11. American Money
American Money
Way too wired to go to bed, I rip off my dress, tossing it over the armchair, and throw on my red bikini and robe. Shoving my phone into the pocket, I pad barefoot downstairs toward the heated indoor pool the wedding coordinator showed us earlier today on the tour.
As I pass the kitchen, I spot the staff finishing up—clearing platters, wiping surfaces. There’s still a tray of cut fruit and a few unopened bottles of champagne.
“Hey, can I take this?” I ask, pointing at the fruit and bottles.
They nod without hesitation.
By the time I step into the pool room, the heat hits like a soft hug. Warm, balmy and quiet.
The water shimmers beneath the low lights, steam curling off the surface.
I drop my robe, letting it puddle at my feet, and sit on the edge with a sigh, dipping my legs into the pool. The heat wraps around my sore feet—hot and soothing—easing the tension in my muscles. I reach for the champagne, pop the cork—wincing as it rockets across the room with a loud pop.
Oops.
I don’t bother with a glass, just pour the golden liquid straight down my throat, careful not to let the bottle touch my lips.
It’s cool, crisp, the fizz dancing on my tongue.
I’m not about to choke on bubbles and die alone in a pool like some tragic pop-star.
I can already see the headlines. Kylie would find some way to contact me via Ouija board just to scold me about my public image.
I laugh at myself.
For the first time all day, I exhale.
I pull out my phone. Two texts.
Riley
You okay?
Elena
Yeah.
Simple. Honest enough.
The other stirs butterflies low in my stomach.
Broderick
Want to talk?
I stare at it for a beat. I probably shouldn’t, but given the shit evening I had, I can’t resist the pull he has over me and the temptation of fun I can have with this.
Elena
Anything else on the menu?
I smirk to myself, grabbing a few grapes, and tossing them back. Waiting for his response already half-drenched in anticipation.
Broderick
Well you sampled the French course earlier perhaps, you’d like to experience the flavors from down under?
I bite my lip suppressing a giggle.
Elena
Do you deliver?
Broderick
24/7, where are you located ma’am?
Elena
Come find me.
I pour back more bubbly, my heart thrumming as I keep my eyes on the doors. I pick at the fruit platter—too nervous and distracted.
Then I see him. Through the glass, just beyond the soft glow of the hallway.
He hasn’t seen me yet—he leans in, peeking through the fogged pane.
And then his eyes land on me.
That smile, those dimples.
I wonder what he’s thinking, though from the look on his face, I know exactly what devious things he has planned for me. My thighs pressed together, instinctively.
He strides in, never taking his eyes off me as the doors whisper shut behind him.
Without saying a word, he kicks off his shoes, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, then tugging at his sweats letting them fall to the floor. My mouth goes dry.
I don’t think I will ever get over how fucking hot he is wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs—low-slung, tight—and I can’t look away. He saunters over as if he owns the place, the heat, the very air between us. Then he sits beside me, dipping his feet into the pool with a sigh.
I watch him. Shamelessly admiring his perfect body. Lust hits like a tide, crashing low in my core.
He reaches for the champagne, taking it straight from my hand, and brings it to his lips. One long swallow.
Then he hands it back to me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shrug, glancing down at the water. “Peachy.”
“Andrew’s...Andrew,” he says after a moment. “It’s not an excuse. He’s just—kind of socially awkward. Says shit before he thinks it through.”
“I noticed.”
We both smile.
“It’s alright,” I say, voice light. “Next time I’ll just bury him.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, head tipping back. “Can I help?”
“Oh, absolutely. You bring the shovel.”
“Done.”
His eyes drag down my body and back up again.
The blush creeps up in my face, I swallow hard, offering him some fruit, but he shakes his head.
“This place is incredible,” he says, looking around at the pool room—large windows, columns framing the area, the roof is all windows.
“It is.”
His eyes rake over me again, heat rising between us like steam off the water.
“You gonna get in?” I ask, taking another sip from the bottle, legs still swaying in the pool.
“Depends,” he says, voice low, eyes not leaving mine. “Are you going to behave?”
“Absolutely not.”
He grins, leaning back on his hands. “Then I guess I should join you.”
I watch the way his body moves—calm, sure, the kind of quiet confidence that makes me ache with desire.
“But,” I add, holding up a finger, “just so we’re clear—hanging out alone like this is strictly against the rules.”
“Oh, is it?”
I nod solemnly. “Very much so. No hanging out. No emotional intimacy. No quiet moments in heated pools.”
“Hmm.” A slow, smug smile spreads across his face. “Funny, considering you were the one who broke the no kissing rule earlier.”
Dammit.
Because he’s right. He predicted I’d be the first to crack—how I hate that I practically handed him that win.
“So,” he says, tilting his head, that infuriating smile still in place. “Are we still behaving or—”
“—Fine,” I cut in, turning toward him. “Sex is still on the menu—only—to make up for our earlier indiscretion.”
One brow arches. “That so?”
“Very much so,” I say dragging my foot slowly along his calf beneath the water.
Broderick exhales through his nose, amused. “Well then. I suppose I should make sure we remain law-abiding citizens.”
He inches closer.
“Good,” I say, a little breathless.
He reaches for the bottle again, taking another long sip before holding it out to me.
Broderick’s eyes flicking briefly to my mouth. “How exactly would you like me to rectify it?”
I take the bottle, holding his gaze as I take a sip then place it beside me.
“By sampling the flavors of Down Under.”
His eyes darken. He licks his lips. Those soft delicious lips.
“I could do that,” he says, before slipping into the water.
My breath catches, chest rising and falling as he turns and wades toward me, the surface rippling and glistening around his torso.
He reaches for my thighs, prying them apart slowly. Lifting one leg from the water, he straightens it out, pressing kisses along my calf…up…and up…toward my inner thigh.
“And how would you like you meal served up this evening, Sir?” I ask, my voice breathy.
Then he plants a soft kiss right over the top of my mound. His breath pulses warm through the now damp fabric of my bikini.
“Wet and tight baby.”
I giggle.
He shifts to the other leg, lifts it, stretches it out, and trails slow, deliberate kisses back up until he’s between my thighs again.
He hooks his fingers into the sides of my bikini bottoms and tugs.
I lift my hips just enough to help, the cool tile touching my bare ass making shiver as he peels them off and tosses them aside.
I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him as he pulls me to the very edge of the pool.
“What a delectable menu offering,” he murmurs, mouth on me.
I gasp.
“Organic.” He kisses me again.
I giggle as his breath tickles my skin.
“One of a kind.”
Another kiss. My back arches, as his stubble grazes my skin ever so slightly.
“The perfect little pussy.”
He slides his palms beneath my thighs, spreading me open, holding me there—
And then he buries his face into me. Slow, wet, worshipful strokes.
He moans against me, low and hungry, the sound vibrating through my core as his tongue moves in circles. His grip is firm—possessive—holding my thighs wide with no plans to come up for air anytime soon.
He slides one finger in. Then another, curling just right as he keeps his mouth locked on me—sucking, licking, groaning like a starved creature.
“Brody—” I gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.
He growls against me, the vibration shooting a fresh jolt straight through my core.
My hips rock helplessly against his mouth, his fingers working inside me with a steady rhythm—knuckles deep, pressing that spot.
My legs tremble—the orgasm crashing over me in pulsing aftershocks. I cry out, screaming his name, my head thrown back.
Before I can catch my breath, he grabs my waist—pulling me into the pool.
The water surges around us, cool against my overheated skin. The water makes everything sharper—his hands, my nerves, the tremor of my climax still flickering through me.
He yanks my bikini top off, tossing it away—pressing his firm slick chest against my soft breasts—as he pins me to the wall of the pool.
One hand slips between my thighs. The other holds my waist. My hands wrap around his neck, my legs circling his body.
And then—he thrusts in.
I cry out, water splashing around us.
“Fuck,” I groan, head falling forward, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.
He moves inside me with purpose—deep, rough strokes—like he’s been holding back all night and can’t anymore.
His chest presses tight to me, the water churning wildly around us.
“Please…Brody…kiss me,” I breathe, desperate now, hips rolling, my hands twisting in his hair.
His groan is low and dark, like I’ve finally given him what he wanted. His thrusts slow.
“Elena,” he whispers, caressing my face, eyes locked on mine, lips so close I can feel his breath against my skin. Then he crashes into me, kissing me hard and deep, tongue tangling with mine like he can’t get enough.
The kiss is everything—rough and messy, hands tightening, and still burning on my lips when he pulls back just enough to watch me—breathing hard, eyes dark and glinting with something dangerous and wild.
I taste the lingering effects of my arousal on his lips, mixed with champagne and him. The taste is intoxicating.
“Baby,” he says so tenderly.
“Fuck me, Brody.”
His hips thrust again, slowly at first.
“Harder, I want it rough,” I plead. “Don’t be soft with me, break me. Take me.”
He chuckles darkly.
“Anything to satisfy your needs, sweetheart.”
Every thrust punches a moan out of me.