Page 55 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Sunk cost,” I whisper, reaching forward to balance myself on his shoulders as he adds a finger inside me.

Brody chuckles and murmurs something that sounds like, Better just to give in then, before his lips are on me, his tongue flat against my clit. I am shockingly, frighteningly close even before he lifts one of my thighs, granting me a modicum of support by balancing it on top of his shoulder but in a way that makes me feel infinitely more exposed. I slip a little, losing my balance, and his hands leave me to cup my ass, lifting and angling me to him.

Usually, I have to fight to relax.

Under any other circumstance, I’m sure I would be overthinking this.

But everything happens so quickly here, his tongue spearing me as he buries his face into me, while I feel myself trying to grind into his face. I am hurtling toward an abyss before I even understand. I am screaming please and his name and other things that must be completely incoherent as one of my hands claws along the wall, the other winding itself into his hair and pulling in a way that must surely hurt.

As if from a great distance away, I hear Brody give a grunt, but I am beyond being able to control any part of my body. My head lolls back as I come in what feels like waves, his tongue buried deep inside me, his hands still gripping my ass. Vaguely, I am aware that Brody lowers my body to the floor, that I find myself what is seconds, or minutes, or perhaps eons later curling into him, the two of us still mostly clothed. He wipes at my cheeks, and it’s only then that I realize I must have actually cried during my orgasm, which I also, definitely, did not know was a thing.

He is infinitely gentle with me, cuddling me against him, adjusting us so that I’m cradled in his lap, and I only gradually come back to reality, realize that there is a rather thick erection pressing into my butt, that Brody has taken care of me while I have done nothing to relieve his obviously pressing needs. I shift a little, trying to rouse myself. My voice is raspy and my throat hurts a little, as if I have been screaming all night. “You didn’t⁠—”

But he hushes me. “Best kiss of my life.”

The heat of the blush that spreads across my face travels down my neck and suffuses my entire body. He lifts me as he glances at the clock. “That was quick enough we ought to make it a nightly tradition, don’t you think?”

I grasp at the edges of my dress, trying to tie it, not understanding why my hands are so useless, completely boneless. But Brody seems to understand. He sets me on wobbly feet before rising and lifting me effortlessly.

“Sebastian will see,” I say, my head resting against his chest, eyes already closing as Brody finds my house key.

“If he does, I’ll explain you were just that tired. Like when we watched the movie.”

My brain is too useless to come up with an appropriate reply, and so I let him carry me across the street, a feat that barely seems to make him out of breath. He opens the door to a completely quiet house before carrying me to bed and adjusting the blankets around me.

He presses a quick kiss to my cheek before telling me he’ll be right back, and a few minutes later, he brings me a glass of water he places by the bedside. “Seba’s sleeping fine, I checked.”

I squeeze my eyes shut at the rush of emotion I feel, that Brody stopped to check on my son.

“Thank you,” I whisper, unwilling to open my eyes, to let him read the surfeit of emotions that are threatening to overflow.

“Thank you,” Brody tells me, turning off the bedside light and smoothing a piece of my hair away. “You’re even sweeter than your cookies.”

16

LEAN IN

My entire body feels like one large, overheated blush the next morning, less painful than a sunburn, but just as omnipresent and inescapable. I’m almost absurdly grateful that Brody’s coming to my place so I don’t have to face Vera’s house or Vera’s front door before I’ve had a chance to mentally gird my loins, to allow the memories to fade a little. My fingers are scratchy from trying to claw at the wood paneling, and I’m worried I’ll have to check whether there’s actual damage.

I bring two fingers to my lips, where there’s a small bruise because of how hard I bit myself, and my blush intensifies at the memories. Part of me is certain even in my dotage, when I’ve forgotten everything from my social security number to the names of my coworkers, the images of what we did last night will remain . . . vivid, seared permanently into my psyche.

My mind is hazy as I hurriedly brush my teeth, and I’m still putting my hair into a ponytail as I open the door for Brody. “Thank you for coming, letting Sebastian sleep in. It also saves me time.”

He glances at the clock and I follow his gaze, blushing because I can guess what he’s thinking, what I’m considering as well. “Time enough for a kiss? Two?” His stupidly handsome face is turned toward me, freshly shaved, eyes already twinkling, asking me to share in his not-joke. And looking at him, I can’t help but absolve myself of any lingering guilt, because honestly, who could possibly resist this objectively too-sexy face? Brody’s ever-present smile? At my silence, he continues. “But . . . you haven’t told Sebastian we’re dating yet, right?”

“Since you tucked me into bed last night? No.” A pause, and because I can’t resist, I ask, “Are we dating?”

He reaches one hand out, waiting until I place my hand in his. “I’m going to feel awfully cheap if you don’t date me now.”

“You are not suggesting you’re only physical with women you date.”

“Considering the vow of honesty I just made? Of course not. Even Maggie, who has her hottie firefighter husband, admits I am objectively fine, meaning yes, I’ve enjoyed gaining the expertise I can now use to woo you.” He smooths his thumb along my hand. “But I find myself particularly eager to make this official with you, meaning I’d love to pick you up after your shift.”

“This is the extra credit thing?”

“It is. But you’re so damn stingy about our time together, I’m forced to optimize each outing. Thus”—he opens his arms broadly, and I find myself staring at his sharp cheekbones—“we’re heading down the mountain tonight. Don’t worry, Sebastian and you will share one bedroom, I’ll be in another. This way, we’ll have all of Sunday.”

Love-bombing, I think. Because thanks to Netflix and the scary faux documentaries about susceptible women Maggie made me watch during her pre-pregnancy reality-style true crime phase, there is a part of me that worries about the speed of all this. I worry about how Sebastian will handle Brody leaving, but also what happens if we were to continue, to attempt the long-distance thing.