I need to make you come.”
“That was very good.” I grab his chin, my thumb dancing along his jaw. “Go ahead, Coach. Get me off.”
“Hannah.” My name is a rasp. The hand in his briefs moves faster, a sharp twist of his wrist. “Are you sure?”
I take off my shirt. Brody groans when I push my breasts together. “I’m practically naked. I’m wet. You tell me if you think I’m sure.”
“You’re so hot.” Some of his confidence wavers. He blows out a breath. “And your tits…” He tips his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Fuck. You’re making it very difficult to behave.”
“I think the point is to not behave. What if I do it first?” My hands move down my body, stopping at my skirt. His eyes are on me again, his pupils blown wide as he follows the path of my palms. “And you watched?”
Brody’s shoulders rise and fall when I bring my skirt over my thighs and take it off. He stops breathing altogether when I twist the waistband of my underwear around my fingers and wiggle the cotton down my hips. When I go to toss the piece of fabric on the floor, he puts a hand on my wrist.
“I want them,” he rasps, taking the underwear from me. He brings them to his nose, inhaling deeply before he runs his tongue along the inside seam. “You taste sweet as hell.”
“Yeah?” I tip my thighs open. My feet slide across the sheets so he has a perfect view between my legs, and Brody wraps the underwear around his wrist. “After you watch, you can have another taste.”
“Fuck,” he groans again, and I don’t think he’s capable of saying anything else. He inches toward me, cock still thick and hard in his briefs. “I want to see.”
I’ve never performed in front of an audience, but his desperation spurs me on. I push a finger inside myself, back arching off the bed at the stretch. “That feels so good,” I whisper, savoring the sensation settling low in my belly.
Brody moves at lightning speed, lying flat on his stomach. His eyes are level with the hand touching myself, attention unnerving while he watches me intently. “How many fingers does it take to get you off, Hannah?”
“Three of mine.” I gasp when I add a second finger, squirming on the sheets and chasing the high I’m craving. “I’d probably only need two of yours.”
“You’d take them so well, wouldn’t you? I’d get you warmed up. I’d make you come on my hand, then I’d fuck you nice and slow.”
Who would’ve thought Brody Saunders would be the most talkative when he’s half naked and in bed with a woman? Who knew the man who scowls more than he smiles would have a filthy mouth, narrating everything he wants to do to me?
It’s the best kind of surprise.
“I’ve never come from penetration.” I curl my fingers at the admission, hitting a spot that feels particularly delicious. “Only from foreplay. And never with a guy. Only with a woman.”
“Women are significantly smarter than men. But I’d be able to do it,” he says, and there’s a smugness behind it. Arrogance that’s extremely hot. “I could get you to come on my cock, and you’d thank me after.”
Hell.
His confidence is intoxicating, and I wonder if it’s because he’s the oldest person I’ve been with. There’s something so appealing in his assuredness. In fantasizing about the things he’d whisper in my ear while he plucked me apart until I was nothing but a mess of limbs and sweat and satisfaction.
“I would,” I tell him, bracing myself to add a third finger. When I do, Brody wraps his hand around my wrist. He guides me, and this might be the most intimate moment of my life. He can see everything, and his eyes spark with patient agony. “It would be so good with you.”
“Hannah,” he croaks, and it’s a plea. Like he’s begging me to put him out of his misery. He presses a hot kiss to my knee, the scruff of his beard burning my skin, and he grinds into the mattress. None of this feels real. “I want—”
“Yes.” I close my eyes, sinking into the exquisite pleasure that comes from touching myself and knowing exactly what it takes to have a mind-altering orgasm. There’s no faking. I can get there and rejoice, all while Brody watches. “Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”
He slows my movements. He’s gentle as he eases my hand away. I groan at the loss of contact, of feeling full and then empty, but he kisses my knee again. “Bring your legs to your chest. Hold yourself open for me. Let me touch you.”
My eyes flutter open. The authority in his voice makes me want to do anything he asks.
I’m practically panting, but there’s no time to wonder how I might look or sound because his broad chest is nudging my legs wider.
I watch with awe as he puts my feet on his shoulders and blows a warm puff of air against me.
With shaky hands, I reach between my legs and spread myself open. What follows is a string of crude expletives. A murmur of all the places he wants to put his tongue and another rut against the mattress.
Desire is written on his face when he places a large, warm palm on my stomach and uses his other hand to push a single finger inside me.
I gasp.
It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced. He gets to his second knuckle, and I’m groaning. Tightening around him, and he rumbles out my name.
“Okay?” he slurs. I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol he’s been sipping all night or the electric current buzzing between us, but I don’t care. Not when he presses a thumb to my clit and rubs a slow circle, the movement simultaneous with the easy way he fucks me. “Is that okay, Hannah?”
Brody brings his finger all the way out, then presses it back inside me. It’s quicker, more determined, and I can hear how wet I am. How needy I sound, and I almost lose it entirely when he spits on my pussy and wipes his saliva on me.
“No,” I say, and he stops immediately. He props himself up on an elbow before I’m pulling his hair. Urging his face lower, frantic as I give him a shove. “So fucking good. Don’t you dare stop.”
“You’re so pretty. Perfect tits. Perfect body and perfect strong legs.” He grinds his hips into the mattress, and I love that he’s not hiding his enthusiasm for me. I love that he’s enjoying this as much as I am even though I’m not touching him. “I’ve been dreaming about you for goddamn months.”
“Really?” He adds a second finger, the stretch just at the point of uncomfortable. I grip the sheets, reveling in how good he makes me feel. I’m on top of the world, and I never want to come down. “You should’ve done something about it.”
“It’s better this way. One time. I’ll get my fill of you, then I’ll walk away. I’ll get you out of my head.”
One time doesn’t seem like it could ever be enough, but I’m not going to argue. There’s no world where the two of us exist as something other than a mindless hookup in the dead of night no one will ever know about.
We’re too different. We live opposite lives, him with a career and a kid, and me seconds away from an existential crisis. We want different things, have different priorities, but tonight?
Tonight I’m going to enjoy the hell out of him.
“Brody. I need more. I’m close, but I—” I jolt forward when he puts his mouth on me, making circles with his tongue. “Yes. That. More of that, please.”
“Now who’s the one begging?” He nips at the underside of my thigh, then puts his mouth back on me. His tongue and fingers work in tandem to drive me wild, and I’ve never been this turned on before. “Look how wet you are. This isn’t going to take long, is it?”
It’s not, but I’m not ashamed of how my body responds to him. How can I be when Brody holds himself above me, long fingers sliding in and out? There’s a thumb on my clit. A whisper of how good I am, of how beautiful I look, and a rough kiss that tips me over the edge in a fit of pleasure.
“It’s too much.” I squeeze my eyes shut when the orgasm hits me, but Brody doesn’t relent. He keeps his fingers inside me, letting out the ghost of a groan when a second orgasm surprises me with trembling aftershocks. “I can’t. It’s—”
“Look at you grinding on my fingers because you’re so needy. No one’s taken care of you like this before, have they, Hannah?”
No, I think. No, they haven’t.
I’m thoroughly worn out. Perfectly sated, and it takes several minutes for me to calm down. My skin is sticky with sweat that Brody bends to lick away from between my breasts. His movements slow and he pulls his fingers out of me, running them along the inside of my thighs.
“Condoms are in the bedside table.” I gesture to the drawer on my left. My arm feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Not yet. Move up the bed,” he says. I squint and shift across the mattress, every movement grueling and exhausting. Brody pushes up on his knees and pulls his briefs down. “Open your mouth.”
I part my lips. He moves to me, a hand wrapped around his length while he gives himself a rough stroke. I whimper when he rests the head of his cock on my tongue, the taste of pre-cum greeting me.
I close my mouth and he rocks forward. I moan around his shaft and he puts a hand on the wall, grunting when I lick him from base to tip.
“What do I have to do to get you to fuck me, Brody?” I say when he pulls all the way out. “Tell you that you’re the best I’ve ever had?” I reach for his balls and cup them in my palm. He almost topples over, his groan echoing around us. I smirk. “Because you are.”