Page 277 of Rush

“You okay.” His thumb strokes my cheek, grounding me.

I nod and feign a smile. But the pit in my stomach doesn’t ebb.

“There she is,” he murmurs. Then Broderick reaches behind the seat and pulls out a black silk blindfold.

“You’re kidding.”

He twirls it on one finger. “Not even a little.”

“You’re seriously blindfolding me again?”

“Humor me?”

I nod.

“Turn around.”

I shift in my seat to face the window. The fog rising on the tarmac is the last thing I see before he gently brushes my hair aside, sliding silk over my head.

My heart pounds in the darkness as I feel him near my ear.

“I like you in the dark,” he says, securing it behind my head. “Makes your mouth even filthier… and your pussy wetter.”

Even though my mind is racing a million miles a minute, I can’t control the way my body betrays me. Heat creeps up my neck, straight to my face—as flashes of us play through my mind like a reel I can’t shut off: his mouth between my legs, the cuffs on my wrists, the way my breath caught beneath his palm.

“What are you blushing about?” he asks, tracing his finger across my cheek.

My breathing sounds louder in my ears. “Are we gonna have hot sex in your Mustang?”

“No, baby,” he says, voice dropping. “Wouldn’t want you to wet the leather.”

I groan, swatting at him—but I miss.

Broderick chuckles. The engine shuts off. My door opens, and then he’s guiding me out with firm hands on my waist. He loops my bag over my shoulder.

It’s disorienting—feet on concrete, cool air brushing my skin, the sound of wheels, voices, the clank of metal equipment being unpacked nearby.

His hands never leave me. One guides the small of my back; the other stays loosely linked with mine.

I can smell the morning—damp grass, burnt fuel, coffee someone’s drinking nearby.

Then a pause. He lifts me clean off the ground, placing me somewhere. “Brody…”

“Trust me.”

Part of me does, but there is that small part that is still unsure.

I hear the rustle of nylon, the mechanical whoosh of something inflating, distant voices calling things I can’t make out.

My stomach drop as we move. A lift.

We’re…rising.

“Wait—”

“Shhh,” he whispers near my ear, steadying me. “Almost there.”

We climb higher, the wind shifting softly around us. The only sound I can hear is his breathing and the loud whooshing of something.