Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Avery
I woke up alone, the sheets still warm but Brody nowhere to be found. Great. So much for the morning sex I was hoping for.
I stumbled to the kitchen, hoping to catch a glimpse of Brody's abs while he made his usual protein shake. Again, no such luck.
Instead, I found a note scrawled on a Post-it: Had to take a call. Back later. - B
No “morning, sexy.” No stupid heart or winky face. Not even one of his signature dick doodles (just a guess, but it totally tracks). Just seven words that felt about as warm as week-old pizza.
By the time the front door opened half an hour later, I was a mess of jangled nerves and simmering frustration.
But Brody barely acknowledged me, his eyes glued to his phone.
“How'd the call go?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
“Fine,” he grunted, still hypnotized by his screen.
“So, what's the plan for today?” I tried again, faking enthusiasm. “Want to go bungee jumping? Rob a convenience store? Teach a llama to play the harmonica?”
He shrugged. Barely. “Thought we had a hike on the books.”
Apparently, talking to him at the moment was like trying to have a heart-to-heart with a particularly dense tree stump. Except the stump probably wouldn't keep checking its texts every two seconds.
Maybe some fresh air and exercise would snap Brody out of whatever funk he was in. Or at least give me something to focus on besides his sudden emotional constipation.
We set out mid-morning, even though the air was heavy with the promise of rain.
As the skies opened up and we drove through a storm that looked like God was having a temper tantrum, we still didn’t turn around. But I wasn’t going to be that girl who couldn’t handle a little rain.
Still, the quiet was killing me. My brain went into overdrive, cooking up a whole bunch of “what the hell is going on” scenarios.
Was I just another conquest? A one-and-done situation? Christ, it sure as hell hadn’t felt like that last night.
“You okay?” I asked, because if I didn't say something, I was going to lose it.
He let out a big sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, just… work stuff.”
“Work stuff? Brody, we're supposed to be a team here. If something's up?—”
“It's nothing,” he cut me off, trying to sound nice but clearly saying 'drop it.' “Just have to figure some things out.”
It felt like he was shutting me out, and it sucked. I wanted to push, but held off.
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound pouty. “But I'm here if you want to talk. We're in this together.”
Brody's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “I know,” he said after what felt like forever. “I just… need to think things through.”
Outside, the storm was going nuts. Mother Nature was clearly having a bad day too.
Brody pulled into a sad-looking gas station, and as he got out in the pouring rain, I watched him through the windshield, feeling like crap. How had we gone from hot and heavy to this awkward mess?
After he paid and came back toward the car, our eyes met for a sec, and I thought I saw a hint of the old Brody. But then it was gone, and I wondered if I was seeing things.
Maybe I needed to get my eyes checked. Or my heart.
“We should find somewhere to wait out the storm,” I said as he eased back inside, shaking water from his hair like a golden retriever.
“It’s fine,” he replied tersely. “We'll push through.”
I bit my lip, frustrated by his stubbornness. If his jaw clenched any harder, he'd need an emergency dentist appointment.
“Brody, it's not safe. We can't see more than a few feet in front of us. Unless you've suddenly developed x-ray vision, in which case, congrats on your new superpower.”
“I said we're fine, Avery,” his voice calm but forced, like he was talking to a toddler. “Just… let me handle this, okay? I didn't get where I am by letting a little rain stop me.”
“A little rain? I'm half expecting to see pairs of animals marching by.”
Several minutes later, the rain still lashed against the windshield as we crawled forward at the speed of a geriatric snail.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, my knuckles white from gripping the seat. “We should have waited it out.”
“Well, we didn't,” Brody snapped, his words sharp. “So unless you want to walk back to that gas station in this downpour, I suggest you stop complaining.”
That was it. I'd had enough. My patience, already stretched thin, snapped.
“What is your problem? You've been distant and moody all day. If you've got something to say to me, just say it!”
I could almost hear his teeth crying for mercy through the clench of that jaw.
“You want to know my problem? Fine. My problem is that I'm trying to balance my career, my followers' expectations, and whatever this thing is between us. It's like trying to juggle chainsaws.”
His words hit me, leaving me winded and reeling.
“Whatever this thing is between us? Should I start referring to myself as 'Brody's Inconvenient Baggage' in my bio from now on?”
Before Brody could respond with what I'm sure would have been an equally cutting remark, the car suddenly swerved. He cursed, fighting with the steering wheel as we fishtailed off the road.
My heart leapt into my throat as we spun, finally coming to a stop off the edge of the muddy shoulder. For a moment, we sat in stunned silence; the only sounds were the pounding of rain on the roof and our heavy breathing.
Without a word, we both got out to assess the damage, stepping into what felt like a monsoon.
Excellent. We'd managed to park our ride in nature's version of superglue.
As I followed his lead and shoved against the bumper, my shirt clinging to me, I caught Brody's gaze.
His eyes were all over me, and I suddenly wished I'd worn more than just a flimsy bralette under my shirt. The wet clothes were basically see-through, and Brody was clearly enjoying the show.
“See something you like?” I asked, trying to mask my breathlessness with sarcasm.
“Just admiring the view,” he shot back, his voice husky.
The tension between us shifted, morphing from anger to something equally intense but far more enticing. The air crackled, and I wasn't sure if it was from the storm or the way Brody was looking at me.
His eyes were doing that smoldering thing that made my insides feel like a marshmallow in a microwave—all gooey and on the verge of exploding.
But I did what I do best: I deflected with sarcasm.
“You think we can get back in the car now?” I asked. “Or do you want to stay out here and audition for the next Aquaman movie?”
He sighed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“Fine,” he said, opening the back door and motioning for me to go in first, probably so he could check out my ass.
As I climbed in, shimmying across the backseat like a wet seal, I felt a sudden surge of boldness. Or maybe it was insanity.
Either way, I decided to throw caution to the wind, turning to face him as he slid in beside me, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes like tiny crystals. Damn, even soaking wet he looked good enough to eat. Life is so unfair.
“You know,” I said, “there are other ways to warm up besides arguing.”
Brody's eyebrows shot up. “Are you propositioning me, Avery?”
I leaned in closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “That depends. Is it working?”
For a moment, the only sound was the patter of rain on the roof and our synchronized breathing.
Just when I thought I was about to be awarded the “Most Awkward Human” trophy, he pulled me close, capturing my lips in a kiss that felt like coming home after a long, exhausting journey.
Hands were everywhere, and we fought to find a position that would work, but the car was cramped. Too cramped.
Struggling, Brody tried to climb onto his knees on the floor of the car, but it was no good.
“Maybe you can slide between the front seats and drape your back over the center console?”
I raised an eyebrow, impressed by his problem-solving skills. “Wow, who knew you were a car sex logistics expert? Did you take some kind of fancy engineering class or something?”
He smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Nah, it's all self-taught. Now, are you going to keep sassing me, or are we going to make the most of this impromptu car wash?”
I pretended to consider for a moment before grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer.
“Less talking, more action, Mr. Hawkins. Show me what else you've self-taught.”
I flipped off my shoes and slid backward, finally managing to wedge myself between the seats, relaxing against the console.
My feet were propped on the back seat on either side of Brody, legs spread like a subtle invitation. Except it was about as subtle as a neon sign flashing “Open for Business.”
As I lay all the way back and got comfortable, my chest, now on full display, I looked like I was auditioning for a wet t-shirt contest. My nipples were clearly excited about the turn of events, standing at full attention.
Brody's grin was so wide I thought his face might split in two.
“Well, hello there,” he said, addressing my chest with far more enthusiasm than he'd shown all day.
In one swift move, he shoved my shirt and bra up, exposing my girls to the chilly air, his hands wasting no time in getting reacquainted.
I moaned, and my nipples, already hard as hell, somehow managed to harden even more. At this rate, they'd be able to drill through concrete by morning.
“Well, I think we've found something else my little Spark likes,” he said, his voice teasing.
“Uh-huh,” I moaned eloquently, my vocabulary suddenly reduced to caveman levels. Shakespeare, I was not. More like “Og like when Brody touch boobs.”
Sadly, those magic hands of his abandoned my chest, leaving me feeling like a junkie in withdrawal. I was forced to take matters into my own hands—literally. My fingers found my nipples, tugging gently at first, then harder as the moment overtook me.
I was putting on quite the show, and judging by Brody's slack-jawed expression, he was enjoying every second of it.
“Christ, woman,” he groaned, his eyes filled with desire. “You're killing me here.”
I smirked, feeling a surge of power. “What's the matter? Can't handle the heat?”
“Fuck,” he said as, thankfully, those magic hands of his moved quickly on to greener pastures, apparently on a mission to render me naked.
He tugged at my pants and underwear with the determination of a dog with a chew toy. But my wet jeans, those treacherous bastards, clung to me like a second skin, refusing to budge.
“Jesus, Spark,” he grunted, yanking harder. “Did you spray these on this morning?”
I propped myself up on my elbows, watching his struggle with amusement. “Having trouble there, Adventure Guy? Need me to call for backup?”
He shot me a look that was half exasperation, half arousal. “You're not helping.”
“On the contrary,” I smirked, “I'm providing moral support. And a show.” I wiggled my breasts, giving them another solid tweak for emphasis.
Needless to say, he tugged on those jeans even harder.
“Victory!” he finally said, holding the jeans up like a hard-won trophy.
I couldn't help but laugh. “Congratulations, you've conquered the evil pants. Your medal's in the mail.”
He tossed the offending denim aside with a dramatic flourish. “I think I'd prefer a more… immediate reward.”
Before I could come up with a suitably snarky response, he leaned forward and buried his face between my legs like a man on a mission.
And holy mother of all that's holy, what a mission it was. I cried out and leaned back again as he sucked my clit hard, his tongue flicking against it with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker.
My hands found their way to my breasts again. I tugged and pinched, each touch sending jolts of electricity straight to where Brody's mouth was working its magic. It was like closing a circuit, the pleasure looping from my breasts to my core and back again.
He looked up for a moment. “Fuck, that's hot,” he growled, then dove back in like a champ.
“Well,” I said, my breath hitching. “I figured since you're handling the lower half so well, I might as well take care of upper management.”
He chuckled against me, the vibrations sending new waves of pleasure through my body.
“Always with the snappy comebacks. Let's see if I can short-circuit that smart mouth of yours.”
He doubled his efforts, his tongue working magic that would have David Copperfield taking notes. I was half convinced he was going to make my lady bits disappear and reappear in Vegas.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper. “I'm going to come. Like, right now. Brace for impact.”
He increased his pace, his tongue working faster and harder against my clit.
My hips bucked involuntarily, and just as I thought I couldn't take any more, that I might actually combust from the sheer pleasure of it all, he sucked my clit into his mouth and fluttered his tongue against it.
That was it. Game over. Thanks for playing.
I came with the force of a thousand supernovas. Stars exploded behind my eyelids, and for a moment, I swear I saw the face of a deity. Or maybe it was just Brody's extremely self-satisfied grin. At that point, same difference.
I cried out as the orgasm washed over me, my body shaking with the intensity of it. Like being hit by a tidal wave, if that tidal wave was also electric and made of fireworks.
Brody, bless him, continued to lick and suck at me until I was spent, my body limp against the console like a wet noodle.
He finally looked up, grinning at me with a satisfied look on his face that was part smug, part awe.
I was still trying to remember how to form words, my brain a puddle of post-orgasmic goo. “I… think I need a minute before I can move,” I finally managed to say.
He laughed as he planted a kiss on my inner thigh. “Who said anything about moving? I'm perfectly happy right where I am,” he said, taking another good long look at my wet center like he was memorizing it for future reference. “Goddamn, that's a pretty pussy.”
As I lay there, basking in the sex glow, the aftershocks of my orgasm still rippling through me, Brody's hands eased up and played with my nipples gently, and I was perfectly content to let him have his turn. After all, fair’s fair.
As my breathing slowed from 'just ran from a bear' to 'mildly winded', I noticed the rain had let up.
But apparently, Brody's desire hadn't gotten the memo about the calm after the storm.
He removed his hands from my breasts (sad face) and suddenly tugged down his pants and underwear like a man possessed, giving himself a few long, insistent strokes (hello, not so sad face).
I perked up, easing onto my elbows to enjoy the view. He grinned when he caught me watching but slowed his strokes.
“Please, don't stop on my account,” I said, nodding for him to continue. “I want to see how you like it. Consider it an educational experience. I'm always eager to learn.”
“Fuck,” was all he said as he amped up his speed, all rough and fast and fucking hot.
As he worked himself, my body started to get that old familiar tingle, like a low-voltage current running just under my skin. I found myself inching closer, my lady parts drawn to him like a moth to a particularly sexy flame.
As I neared, he let go of himself and grabbed my hips with a growl, impaling me on him like the world's most blissful skewer.
We smashed together hard and fast, desperate for that blissful moment we both knew was right around the corner. It was like a race to the finish line, but one where everybody wins.
Our bodies moved together—a symphony of moans, gasps, and the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, into pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
And then we came together, crying out in unison, our bodies shuddering.
As the waves of pleasure washed over us, we clung to each other, our bodies trembling with aftershocks. Droplets pattered against the roof, creating a soothing rhythm that matched our slowly steadying heartbeats.
We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, limbs intertwined, breath mingling, as we gradually floated back down to earth.
The fog on the windows cocooned us in our own little world, separate from the storm raging outside. Brody's warmth enveloped me, his strong arms still wrapped around my waist, anchoring me to the perfect moment.
Eventually, reality started to creep back in and we fumbled around for our clothes, attempting to redress in the confined space of the car—not an easy task with still-damp clothes.
Once I was dressed—or at least covered enough to avoid arrest—I reached for my phone, needing a distraction from my swirling thoughts and the dangerous warmth blooming in my chest.
There was an email from Rebecca, and as I read it, my bliss evaporated like steam. She was not happy with my progress, claiming that from what she was seeing online, this whole thing had become the Brody Hawkins show.
Apparently, I was playing the role of wallflower in my own career, and I needed to get my head in the game and deliver her another story.
Fuck.
As the storm outside passed, its final rumbles fading into the distance, I realized the one in my heart raged on. The worst part was, she had a point. This whole thing was supposed to be about furthering my career, not moving it backward even more.
I glanced at Brody, who had dozed off, looking adorable with his tousled hair and peaceful expression.
Mr. Social Media Star, always in control of the narrative, always calling the shots. Maybe it was time he got a taste of his own medicine—see how he liked being the one left wondering, for once. The thought sparked something rebellious in my chest, a little thrill of power that helped steady my racing heart.
I made myself a promise right then and there. No more of this nonsense.
I could enjoy him with my body, I told myself firmly, but beyond that, I needed to keep my feelings in check.
This was temporary, after all. Just a job and a family favor. Nothing more. And if I happened to throw him off balance along the way? Well, that was just good journalism, wasn't it?