Page 145 of Rush

Relief loosens my shoulders. He isn’t tethered to her in some messy, lingering way. Enough time has passed that there’s no risk of her popping up with a surprise love child or unresolved feelings.

“Anything else you want to know?” His voice is patient, almost indulgent.

I chew on my lip for a moment before blurting, “How many people have you had sex with?”

He barks out a laugh, the tension leaving his body in the sound.

“Six.”

“Oh.” My eyebrows shoot up, surprised it isn’t more, and equally surprised it’s that many.

“Oh?” His mouth quirks. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not. Sorry—it’s fine. I don’t even know why I asked that,” I tease, attempting to cover the heat rising in my face.

“Alright, sweetheart, you’ve piqued my interest. Shoot. What’syourbody count?”

I laugh nervously, my pulse stutters in my throat.

“How many people I’ve killed? None so far. But Andrew’s definitely at the top of that list,” I say, unclipping my seatbelt.

He chuckles.

“Elena,” he says, jabbing my side.

“It’s for me to know...” I reach for the door handle to leave.

I don’t even finish my sentence before he grabs my wrist. I squeal just before he yanks me into his lap, tickling my sides. He’s warm. I’m screaming with giggles, and my thigh brushes against his crotch—his bulge growing beneath me.

He groans in satisfaction, his tickling hands now gripping my waist, fingers pressing into the soft give of my flesh.

I swing one leg over, straddling him. My breath comes in shallow gasps as I run my fingers through his hair. He hums in approval, jaw slack, and I grind my hips against his growing erection.

A ragged whimper escapes his throat.

There’s something about the way he holds me—firm, possessive—pulls at something I’ve been trying to keep shut. Being in a closed, dark space should feel suffocating, but instead, it’s unexpectedly intimate. Add to that the fact that we’re in a public parking garage, one wrong move from being seen, and it shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. But it does.God, it does. The danger, the secrecy, the way his body screams for mine—it’s all so intoxicating I can hardly think straight.

I roll my hips again, flirting with danger.

His hands fly to my waist, steadying me. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come in my pants.”

I try to move under his grip, but he holds me firmly.

“And I’d rather shoot my load inside you. On your tits. Or on your lips—watch it drip down that pretty fucking chin.”

His filthy words make my insides throb. The need swells in me, and without another thought, I crash my lips over his,swallowing every crude word. My tongue strokes his, tasting him.

His hands roam—grappling every inch of me.

My fingers trail down to his jeans. I unclasp his belt, then pop the button. He lifts me off him awkwardly, fumbling to work my jeans off. Frustration sizzles between us, and then—rip—he tears my thong clean off.

“Broderick,” I gasp.

“What do you want, Elena?” he asks, mouth hot against my neck, nipping and biting at the crook.

I palm his cock through his boxers, rising slightly before freeing him and notching it at my entrance.

With my other hand, I cup his face and push his head back.