Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
brODIE
I wake with a start, my body on fire.
Flinging the comforter away, my hand lands on something soft. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Savannah’s ass, and a moment longer to compute why this isn’t my bed.
Then everything comes flooding back.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
I sit up, blinking sleep from my eyes. My head’s being split in two with a blunt ax. My mouth tastes like dogshit. A wave of nausea rocks through me.
Fuck it.
I catch sight of the water on the nightstand, along with two Advil. Thank Christ. Or Savannah. Or maybe both.
I grab the meds and swallow them down as my head rewinds how the hell I’ve ended up hungover and sweating pure whisky in Savannah’s tiny double.
Oh yeah. Dad. Or, more accurately, my response to Dad. Around the dinner table at Gram’s birthday. Holy fucking fuck.
“You’re awake.”
I look down with a start to find Savannah all cute and sleepy and gazing up at me.
“Only just.” I hold up the glass of water. “Guessing this was you. Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I might die. And not just from the hangover. I’m so sorry.”
“What for?”
“Turning up here totally wasted and completely disrupting your Sunday.”
She shuffles around in the bed and props herself next to me, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“You didn’t disrupt anything. Today was only ever about sleeping, so you just slept next to me.
” She smooths out the comforter over our legs.
“So, how come you got so drunk you were still loaded at eight in the morning?”
I tense against her, knowing I need to share but not wanting to spoil our cozy little cocoon by mentioning my dad.
“Did something happen with your dad last night?”
Guess he’s entered the conversation. I scrunch up my toes. “Yep.”
“What did he do?”
“Not so much what he did. That was standard. Offloading all his usual bullshit as if I deserve it.” I keep my eyes straight ahead. “It’s more about what I did.”
“You told him to shut the fuck up?”
“Kind of.”
“Brodie, that’s amazing.”
I slouch against the pillows. “Maybe. He pushed me too far and I erupted over the dinner table. Like, really erupted. It felt right at the time. I was strong and backed myself. But then I walked out, and all the years of having it ingrained that I’m a worthless piece of crap caught up with me…
” Water pools in my mouth like I’m going to puke.
I breathe through it. Slow. Purposeful. “By the time I got to the train, those were the thoughts seeping in, making me question what I’d just done.
Whether I’ve just cut myself off from my family for good.
Whether Dad will ever speak to me again.
Whether that even matters. And I didn’t know how to process any of it or shut it up, so I called you… ”
“You called me? I didn’t get a message.”
“I realized you were on shift. Didn’t want to bother you.”
“So you drank your weight in whisky instead?”
I nod and then ride out another twist in my gut.
Savannah takes my hand. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“What for?”
“You stood up to the bully. Maybe it will give him the shake-up he needs to realize he can’t treat you like this. Because he can’t. You’re worth more, Brodie. You deserve more. He should be proud that he has you for a son.”
I allow her words to filter through me. “Thank you. I knew you’d make it all better.”
She leans closer, taking my arm and hugging it over her shoulder so she can snuggle, her cheek pressed against my chest, her hand resting in my lap. “For the record, your dad’s an asshole and if I ever get the chance, I’ll be telling him.”
I allow a quiet chuckle. “I will happily support you in all missions to tell my dad he’s an asshole.”
“And I’m glad you came here so I could make it all better.”
I brush a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m glad I came here. And I’m also mortified that I turned up, drunk, with no advance warning. I’m literally sweating pure whisky.”
“You weren’t a bad drunk. You were actually kinda cute.”
“Cute? Jesus. What the hell did I do?” It’s a rhetorical question.
It doesn’t matter how much I drink, or how badly hungover I end up the next day, one thing I can guarantee—I always remember everything.
It’s both a blessing and a curse. Every drunken comment.
Every humiliating stumble. All my declarations of love.
I hold my breath, waiting to see how much she’ll share.
“Well…” Her fingers dance over my thighs. “You buzzed most of my neighbors to get your way into the building. You told me you came for a hug, and then declared on the stairwell that you love my boobs. And then… well, you passed out in my bed.”
I swallow. “Why do I get the feeling you’re missing out some of the details?”
“There’s no other details.”
“Really? I saw Nix too, right?”
“Oh, yeah. She let you in.” Savannah’s voice is overly breezy. The kind of breezy that says she knows exactly what she’s holding back.
I sip the rest of my water. “Well, if there was anything else I might have said when I was spinning out from too much whisky, I want you to know that I meant it. Every single word. It wasn’t the booze talking.”
She lets out the cutest little sigh, and despite my killer hangover, the sound connects directly to my heart and then zips straight to my groin. My cock twitches in my boxers and the movement draws her attention.
She tilts her head, eyeing me with her eyebrow raised.
“Sorry. You made a sexy sound. I can’t help what you do to me.”
“What, this sound?” She maintains eye contact and sighs again, this time laced with an extra layer of intent.
“Fucking hell, woman, you drive me crazy.” My head falls back against the wall as she palms me through the comforter, gently squeezing. I hiss out a response, my pelvis operating entirely independently.
“You always did get horny with a hangover.” She chuckles. “We should shower. Wash away the whisky fumes—it’s possible I’m slightly drunk from them too.” Pushing back the comforter, she jumps from the bed and stretches, arching her back and sticking out her ass.
She’s wearing the tiniest pale blue shorts and a little cami, clearly with nothing underneath.
The shorts are cut high and the top hugs at her breasts, her nipples straining against the fabric.
I’m aware my mouth has fallen open as I watch her little show, stretching, and flexing and teasing.
My hand finds its way under the comforter.
“Uh, uh, uh.” She waggles her finger at me. “No touching. That’s mine.” Pulling back the sheets, she removes my hand from where I’m holding myself and drags me from the bed. “I took care of you this morning; you need to take care of me this afternoon.”
I tug her close so her back is snug against me, my cock nestling between her butt cheeks. She wiggles, letting out another needy sigh, and I glide my hands around her waist and between her legs. She’s hot against my palm. “I’ll happily take care of you. Multiple times.”
She lets out another low moan and then pulls herself away. “Bathroom. Shower. Now.” Swinging open her door, she marches down the hall.
It’s the first sober view I’m getting of her home. I pad after her in my boxers, my erection straining against the fabric before remembering she doesn’t live alone. I dash to catch up. “What about Nix?”
“What about her? She’s not joining us.”
“No! I mean, what if she hears us? Is she in?”
Savannah shrugs. “No idea. Nix, you home?” She calls out the question all sing-songy.
I dart behind a pot plant to hide. “Jesus, I’m nearly naked. With a huge fucking hard-on.”
Savannah giggles. “You can bring the panic down a notch. Nix is at one of her crochet groups.”
“Crochet?”
“Uh-huh. Which means we have the whole place to ourselves for at least a couple more hours. Therefore I want you, and your huge hard-on, in that bathroom, making me come multiple times as noisily as possible. First with your hand, then your mouth, and then you’re going to fuck me from behind against the shower tiles. That all sound okay?”
I think I actually whimper. “Hell, yes.” I grab for her hand and snatch open the door we’re standing in front of. Inside is a compact, fairly dated bathroom, the bath opposite, a shower over it, and a clutter of dozens of toiletry bottles lining a shelf next to the sink. There’s no toilet.
“Uh, what if I need to pee first? I drank a lot of whisky.”
She sniggers. “Next door.”
I disappear, and when I return, the shower’s running and the bathroom’s clouded with steam. She grabs some toothpaste and squeezes it onto a toothbrush, handing it to me. “Brush while I pee.”
I grin. I fucking love that we’re not brand new. That our history together means although this feels fresh and so damn exciting, we’re also way past the realms of new relationship awkwardness.
I’m rinsing out my mouth as she returns.
She takes the brush from me, adding more toothpaste and sliding it into her mouth.
Never until this moment would I have said that brushing teeth could be erotic, but holy crap.
Sharing a brush feels like the most intimate thing in the world.
Her eyes don’t leave mine the entire time and I swear she’s doing a whole lot more with the toothbrush than cleaning her teeth.
It’s like she’s tasting me. Swallowing me.
I watch, spellbound, and as she continues to brush, she uses her spare hand to hook the straps of her top from her shoulders.
The silky fabric drifts lower, catching on her nipples, and she tugs it down, millimeter by millimeter, until her breasts are exposed.
She briefly toys with herself, brushing over her skin, and then averts her gaze from mine as she rinses out her mouth.
Putting the toothbrush away, she turns her back to me, places her fingers inside her top and the waistband of her shorts before sliding them down her legs. Her clothes pool at her feet and she moves back, giving her hips a wiggle as she steps into the shower.
Gulping in a quick breath, I whip my boxers away, joining her.
She looks up at me through the tumble of water.
I trace my hand from her neck, down between her breasts, over her taut stomach to between her legs. Multiple orgasms coming right up.
She gasps as I slide a finger into her, and then a second, stretching her, pressing against the spot inside that drives her wild as my thumb circles her clit. I use the lightest touch, barely grazing over her. I know exactly what she loves. And needs.
She bucks against me, tilting her hips, desperately seeking a deeper connection, but I remain slow, controlled. She may have dictated the location, and the method of orgasm, but I’m the one controlling things now. And I’m drawing out every moment so it floors her.
“Ah, fuck,” she groans. “Jesus, Brodie. I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” I hold her steady with my other arm, hot water pouring over us as I continue my relentless assault with my fingers. In and out. Swirling. Pressing deeply then feathering over her clit.
“Oh god, oh god. Ah… I’m so… I’m so fucking…” She thrashes against my hand, her hips rocking faster, her legs trembling.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I want you to come so fucking hard for me.”
“Arghh.” Her orgasm hits her like a freight train. She pulsates against me, her pussy contracting, pulling my fingers in deeper as her body sags.
I ride it through with her. Every shudder, every tremor, every sigh, and then I don’t waste any time, falling to my knees and replacing my hand with my tongue.