Page 69 of Rush

He doesn’t speak right away. And the silence might kill me.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of everything we’ve just laid out, then glances back at me and shakes his head.

“You know you want to, Brody…just say yes,” I sing-song, my words wrapped in sugar and heat. Flirtation, weaponized—one sultry note at a time.

“Elena.”

His jaw tightens. The veins in his arms pulse as he breathes in slow, deep exhales. His eyes search mine for any hint of doubt—but he won’t find it.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, his resolve slipping through his fingers.

“So…are you in?” I ask, unable to keep the smile from my lips.

“Yes, I’ll be your dick-on-demand.”

That’s all I need.

Adrenaline spikes, a thrill running through me so sharp it makes me bold. Reckless. Brave.

I step toward him, fingers aching to touch, to trace the lines of his body and feel the heat of his skin.

But before I can reach him, he watches me—something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “Though,” he murmurs, voice low and wicked, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “I should probably warn you…”

I freeze, breath caught midair, my gaze locked on his.

He raises a hand, wrapping it gently but firmly around my jaw and neck, tilting my face up to meet his. His grip tightens enough to send a jolt of heat down my spine.

His eyes drop to my lips, lingering there just long enough to make my pulse stutter, before dragging slowly back up to meet mine.

“I like it rough.”

A shiver ripples through me. Not from fear. From anticipation.

God help me,I think.

But I’m not praying for rescue. I’m praying he doesn’t stop.

Chapter 8

Crave

The air in the gym crackles with unspoken tension.

I challenge him with a wicked smile and he drops his hands down my body. I take a slow step back, meeting his dark gaze—his dimpled grin still plastered across his lips.

I’m about to wipe that smirk right off his gorgeous face if he thinks he has the upper hand.

I tut, soft and seductive, “This isn’t about whatyoulike.”

Broderick’s lip twitches.

“It’s about whatIwant.”

His eyes narrow, recalibrating. Focusing on me like an animal being cornered.

“And what exactly doyouwant?” he asks, voice dripping with challenge and curiosity.

I don’t answer. Not yet.