Page 181 of Rush

“Ah,” he says, the realization hitting as he put two and two together.

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” he adds softly. “He should’ve known better.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” I say, too dry, too fast.

He sets the bottle down and steps closer, fingertips grazing the side of my neck. His thumb brushes my jaw, tilts my face up.

Those green eyes.

Broderick looks at me like I hung the stars. Like I’m rare. Like I matter.

Not the girl who got left. Not the girl who is holding on to a bouquet of flowers searching for answers.

“He should’ve cherished someone as precious as you.”

My throat tightens.

No. Not that. Don’t say things like that.

It’s too much. Too sincere. The heat in my chest morphs into panic. As the air around us shifts.

“Is this foreplay for all the worshipping you’re gonna do?” I tease, voice light, trying to steer us into safer ground, but it feels forced.

He blinks, caught off guard. His mouth curves.

“Who wants who now?”

“Well?” I back toward the counter, heart thudding. “I’m waiting.”

His gaze drops. Then he sinks to his knees.

No hesitation. No smirk.

Just hands on my hips, tugging at the waistband of my pants and panties with a patience that makes my breath catch.

He looks up—a silent question.

I nod.

He slides them down and kisses the inside of my thigh like he’s been dreaming of this from a time zone away.

Then his mouth is on me.

I grip the edge of the counter, knees nearly buckling. My head tips back with a gasp I can’t swallow.

He’s relentless.

Hot, slow drags of his tongue that make my thighs shake. He groans when I buck against him, like he loves how messy I get for him. Like my body is the prize.

He’s so good at this it’s intoxicating.

“Grammy-nominated goddesses,” he murmurs against me, “taste so fucking sweet. Who knew?”

This is good. This is safe.

But the more we talk, the more we connect, the harder it gets to pretend it’s just sex. Just fun. Just a distraction.

Right now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to be precious.