16. Shameless #2
When I slam the dressing room door behind me, the roar of the Chicago crowd still pulses in my veins, adrenaline blazing through every nerve. Sweat chilling my heated skin, the electric rush of the stage lingering like a drug. And then I see him.
Broderick.
Casually leaning against the vanity, ankles crossed, tie loosened, collar undone, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. Pure temptation wrapped in chaos. He looks up slowly, eyes dark, heated, and mischievous, as though he’s been patiently waiting for exactly this moment.
My breath catches sharply.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, voice trembling, heart knocking wildly against my ribs. I’d told myself not to expect anything. But here he is—exhausted yet undeniably here, just for me—just like he promised.
He smiles crookedly, pushing off the vanity with seductive ease, his eyes dragging hungrily over my stage outfit—over me, like he’s starving and I’m his next meal.
“I told you I’d find a way.”
My heart swells at the words, at the meaning beneath them. He came for me.
For the right person, he’d move mountains. Philippa’s words come to mind.
I cross the room, grabbing his rumpled collar, and pull him hard into a kiss. His mouth opens beneath mine, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he drags me closer, his hands sliding up to fist in my hair.
“You came,” I breathe against his mouth in utter disbelief.
Broderick’s grin turns wicked. “Give me a few minutes, sweetheart, and we’ll both be saying that.”
He peppers needy kisses all over my face and neck. His stubble tickles as it brushes my skin, making me giggle. Broderick’s mouth meets mine, and we dissolve into another kiss—deeper this time, more desperate. I needed this. Needed him.
He groans softly when I cup the bulge over his pants, gripping my waist guiding me backward until I hit the vanity.
The countertop bites cold against my skin, but his body, solid and warm, melts away everything else.
His mouth trails slow, teasing kisses down my neck, gentle enough to make me tremble.
“Miss me?” he murmurs, his breath hot on my throat.
“Maybe,” I tease, breath catching. My voice cracks with need, betraying me completely. “Shut up and fuck me.”
He chuckles, rough and low, lips grazing my ear as he whispers, “Only if you ask nicely.”
“Please,” I whisper, surrendering without shame.
He kisses me deeply, his hands roaming possessively over my curves, pulling me flush against him until every hard line of his body presses into mine. My hips shift instinctively, chasing friction, aching for more.
His fingers slip between my thighs, tugging down my stockings with maddening precision. Then they start the climb—tracing upward, dragging over sensitive skin, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. Goosebumps rise as he inches closer to my center, teasing me mercilessly.
“Careful, your fans might hear you scream.”
I tilt my chin defiantly, meeting his eyes, daring him with every bit of stubborn pride I possess. “Hope they enjoy my encore performance.”
His eyes flare, desire turning them molten. Without another word, he spins me around so I’m facing us in the mirror. Broderick lifts my skirt and rolls my tights down even lower, runs his hand up my ass and slaps—hard.
I grunt, the sting feels incredible. Then he pushes a finger inside me in one steady, consuming motion, deep and possessive, stealing my breath—then another, as he thrusts in an out, rubbing my slick over me each time he pulls out.
My fingers clutch at the edge of the vanity, knuckles white, pulse pounding desperately at the sudden, overwhelming feeling.
“Watch yourself come for me, baby,” he whispers against my ear. His eyes are wicked as his fingers move relentlessly. I stare at myself, moaning and whimpering, not recognizing the woman who looks back at me, wide blue eyes, completely unravelling, relinquishing all control to him.
Broderick applies more pressure, I bite my lip, muffling my cries as the feeling starts to rise, heat creeping up my thighs as the orgasm reaches its crescendo.
“Give it to me El.” At his command I let go, freefalling into ecstasy, screaming his name, watching myself come apart. It’s too much—my eyes fly shut, his wicked grin is the last thing I see.
My arousal coats my thighs.
Before I can catch my breath, Broderick’s cock presses against my entrance.
“Feels like you’re good and ready to take this now.”
He doesn’t hesitate, burying himself inside me in one hard, breathtaking thrust. My cheek slams into the cold mirror.
“Ah,” I cry, feeling the stretch of him, moving slowly at first, controlled and torturous, driving me to the brink.
“Fuck, you’re gushing all over me,” he growls, voice shredded by lust. Every thrust hits deeper, harder—each one a brutal stroke that knocks the breath from my lungs.
“That’s it El, make a fucking mess—just how I like it.”
The wet slap of our bodies echo, obscene and relentless—each ruthless move wrings more slick from me, my release splashing, smearing, dripping down our skin as he cracks me open.
“Broderick—”
His hand finds mine, gripping tight, anchoring us together. His mouth grazes my shoulder, voice raw, fraying at the edges. He grabs the nape of my neck angling me toward the mirror.
“Watch us.”
I force my eyes open, and the sight nearly undoes me—him behind me, unrelenting, every thrust slamming into me with primal brutality, like he’s trying to bury himself inside my very soul.
Air can’t come fast enough. I claw at my chest, yanking my top down. My breasts spill free, nipples hard and aching, bouncing with each snap of his hips. I’m gasping and desperate—lost to the rhythm of him, to the ache and the stretch and the sound of skin against skin.
He sees me in the mirror—bare, trembling—and something inside him shatters.
His eyes flare, savage and starving as he grabs my breast, his palm rough, fingers tugging hard at my nipple until my head falls forward.
A broken cry tears from my throat. My thighs quake, the pleasure burns through me, wild and consuming.
He slams into me harder—faster—chasing his own release, dragging mine out with each ruthless thrust. The sound of him, the feel of him—it’s too much and yet it’s not enough. I sob his name as I come again, splintering around him, gripping the vanity for dear life.
He cries out my name before he spills inside me. His forehead presses into my spine, breath catching as we collapse, completely undone.
He brushes a tender kiss against my shoulder, voice warm with quiet laughter. “That make up for New York?”
My body utterly boneless, heart still thundering in my chest. “Not even close.”
“Greedy girl.”
“Only for you.”
He laughs, low and rough, lips grazing my skin—lingering, possessive. “Good. Because I came all the way to Chicago for you...and I plan on making you come all night for me.”
I don’t know how long our little arrangement would last—how long we could keep stealing moments like this. But I want it. Selfishly. Shamelessly.
For as long as we possibly can.