11. Lola
LOLA
I float around Brody like a butterfly. I want him to kiss me. I want him to grab me and give me everything that he’s holding back. I can’t tell him that, though, he’s like a skittish horse. Make one wrong move, and he’s galloping away.
He’s never even kissed a girl. It’s not like I have a lot of experience, but I’ve kissed a few guys. I’m not judging; I think it’s cute. I wonder what kind of kisser Brody is.
Too much tongue? No tongue? Hands in my hair? No kissing at all? Some guys are quick to jump right into it. Will Brody take it slow? Or will he pin me against a wall?
I tingle at the thought of being so close to Brody while he pleasures me. His hands are so big and masculine. Long fingers. As if they were made to touch me. Wetness forms between my legs at the image of it. Brody kissing me against a wall. Fingers stroking me. Grinding me into dust.
“Lola! Are you okay? You look like you’re spacing out.” Sophie waves her hand in front of my face. I blink. The images leave, and I am back in reality.
“I’m okay, just thinking about stuff.” I wave it off, not wanting to tell Sophie that I am fantasizing about her brother.
“No worries,” she eyes me for a second. “I know you’ve been kind of stressed about your home life lately. I try not to pry, but I do worry.”
I smile. Sophie is so nice. I am glad I met her. It’s comforting to know I have a friend I can go to.
“Yeah, Marcus is just weird. Freaks me out sometimes. He’s harmless, though. It’s not like my mom would listen anyways even if I expressed myself. She’s brainwashed by that man.”
I sit back and sigh. I do not want to tell Sophie the whole truth. She’s too innocent, too soft. I don’t want her to change or see me differently. I show what I want to show, and keep the rest inside.
Sophie chews on her lip, probably contemplating if she should leave it alone or push me for more insight into my life. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask what I mean.
“Hey, let’s take a break from all this studying. The test can wait. I’m sure we can go out for a bit, maybe it will make you feel better.” Sophie stands up and stretches before closing the books that were open on the table.
I shrug and stand up too. “Alright, that sounds a lot better than sitting here and memorizing all these words. My brain is fried anyways.”
Sophie smiles, big and wide. “That’s what I thought. School work just makes me so bored. Sometimes we just need to step away for a little bit.”
Before I can respond, Brody walks into the room. Shirtless. Sweat is dripping down his chest. My eyes go wide for a moment. For a seventeen year old boy, he has a good amount of muscle. His chest is broad, and his arms? I can feel myself drooling internally at how big his biceps are.
Sophie’s lip curls as she turns. “God. Put a shirt on, Brody. I have a guest, you animal.” She throws a scrunchie at him, it bounces off his shoulder and rolls under the table.
Brody shrugs, eyes fixed on me like none of it matters. Like Sophie isn’t even here. “Don’t think she minds,” he says, voice low and too steady.
My face bursts into flame. I pretend to focus on the scenery outside of the window.
Sophie huffs, feigning disgust. “Why are you walking around like that? Are you broken? Go blow off your testosterone in your own room.”
Brody’s smile is thin, not really a smile at all. “I was. I just needed a glass of water.”
Even when he’s not looking at me, it’s like he is. I can’t get enough of it. The way his muscles tense under his skin. The heat coming off him in waves. His hands—ugh, those hands. Big, veined, fingers flexing. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from staring.
Sophie grabs her phone off the table. “Fine. I’m gonna change. Lola, if he tries to wrestle you or whatever, just scream.” She grins at me, but I barely see it.
The silence is instant, suffocating. Only Brody and me now. Even the air feels different. He leans against the door frame, not moving closer but not backing off, either. His gaze flicks over me. My skin prickles.
He cracks his knuckles, one hand, then the other. “You okay?” The words are almost gentle. Not what I expected.
My mouth goes dry. He must’ve heard Sophie and me, whispering about my house, about curfews and locked doors, and step-fathers who never let you breathe.
I try to play it off, give him my best smirk. “Yeah. I mean, considering I haven’t been locked in a dungeon or sold to pirates yet, I’d say I’m doing great.”
His frown deepens. “Not funny.”
I feel something snap tight inside me. The urge to spill all of it—how some days I want to run away and never come back, how Marcus’s eyes make my skin crawl, how lonely it feels to be a body and never a person. I want to say it. Beg someone to see me.
Instead, I look at Brody’s hands, fists unclenching, then balling again like he’s holding himself on a leash. I want to touch him. I want to see if he’ll let me. But I can’t say that, either. Not yet.
I swirl my hair around my finger, clearing my throat. “So, what’s your excuse for terrorizing innocent girls? Just bored or is being half-naked your career plan?”
His eyes drag up my body. A flicker of something dark and possessive lingering there. “Maybe I was hoping you’d like the view,” he says.
He’s not smiling. He means it.
Blood hammers at the inside of my ribs and heat rolls down my spine. I force a laugh, but it comes out all wrong. “I mean, I’ve seen worse.”
A pause. It aches. I can’t stop drinking him in. The way his collarbones stand out. The thickness of his neck. Those hands. Veined and brutal and perfect. I imagine them pinning me. I imagine them around my throat. The thought makes my thighs press together.
Brody’s mouth twitches. It’s like he knows. Or maybe he just wants to.
The space collapses between us. He rolls his shoulders, and the muscles in his chest bunch and flex. My eyes follow, greedy. I’m not even pretending to not look now.
He notices. He cracks his neck like he’s about to snap. “You’re staring.”
“So are you,” I fire back.
He pushes off the door frame, inching closer. Not predatory, not exactly. More like he can’t help it. Like I’m pulling him in. My heart stutters, so loud, I’m sure he hears it.
He stops just within arm’s reach and flexes his hands at his sides, pulse jumping in his throat. The silence is thick. I want to fill it. I want to ruin it.
I reach up slowly, hand trembling even though I try to act smooth, and tuck a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. His hair is short, but it flops over his forehead. I have been itching to do that for some time now. My knuckle grazes his temple.
His whole body goes rigid. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.
“Your hair’s in your eyes,” I murmur.
He grabs my wrist, not hard, but enough to make me gasp. His fingers are warm and rough, and I think about them on my skin, on my hips, digging into me. My mouth floods with want.
He lets go, but not completely, trailing his fingertips down my arm. “You’re not scared?”
I blink. “Of you?” He nods once. Steely, unreadable, but the hunger is there. The need. Like he’ll die if I say no. I shake my head. “Not even a little.”
Our faces are close now. Too close. I can see every pore, every slash of his cheekbones. His lips twitch.
I don’t wait. I close the distance, tiptoe if I have to, and press my mouth to his.
He groans. His hands are on my waist, yanking me closer, our bodies tight together. The kiss is clumsy, desperate, teeth and tongue, and too much. It’s not sweet at all. It’s like drowning.
I whimper into his mouth. He shudders, and for a second I think he might break me in half. We pull apart, panting. I can’t think, can’t breathe. My whole body is shaking.
Brody’s pupils are blown wide. I can feel him wanting.
He hesitates, still holding me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I lean in again, kissing him softer this time while my hands roam up his chest. His skin is hot.
Damp. Muscles jump under my touch. His lips find the corner of my mouth, my jaw, down my neck.
I gasp again, clinging to his shoulders.
I want him to bite me. Mark me. Make me his.
His hands slide up under my shirt, just the barest brush against my ribs. That’s all. That’s fucking all and I’m already melting.
And then—
Sophie’s voice echoes down the hall. “Sorry, Lola! I’m ready now, I’m coming.”
Instantly, we jerk apart like guilty kids. I wipe my mouth, stagger back a step, but my heart still bucks.
Brody scrubs a hand over his face. He looks dazed, almost angry. Like he hates needing me this much.
Sophie bursts in, not even glancing at the tension in the room. “Brody, you coming?”
He doesn’t look at her. He looks at me. “Nah. I’m good.”
Sophie shrugs. “Suit yourself, moody.”
She heads for the door, waving me along, and I follow. My legs are jelly, everything inside is scrambled. Brody doesn’t speak again. He just stands there, watching me leave. Watching like he owns me already.
We step out into the hallway. I know I’m flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess.
Sophie doesn’t notice. We slip out the front door; dusk clings to the street like a mist. Lights blink on in other houses.
The air is wet, heavy. We walk through the neighborhood, down cracked sidewalks, shoes slapping uneven pavement.
The world feels quieter now, like everything else has faded.
At the end of the street, the pond waits. A little stretch of water, surrounded by trees and the promise of darkness. Somewhere private. Somewhere you can disappear. Sophie chatters beside me, talking about nothing. My head is spinning. My mouth still tingles from the taste of him.
I can’t stop thinking about Brody’s hands, the way he kissed me, the way he looked at me. Like I’m the only thing that matters. Like he’ll die if he doesn’t have me.
The ache is back, heavier than before.
I hope we go back soon. I hope he’s there. I hope next time, he won’t stop. I want all of it. Every bruising second. I want to be his.