Page 136 of Rush

He groans low in his chest, fingers trailing gently up my stomach, wrapping softly around my throat—just enough pressure to steal my breath. His other hand slips beneath the lace, teasing, finding me already aching and slick.

“God, El.”

I moan as he kisses me, hand moving slowly between my thighs, deliberately tormenting, never giving enough.

My hips lift, chasing friction he denies. He grins wickedly against my mouth.

“Begging yet?” His thumb moves torturously slow.

“Not…” Pleasure spikes sharply. “Not even close.”

“Oh, really?” he taunts, lips brushing mine. “But you’re so fucking wet for me already…”

The door swings open abruptly, slamming into the wall.

“Dude, I’m thinking piz—” Andrew freezes mid-sentence, eyes wide in shock as he takes in the scene: me sprawled across the table in nothing but lingerie and heels, Broderick shirtless, lipstick plastered on his face, his hand embarrassingly between my thighs.

A stunned silence.

Not again. Lock the fucking door, Elena.

“Oh my God!”

“Dude,” Andrew chokes out. “What the fuck!”

“Shit!” Broderick scrambles back, face bright red—not just from the lipstick.

Andrew looks rapidly between us. “Are you two dating?”

“No, no!” I blurt quickly.

“We’re…keeping each other company,” Broderick offers awkwardly.

“So, you’re just fucking my little sister?” Andrew snaps.

Broderick recoils, turning even redder. I scramble upright, grabbing Broderick’s shirt to cover myself, humiliation burning my face.

“Hi, Andrew,” I manage weakly, clutching his shirt to my chest. “Great timing, as usual.”

“Elena, what the fuck?” Andrew turns away sharply.

“Pip didn’t tell you?”

Andrew spins back instantly. “Philippa knows?”

“Yeah,” I admit guiltily. “She caught us at the wedding.”

“The fucking wedding?” Andrew’s voice rises sharply. He points accusingly at Broderick. “Brody, seriously? She’s too young for you!”

Broderick scowls, frustrated. “What are you talking about? She’s twenty-two.”

“Twenty-three, actually,” I interrupt, raising a finger. “Remember, my birthday?”

Both men turn sharply—Andrew incredulous, Broderick groaning.

“Not helping, baby,” Broderick mutters.

“Baby…baby?” Andrew drags a hand down his face. “Philippa knows—and she’s okay with this?”