Page 87 of The Irresistible Distraction

“But I am keeping a tally.”

Maggie’s face falls a little, because she’s still ten at heart, before she asks, “Haven’t you ever watched Downton Abbey? Butlers are by definition quiet. Private jets are quiet. You could be on a jet right now, banging⁠—”

An aisle over, we hear a cough and turn to see Angela Brown, our former first grade teacher. I start blushing immediately, but Maggie just smiles broadly. “Hey, Mrs. Brown—look.” She points to her belly. “Future troublemaker in the oven!”

Mrs. Brown smiles and waves. “Nice to see you girls haven’t changed,” she murmurs, before moving toward a quieter section of the store.

“Was that an insult? Did we just get burned by our first grade teacher? Or was that more, Aw, you’ve kept your joyful innocence?”

“The former,” I sigh.

“Whatever, I can’t let you distract me. What I was saying is, instead of getting some”—Maggie finally lowers her voice, though not much—“you’re here in the Lake Arrowhead thrift store, which is just so you, it’s depressing.”

“Technically, the lifestyle swap was Brody’s idea.”

“Only because you cornered him into it. So come on, do the man a solid, take a nice bath, lotion yourself up, and meet him at the door wearing this and nothing else.”

“I feel like this is how you got your . . . sex injury.”

“Hell yes, and I’d be thrilled for you to join me.”

I glance around furtively, as if we’re about to steal the dress in question. “Aren’t you a few hundred steps ahead?”

My best friend thrusts the dress in my direction, and I take it with limp fingers. It’s well priced, at least. “I could try it on?”

“Just buy it, Sophie. The whole point of this absolute bonkers gift Brody’s giving you is to live a little, test your own boundaries.”

In the end, I buy it and another slightly longer dress, in burgundy. Who knows when I’d wear either, but at least I feel like I could wear the second one without blushing.

Since I can’t bring myself to wear either of the new dresses, I greet Brody in my normal tank and shorts. It doesn’t matter. He kisses me as though it’s been forever, and the first time, we don’t even make it to the bedroom. Instead, he bends me over the couch and promises me he’ll buy me a new one, where the angle is less awkward, even as he thrusts into me from behind, his hands sure but eager, a little rougher and more callused than they were two days ago.

He carries me to the bed and tells me to give him five minutes.

“We could eat dinner, you know. There are some Cynthia enchiladas cooling on the stove.”

“No.” Brody shakes his head. “The one thing I’ve learned so far, in two full days at the diner? Every minute with you counts. I’ve got work tomorrow, camping for much of Saturday and all of Sunday, and then back to work Monday. Right now, while Sebastian’s out, we owe it to ourselves to have all the sex.”

I laugh. I brush aside a curly lock of his hair that’s fallen across his forehead. “I’m increasingly glad you eavesdropped on us that day.”

“Me too.” His hand drifts down to my breast, his fingers playing with my nipple in a gentle, almost idle way. He bends down to kiss it gently, seeming content with a slower pace. “Now, are you ready for the compulsory portion of tonight’s activities?”

I smile, and then my breath hitches as he lowers his head, tenderly taking one nipple into his mouth. “This is mandatory?”

“Absolutely. Though less popular than the revenge sex you initially used me for⁠—”

“I told you⁠—”

He silences me with a kiss. “Agree to disagree. Now, while makeup sex is also quite popular, opportunistic sex is equally enjoyable,” he whispers.

I’m smiling even as he gathers me to him, his hardening erection pressing against the inside of my thigh, damp from earlier. It should embarrass me, how ready, willing, and eager I always am, but I’m too aroused to care. He thrusts into me, no preamble, his eyes on me in a way that feels intimate and beautiful.

He holds himself still, and then only after I’ve grown accustomed to his cock does he flex a little, in a way that has me gasping.

“I like opportunistic sex,” I stutter out as his hand moves casually to my breast. We’re back to the gently taunting Brody, the one who enjoys teasing me every bit as much as he seems to love fucking me. He pulses within me, my body arching as it urges him to hurry, to help me get there.

I grasp at his arms, scratching along the tattoos, but all Brody does is chuckle, his touch feather-light, his thumb far too gentle against my nipple, his dick inside me hard but unmoving, as if he has all the time in the world.

It’s a struggle between the two of us, and as before, I can tell the teasing is a torment for both of us.