Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Brody

“One more,” Jordan commands.

“Nooooo!” The word comes out sounding close to a girlish wail, but I don’t care. My brain hurts. It’s so full of ethical case law it’s going to explode if I squeeze any more in.

I roll over on her bed and bury my head beneath her pillow. It’s warm and soft and deliciously fragrant. My whole body shudders and I grit my teeth. I’m denying it what it wants most of all. What the fuck is wrong with me? Right now, I’ll gladly ruin everything for one whole night of sinking my cock inside her. After our date we decided to take things slow, but now it’s killing me.

“It fucking sucks,” I mumble to myself, my breath coming in pants because my air is swiftly running out. Maybe I’ll pass out and she’ll take pity on me.

“What did you say?”

I tilt my head slightly so Jordan can hear me from under her pillow. “I said all work and no play makes Brody a dull boy.”

“We’ve barely started!” I shrink from her exasperated tone. My girl is a cruel and unforgiving dragon. On the field it’s a sight to behold. Majestic and fierce. Here, in the study arena, it’s a harrowing and torturous experience. All hellfire and brimstone. My head is buried, yet she keeps talking. “You know if you don’t go over this particular case, it’ll be the one that ends up in the midterm.”

Her warning is unfair, as if I’m sealing my own downfall simply by taking a well-deserved break.

“When we’ve finished with that,” she continues, “we need to focus on your other subjects. I think we’ve covered a lot of ground on those, but—”

“Nooooo!” I wail from beneath the pillow. I lift it from my face and squint one eye open. Jordan’s seated in her chair by the desk facing me. A heavy text rests on her lap and her arms are folded. She’s silent now, her blue eyes narrowed in a cold-hearted glare. It’s one that makes me want to apologize even when I’ve done nothing wrong. “You should teach fifth grade.”

Nostrils flare. “Hmmph.”

Distracting Jordan is my best shot. “Offer me an incentive and I’ll do it.”

She fights it, but I see a small twitch in her lips. “You mean like a dog?”

“Sure.” I reposition her pillow behind my head, happier now because it’s already working. “Like a dog. I do something you ask me to do, you reward me.”

Jordan’s brow lowers in a deliberating expression. Her mind is ticking over while she works out what she’s going to do with me. Eager to help her along, I drop my hand to the hem of my tee shirt. Sliding it underneath, I run it up over my abs toward my chest. The cotton rides up along with my hand, bunching up near my pecs. They flex as I scratch idly at bare skin, pretending an itch. I look up at her from lowered lashes and swallow the satisfied chuckle. Her eyes are following my every move.

As though arriving at a decision, Jordan slams the text shut with a heavy thump and swivels in her chair, setting it on the desk.

When she turns back around, she pulls the band from the knot of hair on top of her head. It spills down, a cascade of honey over toned, golden shoulders. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” It’s a wonder my voice doesn’t crack in two.

“Mmm hmm. What do you want?” she repeats, her voice low and full lips curved.

Jordan yielded too easily. A warning alert issues. It’s impossible to heed. My mind is already out of control, racing from so many options I don’t even know where to start. “Dealer’s choice.”

I want everything, so it’s better for Jordan to set the pace.

She stands and my chest tightens. “You want me to choose your reward?”

“I do.”

Her chin lifts in acceptance of my challenge. Reaching the end of her bed, she bends and climbs on. She lifts her eyes and the frosty blue is gone. In its place is a rich, dark lure as she stalks toward me on her hands and knees. Anticipation builds and I lick my lips.

Reaching my hips, Jordan draws back and sits. I wait, my blood a pounding roar in my ears.

“What reward could I possibly give Brody Madden that he’s never had before? I’m sure everyone you’ve ever known has bent over backwards to give you everything you ever wanted.”

Her words hit a nerve. All I’ve ever wanted is to prove I’m worth something, but no one can give me that. Worth can’t be bought, it has to be earned. “I don’t care about everyone giving me everything I want.”

“What do you care about?”

“You giving me what I want,” I quip, keeping it light because there are parts of me I’m not ready to expose.

Jordan lifts an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“I care about football too.”

“Nothing else?” she asks me carefully.

I sit up, resting the backs of my hands on the bed behind me. It brings my face close to Jordan’s. Our chests align and her breath puffs softly against my lips. “I care about being the best.”

Jordan ducks her head and nips my bottom lip. It’s sharp and sweet, and I feel it everywhere. When she pulls back there’s a teasing light in her eyes. “The best at what?”

A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Why the best at fucking you, sweet Jordan Matilda. I care about being so good you’ll never have anyone better.”

It’s a conceited declaration, and she tilts back her head and laughs, exposing the long line of her throat. “One day soon I want you to prove that. But not right now. You need to focus on midterms. Come on,” she says and grabs both my hands. Getting off the bed, she tugs at me, trying to pull me off.

My bottom lip pokes out. “What about my reward?”

She tugs again. “You said dealer’s choice and I’m hungry. So your reward is me cooking you dinner.”

“I thought you were going to give me something I’ve never had before?”

“I am. All we have in the cupboard is stale bread, so tonight I’m serving vegemite toast. You ever had that?”

I haven’t. And when we reach the kitchen, I seat myself up on the counter and watch while she takes a dark jar with a bright yellow label from the cupboard.

“Here.”

She hands it over. While I’m unscrewing the lid, she takes out a toaster and loaf of bread. With the lid off, I bring the jar to my nose and take a sniff. My lips curl with distaste. It’s foul. A black paste that looks dredged from the bottom of a sewer. It smells worse. My stomach rolls over with a slow, queasy thump when the stench sticks to the insides of my nostrils.

I look at Jordan, disbelieving. “You guys really eat this stuff?”

Popping bread in the toaster, she nods. “Yep. All the time.”

My eyes return to the sludge in the jar.

Jordan laughs. It’s a mocking sound. A dare. “It’s not going to bite you,” she chides. “Have a taste.”

I dip my finger in. The texture is firmer then it looks. Swiping up a decent sized amount, I bring it to my mouth and lick it off. My eyes water instantly and I screw them shut while I choke it down.

“Arrghhh.” The sound comes out guttural, the bitter paste killing off all my taste buds along with the ability to speak.

Jordan’s cackle is loud and evil. She takes the jar from my hand and replaces it with a glass of water. I snatch it up, water sloshing the rim as I gulp it down. “You’re not supposed to eat that much.”

Drawing the empty glass from my lips, I rasp, “You tell me that now?”

The toast pops. Jordan gets it out and starts spreading butter all the way to the corners. Done, she picks up the abandoned jar of vegemite.

I shake my head, watching her scrape it on like she’s creating a piece of art. “I’m not hungry.”

She puts the toast on a plate and offers it to me. “Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not,” I tell her and take it from her hands. “I just don’t know why you’re trying to break my spirit. Between all the study and now this, I’m starting to think you have a sadistic side, and I don’t like it.”

Picking up her own piece of toast, Jordan takes a huge bite and chews slowly as if savoring the flavor. I’d rather she savor me. My legs are spread slightly where I sit on the counter and she steps in between them. Swallowing down her mouthful, she licks away the crumbs and leans in. The plate in my hands stops her from pressing too close. I discard it quickly and it hits the counter with a clatter. Now free to touch, I grab her hips in both hands and drag her in. She kisses me. I taste the vegemite on her lips and I don’t care.

Drawing back, Jordan looks me in the eye. “You’ve improved so much already, Brody. I don’t want to be the distraction that sets you back.” She sets her toast down and with both hands free, places them on my thighs, sliding them up slowly. I steal another kiss, this time swiping my tongue across her lips. A moan escapes and I’m not sure if it comes from her or me. “Let’s focus on midterms. When they’re done, whatever reward you want is yours.”

For weeks I put my faith in Jordan and focus like she asks. I study until I can’t think straight, reading late into the night until my brain bleeds. When I’m not hitting the books, I’m on the field, training myself to exhaustion. We become ships passing in the night and our away games alternate. On the weekends Jordan is home, I’m not, and vice versa. My need for her doesn’t diminish with the prolonged absences, it only grows hotter.

Jordan has more drive and determination then anyone I know. I feed from it. She makes me stronger and smarter, her faith giving me more confidence then I’ve ever had before. At our next home game I’m an unstoppable force, and it’s contagious. My energy spreads through the team, fueling them. The crowd feels it. It crackles through the hundred thousand spectators like a thousand volts of electricity. When the clock counts down its final minutes, our victory is almost sealed. Feet stomp fast and hard around the stadium, building to a thunderous crescendo that boosts us to greater heights.

“Hut!” Carter roars above the noise, his voice harsh and forceful, veins straining in his throat.

Sweat streams down my face, red from heat and exertion. It drips in my eyes. I don’t notice. I’m already moving when Carter takes possession of the ball. My teammates are battering rams, clearing my path. My cleats sink hard into the ground, turf flying up behind me when it rips from the field. Close to goal, I turn for the pass, my lungs screaming for air.

Carter doesn’t disappoint. It barrels toward me, high and curved as I run backwards. Using the last of my energy, I reach up, feet lifting off the ground as I make contact with the ball. It slides into my outstretched hands right where it belongs.

Before I find solid ground, I’m slammed from out of nowhere. The power of it rattles my bones and blurs my vision. Crushed sideways into the ground, my head hits hard. The crowd roars its approval because the hit came too late. The touchdown was made. I’m home. Fucking home.

Content, I let my eyes flutter closed and the world turns black.

Later that evening I’m in the ER, sitting on the edge of a bed waiting for the doctor to examine me.

The hit was the hardest I’ve ever taken. A sledgehammer to the head so powerful I felt my brain knock against my skull. The pounding of it hurts my eyes so I close them. It doesn’t dilute the pain. I shift on the bed and grunt. The sound magnifies by a thousand and the pounding flares anew.

The curtain rattles and the clip of someone’s shoes announces a visitor. I squint an eye open and curse under my breath. My father has arrived. Dressed in a tuxedo, his hair is immaculate and expression aggravated.

My name comes out clipped. “Brody.”

I grit my teeth. “Dad.”

“You want to explain why I’ve been pulled out of my party’s political fundraiser tonight to be here?”

My coach must have summoned him. “I took a hit on the field tonight.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And it was pretty bad.”

His nostrils flare and he turns his head, so furious he can’t even look at me. I might not have called him here, but it hurts that he doesn’t care. The victory from tonight fades, leaving me silent and hollow. I should be amazed at how quickly he can suck the life right out of me with just his presence alone, but I’m not.

Coach Carson flicks the curtain aside and steps in the room, drawing both our attention. Seeing my father, he offers a grim smile and a hand. “Mr. Madden.”

Dad takes it, giving his usual firm squeeze before letting go. “Liam, please.”

“Liam,” Coach concedes and nods his head my way, concern furrowed deep in his brow. “Your boy took quite a knock out there tonight. Thought it best to give you a call.”

“So I hear.” His smile is faint and amused, reducing my injury to a minor triviality. “It’s the way of these things with football, isn’t it? If my son wants to play, he needs to get used to the brutality of the sport. He can’t come running to the hospital for every little bump on the head now, can he?”

Coach Carson’s mouth drops a little. When he closes it, a hard edge lights his eyes. It’s one I know well and usually follows a set of drills that runs us into the ground. There’s a little more steel laced in his words when he speaks next. “Your son is likely suffering a severe concussion. He’ll need someone to take care of him.”

“I’m fine,” I say through clenched teeth, even though it’s clear I’m not.

“Of course you are.” Dad slaps a hand to the back of my shoulder before squeezing it. His fingers dig in painfully. My head throbs and bitterness swims in my mouth. “Did you win?”

“They won,” Coach interjects, his chest puffing with pride. “Brody played the best I’ve ever seen.”

My father turns his head toward my coach, still gripping me tight. “Can you give us a minute?”

Before he can leave, Eddie steps in the room, my phone outstretched in his hand. He hasn’t showered. Dirt and sweat covers his face and hair sticks to his forehead. My father wrinkles his nose. Letting go of my shoulder, he takes a step back as if grime is contagious. Eddie doesn’t even acknowledge him. “Jordan’s on the phone.”

The heavy weight on my shoulders lightens. Whatever my father has to say can wait. “Thanks, Eddie.” I take the phone and put it to my ear. “Jordan?”

“Brody. I watched the game.” Her voice is panicked. Jordan’s away game was Friday and their flight due in at midnight tonight. I was going to surprise her. Take her home, light candles, and see if she’d let me massage all her sore spots. “Are you okay?”

My throat constricts. I swallow and find my voice. “I’m fine.”

“Brody.” Her voice is now a whisper, thick and hoarse. My fingers tighten on the phone. “You were brilliant. Like a comet streaking across the sky. And then you hit the ground and you didn’t move.”

“I promise you I’m fine. A minor concussion.”

Jordan exhales harshly, the weight of her relief in the sound. “I’m on my way.”

I close my eyes and the pain recedes. When the dial tone hits my ears, I open them. Coach Carson and Eddie have gone. My father remains. I set the phone on the bed and meet his eyes, bracing for whatever comes next.

“Don’t ever waste my time like this again.” His voice is a whip. My skin should be toughened from it, but it’s not. One day, I promise myself. One day I won’t give a flying fuck. “If you do, I’ll give you a concussion you’ll never forget.” His eyes flare from my lack of response. “You hear me?”

Do I hear? The next words escape me, clear and terse and too quick to restrain. “Fuck. You.”

My father’s reaction is swift. He grabs a fistful of my jersey in each hand. My stomach dips with agony when I’m jerked solidly to my feet. The room spins and a groan rips from my chest.

“You ungrateful little shit,” he spits in my face. “Have you forgotten how much I do for you?”

How could I? You’re always there reminding me.

“Have you forgotten what happens if you don’t finish senior year and graduate college?”

My teeth clench until I fear they’ll crack.

“What happens, Brody, if you don’t graduate?”

They’ll keep me from seeing Annabelle. My parents will break my sweet little sister, and I can’t let that happen. She needs me.

I meet my father’s eyes. I hate you.

“I’ll graduate,” I vow.

He lets me go. I grip the bed behind me with shaky hands. “See that you do.”

Jordan

The heat at my back is a furnace, waking me. Rolling over, I open my eyes and see Brody stretched out beside me. It’s still dark out, but I forgot to close the blinds. Moonlight plays across his bare chest. It rises and falls, deep and even. A light sheen of sweat covers the smooth skin. His body takes up most of my bed. I’m wedged on the side between him and the wall so I don’t fall out. My own body is damp with sweat in the cramped, suffocating spot, but I don’t want to move.

Two nights ago I sat in the airport, surrounded by teammates, Brody’s game streaming live from my phone.

He was a blur on the field, his talent extraordinary. You knew you were watching something special. When the ball landed in his hands, the crowd’s roar raised the hair on my neck and goose bumps on my skin. The tackle came swift, from nowhere, crushing him into the ground. When the player got to his feet, Brody remained, his body limp and broken on the field like a trampled butterfly. My throat constricted, fear stealing my breath in the eerie silence that followed.

The cameras cut to the commentator seconds later, leaving me hanging. I rang Brody the moment our plane disembarked. He was awake and talking, but he lied when he said he was fine. His voice was tight, like a rubber band ready to snap. After telling him I was on my way, his exhale was long and weighty, revealing the depth of his relief. Brody Madden, the football star who doesn’t need anyone, needed me.

The very thought squeezes me, making me ache as I lie in the dark watching him breathe. How quickly I’ve come to need him too. Brody won’t leave me intact. He’ll take pieces of me I’m not sure I’ll ever get back, but I can’t deny myself. He grounds me. The pressure I place on myself is crazy. When it overtakes me, he makes me laugh and forces me to take a step back and breathe. We’re both working toward our own separate goal, but his joy on the field reminds me the journey getting there is just as important. It’s not one we’ll take together. Our lives will untangle after college, and we’ll both move in different directions.

We’re not meant to be.

The thought makes me heartsick, but it doesn’t stop the craving that claws at me, unappeased for too long. I want him.

Brody shifts in the bed as if feeling my stare. My eyes flick to his face. His are open, watching me silently. The pale moonlight darkens their rich brown color to obsidian, so dark and hungry I shiver.

My pulse thumps in time with the heat building quickly between us. It sets off an ache between my thighs that screams for relief. I can’t speak. My hand moves to his chest instead. I trace lazy circles over the inked skin with my finger. He sucks in a breath. It holds in his lungs when my palm slides down to his lower abdomen, trailing over warm skin and rippled muscle. His body trembles from the featherlike touch.

I swallow, hesitating, my fingers frozen above the band of his shorts. We’ve been on a knife’s edge for weeks, the effort of restraint leaving me dizzy. With only two days until midterms, we can’t afford this distraction.

“Jordan.”

Dragging my eyes from the path of my hand, I glance up, searching his face.

Brody’s lips are parted, lids lowered as he watches me touch him. He lifts his head off the pillow, eyes bursting with heat and impatience.

“Please,” he rasps, his voice like sandpaper across my skin.

The solitary word breaks the last of my restraint. I slip a hand beneath the band of Brody’s shorts. Muscles tense when my palm covers him. His cock is already hard, like silken steel beneath the straining cotton of his boxer briefs.

A strangled groan escapes his throat and the sound sets me on fire. My grip on him tightens.

Brody turns on his side, forcing my hand to slip free from inside his shorts. He scoops me up, sweeping me beneath him with little effort. My head hits the pillow, air rushing from my lungs with a gasp.

“Let me have you.”

He holds the upper half of his body above me, biceps straining as he looks down at me, eyes searching for an answer. His lower half presses me into the bed, making me hyperaware of the thin barrier between his pulsing erection and the throbbing of my clit.

“Have me.” My hips push up against him. An affirmation. “I’m not stopping you.”

I can’t.

Brody hesitates for a brief moment. He’s biding his time for my words to sink in. When they do, he scoots off me and tugs me into a seated position. His gaze shoots down, and I follow it. The hem of my tank top is scrunched in his fingers. His eyes find mine from beneath his lashes. Can I? he asks me silently.

Please. Yes.

Brody inches the cotton upwards, slowly baring skin to the cool night air. I raise my arms, my heart pounding. At my invitation he slides it up and over my head. With a swivel, he tosses it to the floor. Turning back, his eyes drop to my chest and he exhales shakily. The heat of his stare hardens my nipples beneath the thin cotton of my bra.

The clasp rests between my breasts. Brody holds his breath when I reach up and flick it open. I slide the straps off my shoulders with both hands and let it drop to the bed behind me. The move is bold, but I feel anything but. I’m not sweet and curvaceous. My body is boyish. Firm and athletic, it’s honed for sport, not pleasure.

Brody lets out a deep puff of air. Oblivious to my insecurities, his hands bracket my hips, gliding up my ribs until he reaches my breasts. His fingers are whisper light, his caress reverent as if I’m going to break. After long, agonizing moments, his thumbs scrape along the small undersides. Back and forth he goes, a slow steady rhythm designed to drive me mad.

Each breath comes harder when his hands move inwards. My back arches instinctively, thrusting sensitized nipples into his big palms. Brody’s fingers graze the taut peaks and a breathless moan escapes me.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, pinching them gently.

It shoots hot sparks straight between my legs. My eyes fly open. He’s watching my nipples glide through his fingers. Ducking his head, Brody takes one in his mouth. He rolls it over his tongue, flicking gently. My head falls back, a sharp cry leaving my throat when he sucks it deep and hard. It hurts so good I can’t stand it. My body sways and I grasp his shoulders to steady me.

Brody unlatches my nipple with a final flick of his tongue. It’s only a minor reprieve because he moves to the other, giving it the same torturous attention.

My hands slide into his soft strands of hair, mussing it. I tug gently, urging him upwards. I want his mouth. Brody complies. Lifting his head, he cups my face in his palms and covers my lips with his. The glide of his tongue is hot and wet. It rubs with mine, moving harder and more insistent. He groans into my mouth, harsh and urgent. I feel its vibration when my breasts press flush against his chest.

The kiss becomes incredibly endless. Brody pulls back when I shove at his shoulders, desperate for air. My first breath is a gasp. So is his, ragged and audible in the quiet. I don’t know what time it is but the world outside is asleep. There’s only us.

“On your back, Jordan.”

Pillows are shoved aside and I’m pushed down. Brody leans over me, dragging his bottom lip inside his mouth with his teeth. The waistband of my pretty pink sleep shorts are seized and wrenched down. I hear them hit the floor. His hands return for my panties.

My heart climbs to my throat when Brody hooks them in his fingers. Pausing, he looks at me, lust in his eyes. They watch me as he tugs at them, his pace slowing. They ease down my legs, over my feet and off, discarded to the floor to join my shorts. Calloused palms circle my calves. Skating upwards, they edge apart my thighs. Brody relinquishes his hold on my eyes and drops them.

“Oh fuck … Jordan.” His chest expands with air. “I want my mouth on you so fucking bad.”

I’m exposed to his scrutiny and I don’t care. I need relief. “Please.”

“So hot.” His voice is low and rough. Pushing his way between my legs, Brody sinks down. With unbearable slowness, he trails his tongue down my thigh. My hips jerk. Long, wet kisses travel my legs, and I want to scream my frustration.

Finally he finds his way between my thighs. The rough pads of his fingertips dig into my hips, holding me where he wants me. His breath is harsh and erratic. It puffs against the wet heat of me, making me squirm.

“Brody!” His name tears from my lips when his tongue comes out and licks me in one long stroke. My body heats up, deepening to a fever when his mouth finds my clit and latches on. My fingers rake his skin, clutching for purchase. “Oh god.”

Brody’s hands tremble on my hips, but he doesn’t let go. Wet sucking sounds fill the air. My eyes squeeze closed and I whimper. Pleasure untethers my hold on the world. It drops out beneath me, leaving me scrambling for solid ground. I don’t find it. With every hot stroke of his tongue, my grip loosens and when his finger thrusts up and inside me, I plummet into a free fall, coming hard. White lights burst bright and hot behind my eyes.

“Jordan,” he growls, lapping at me one last time. “Fuck.”

My eyes slide open when Brody draws back and off the bed, staggering to his feet as if drunk. He holds a hand to his head, wincing. I sit up and scoot to the edge, ignoring the throb still pulsing between my legs. “Brody, are you—”

“I’m fine.” He cuts me off as he scrambles on the floor, reaching for his overnight bag. I’m positive Brody’s going for the bottle of Percocet when instead he plucks out a square, foil packet.

My breath hitches audibly at the thought of him inside me. “Are you sure?”

Brody ignores my question as if it’s not even worth an answer. Tossing the condom on top of the mussed sheets, his hands go to the waistband of his shorts. He shoves them down, revealing boxer briefs in tropical blue—a color that sets off the rich golden hue of his skin. Brody yanks those off next, his hard cock slapping against his taut stomach with a lewd sound as he kicks them away.

He straightens his shoulders and for a brief moment I’m afforded a glimpse of Brody entirely bare. His body is large and powerful, every muscle worked hard to distinction, strong and defined.

My awestruck stare breaks when he snatches up the packet off the bed, tearing it open with his teeth. He spits out the torn corner and grabs for the condom, his movements frantic. My pulse climbs with the need to have him filling me. While Brody rolls it down, I lean back on my elbows, letting my legs fall open shamelessly.

He looks up from his task and groans, nostrils flaring. Feverish now, he bites down on his lip, a frustrated grunt escaping when his fingers fumble.

When Brody gets it on he comes for me. His calloused palms slide underneath, scraping my skin as he grabs the round cheeks of my ass. I’m lifted and shoved back. It’s a display of strength he doesn’t think twice about, but it leaves me scrambling. I’m being dominated without a second thought, and I love it.

With one hand Brody lifts my left leg, pressing it toward me. The other he grabs the base of his cock and guides it between my legs. I tilt my hips and he pushes in, inch by yielding inch.

My lips part and my head falls back with a deep, loud moan. When Brody fills me, hard and throbbing, he takes advantage and swoops down, covering my mouth with his own. His hot, wet tongue plunges inside, and it feels so much dirtier when I taste myself on his lips.

I kiss him back, desperate for friction. Brody answers by drawing back his hips. He plunges forward with a breathless grunt.

“Yes,” I pant, hooking my left leg around his firm ass cheeks. “More.”

Brody gives me more. Over and over. Slow and forceful. I wrap my other leg around him and grind my hips, drawing ragged groans from his throat. Both his palms slam down on either side of my head, bracketing me. He looks down, his eyes boring into me with each thrust.

“Christ,” he grounds out, his words harsh and disjointed. “It’s never going to be enough, is it?”

It conveys my own fear when pleasure begins building again. We haven’t scratched the itch. We’ve set it on fire. And when he reaches a hand between us, pressing his thumb hard on my clit, I lose my breath and come hard. It shudders through me, sharp and excruciatingly bright.

His hips are frenzied now, drilling hard inside me with no control. Muscles gleam, tight and slick with sweat.

“Jordan,” he rasps, grinding once, twice, and he stills above me, a hoarse cry ripping from his throat. His body weakens and slumps against me.

I’m boneless beneath him, trapped by his heavy weight, hair sticking to my neck and sweat dampening my skin.

He rolls me above him and cool air sweeps over my back and down my bare legs, bringing relief.

“This,” he says, his breath ragged.

I stare down into darkened eyes, my head in a fog. “This?”

Brody slides his hands down my back until I’m wrapped up tight, his arms a steel band that locks me close. “Home,” he whispers and closes his eyes. “This is what home feels like.”