He pulled me up off my elbows, repositioning me on all fours, and started working the toy in counterpoint—when he pulled back, the toy pressed deep, when he thrust forward, the toy slid back—and the alternating rhythm was methodical and devastating and I was going to come apart at the seams.
"That's it." His voice was barely holding together. One hand on my hip, the other working the toy, his pace steady, even as his breathing went ragged. "God, Cal, you should see yourself right now."
I couldn't see anything. Couldn't think anything. He'd done exactly what he promised—taken me so far out of my own head that nothing could follow me here. Not Wyatt's voice. Not the highway. Not the math I'd been doing in the dark. There was just Brody's hands and Brody's voice and Brody's cock and the relentless rhythm of all of them moving with me and the pressure building and building and building?—
"Come for me, baby. I've got you."
When I came, it hit like a wall. My whole body locked, every muscle seizing at once, and I heard myself say his name like a prayer I didn't know I had memorized. He pulled the toy free and gripped my hips with both hands, driving into me hard now—no more patience, no more measured rhythm—chasing his own release. His hand fisted my hair, pulling me back against his chest as he buried himself deep and let go.
"Oh, fuck, yes, viper." His groan vibrated through my spine as he came with shallow, jerky thrusts that went on and on and on. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, head dropping to my shoulder.
We stayed like that for a long time. Both of us breathless. The toy buzzing somewhere in the sheets until he reached over and clicked it off before getting up to clean us both off.
"C'mere," he said when he returned to bed. He pulled me down, arranged us so my back was against his chest, his arm locked around me. Kissed the top of my head. "You good?"
"Mhm."
"Liar." He squeezed me tighter. "But that's alright, baby. You don't always gotta be good. I'll still be here when things are all kindsa bad."
For the first time in two hours, the ceiling had nothing left to say to me. I closed my eyes, pressed my back into his chest, and slept.
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
Morning came gently—theway it always did in this house. The one unboarded window in the bedroom let in just enough light to wake you without assaulting you. I was still pressed against Brody's chest, his arm heavy around me, his breath hot and even against the back of my neck.
I didn't move right away. Just lay there and let myself have it—the warmth, the weight of him, the quiet of a room that smelled like sawdust and sex.
Cat was sitting in the doorway, judging.
"Morning, princess," I murmured.
She blinked. Turned. Left. Her work here was done, apparently.
Brody stirred behind me, his arm tightening on instinct. His lips found my shoulder, then my neck, then the spot behind my ear that made me shiver.
"Mornin'," he rumbled.
"Coffee."
"That ain't the good mornin' I was hopin' for."
"Coffee first. Good morning second."
He groaned but released me, rolling onto his back and scrubbing both hands down his face. I sat up and immediately felt the aftermath of last night in about six different places, a few of which I wasn't going to think too hard about before caffeine.
Worth it.
By the time I made it downstairs, Brody had the coffee going and Cat fed—herPrincessbowl licked clean and pushed halfway across the kitchen floor because she ate like she was trying to fight the food. He handed me a mug without being asked—black, the way I took it—and leaned against the counter across from me.
We drank in silence for a minute. Not the heavy kind. The good kind. The kind where two people didn't need to fill the air with noise to prove they were comfortable in it.
"I gotta get you back to the ranch," he said, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "Rhett's probably already got a list for you."
"Rhett always has a list for me."
"That's 'cause you're the only one he trusts to do it right." Brody took a sip and pointed a finger at me. "Don't tell Slim I said that."
I'd tell Slim immediately.
