Chapter 33 #2
I gasp and heave as the orgasm tears through me, pressing my face into the bedding and screaming when Brody’s hand wraps around my cock and strokes me with each thrust, intensifying the sensations ripping me at the seams.
I’m a shaking, shuddering, overstimulated pile of nerves when Brody warns me he’s close.
“Oh, fuck. I’m going to—” He groans. “I’m com—Holy Fuck, I’m coming inside you. You’re mine, Becky, you’re so”—thrust—”fucking”—thrust—”mine.” He thrusts one last time, holding me against him and pulsing, rocking back and forth, until he collapses on top of me, heaving against my back.
Brody is shaking as he lifts himself up, forehead against the middle of my back, still panting.
“I’ve never done that before,” he says, his words coming out between huffs. “That was intense and I… Fuck, Becky, I love you.”
“I love you,” I echo, boneless and completely spent.
Brody pulls out of me slowly, pulsing the tip inside me a little before he pulls out entirely. I can feel the tickle of liquid spilling out of me. It’s an odd sensation and maybe not my favorite until I hear the hitch in Brody’s breath.
“Oh my God, that’s my—” I worry for a minute that Brody might pass out. He sounds drunk. I don’t know how else to describe it. Neither of us drinks, but we are drunk on this thing we just did. On the love between us. Drunk on his cum being inside me, trickling out. Cum drunk, I guess.
I must drift for a minute afterward, because the next thing I register is the weight of a warm washcloth and Brody’s soft voice telling me to stay put.
I do, boneless and dazed, while he cleans me up with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. He mutters something about letting him take care of me this time, and I don’t have it in me to argue, even though it’s still weird to let someone else wipe your butt.
By the time he’s done and tossed the washcloth back into the bathroom, I’ve managed to wiggle under the covers.
He slides in behind me, wrapping himself around my back, chest pressed to my spine, one arm heavy over my middle.
It feels strangely like crawling into his tiny full-size bed at home all over again, even with the king-sized mattress and high thread count sheets.
At some point, my hands find his face, thumbs brushing over the rasp of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as I trace the stubble there, then his bottom lip, fascinated by how different it feels. Rough and soft all at once.
“I like this,” I whisper when he opens his eyes again.
He huffs a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I drag my thumb along his cheek again. “Don’t shave it. Ever.”
“Bossy,” he mutters, but he looks stupidly pleased.
We lie there for a while, just breathing, the hotel’s heating system humming quietly in the background. I could fall asleep like this. Easily.
Which is exactly when he ruins it by moving away.
I make a protesting noise and grab for him blindly. “No,” I grumble. “Come back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. I hear him rummaging around on the nightstand. “I just forgot something.”
“Forgot what?” I ask suspiciously, rolling onto my back.
He climbs back into bed with a small rectangular box in his hand. It’s black, with a little gold bow crooked on one corner. He looks weirdly unsure as he settles cross-legged beside me, chewing his bottom lip.
“What’s that?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbows.
“I saw it at the mall,” he says, staring at the box instead of me. “I, uh, couldn’t resist. It felt like it was meant to be.”
My heart gives a heavy thud.
He holds it out. I sit up and take it, suddenly very awake, and slide the lid off.
Inside, nestled in cheap black velvet, is a chain. Silver-colored, probably stainless steel. A thin, slightly matte length of links that gleams softly in the low light. At each end is a small heart-shaped ring.
My breath catches.
“It’s not fancy. It’s not real silver or anything. But it’s—”
“It’s perfect.” My thumb moves over the metal, tracing the line of the chain, the curve of one little heart.
Brody shifts next to me, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. When I glance up, he’s watching my face like he’s waiting for a verdict that might kill him. And I’m overwhelmed with love over this small, sweet gesture.
I can’t seem to make my mouth work, so he gently takes the box back, lifts the chain free, and hooks the two heart rings together to form a loop.
Then, with ridiculous care, he leans in and slips it over my head.
The cool metal kisses the back of my neck and settles against my collarbones. The chain lies flat against my bare chest, catching the light. It looks almost delicate against my skin.
My fingers come up to touch it, to feel the weight of it sitting there, just above where his hand rested earlier when he wrapped it lightly around my throat.
I chuckle, full realization of what it is setting in. “You got me a collar.”
His mouth curves at the word, but there’s something soft and earnest behind the smirk. “It was your idea.”
I swallow. The chain tightens infinitesimally as my throat works, reminding me it’s there.
“Brody…” My chest feels too full. “I—”
He reaches out and takes one of the heart rings between his fingers, giving the chain the gentlest tug. It cinches just enough for me to feel it, not enough to hurt.
Heat floods me, fast and overwhelming, pooling low and heavy. Every nerve in my body stands at attention.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and fond, and a little wicked.
All the blood in my body rushes south at once.
“Your good girl,” I rasp, dizzy and stupidly happy and absurdly turned on all at the same time. My fingers curl around his wrist where it holds the chain. “Yours.”
He smiles, wide and bright and so full of love, it steals my breath.
“Mine,” he agrees, and leans in to kiss me again, the chain cool against my throat and his stubble rough against my lips.