Page 168 of Rush

A pair of Ava’s bandmates rush us, laughing, and shove us in.

The water hits like a slap—sharp and electric—but then warm hands find me under the surface, pulling me close. Broderick’s mouth crashes against mine, and we kiss beneath the water, desire blooming between us. My fingers knot in his hair. His body presses to mine, hard and hungry.

We break the surface gasping.

“Woo!” Ava shouts as she swims to the edge.

I turn to Broderick, water streaming down my face, hair clinging to my skin.

“I’m sober,” I say, voice low and certain. “Take me back to my room—now.”

I need you to fuck the shadows of Alex away.

I waketo the warmth of him. Broderick fucked me so hard last night we passed out, tangled in sweat and sheets. He also, veryconveniently, forgot to book himself a room—what with the last-minute decision to fly out and see me.

So. It was either sleep outside or in my bed,apparently.

It’s just sex. Still just sex.

Even though we keep breaking the rules.

“If I could wake up like this every—” he starts, voice thick with sleep.

I press a finger to his lips. “This isn’t happening again.”

He licks the tip, then pulls it into his mouth, biting down gently before sucking—slow and dirty.

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, and I scowl at him, despite myself.

“You’re grumpy in the mornings.” He pouts, all mock innocence, and God help me, he looks unfairly cute when he’s being a menace.

“I’m a little hungover,” I grumble.

“Can I offer some morning sex for your pleasure?”

“My pussy is so fucking raw from last night, Brody.”

He barks out a laugh. “Well, can I kiss it better?”

“Maybe.”

I gasp as he slides down the bed, fingers hooking around my thighs. My hands claw at the sheets when his mouth finds me—and I’m melting beneath him all over again, aching pussy be damned.

He nestles between my thighs like he owns the space. My legs trembling as my heels dig into the thick muscle of his shoulders. His tongue circles, maddeningly slow.

“We broke the rules again,” I breathe, voice already unraveling.

He pauses just long enough to graze his teeth along the inside of my thigh—a light teasing scrape.

“Rules,” he murmurs, “are always open to negotiation.”

“Not this one,” I pant, though the words are already crumbling on my tongue. “Oh?” His breath fans hot across my skin. “Because Boston said otherwise. And Chicago? Your sister’s wedding.”

“That was a lapse in judgment,” I hiss, just before he flicks his tongue where I’m throbbing, wrenching a moan from deep in my chest.

“You keep fucking me so hard I pass out.”

“Which, for the record,” he says between strokes, “was a mutually beneficial outcome. High satisfaction rate. Zero complaints filed.”