Page 101 of Rush

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 iseverything—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 andhim. 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.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against my neck, teeth grazing my skin.

His hands roam—up my ribs, across my stomach, one palming my breast as he pounds into me. I’m coming apart, loud and unrestrained, the sound of our bodies echoing in the vast, humid room.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he grunts, fucking me harder now, both of us lost to the rhythm—wet, messy, frantic.

My nails scrape against his back as I try to brace, try to breathe, try to keep up—but the pleasure is blinding, thick, dragging me under again.

Broderick’s warm lips close around my aching nipples, teasing and sucking them with gentle pressure that sends electric currents down my spine. I shatter completely, my head dipping back as his name tears from my throat.

He grips my hips, thrusting with such fervor as my whole body trembles, the orgasm sweeping through me like a rising symphony.

He curses against my mouth, slamming into me once, twice, before spilling inside with a guttural groan that echoes through the room like thunder.