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I adjust my ear buds and skip to the next song, then I sprinkle salt on the steaks and pop the pan into the oven so they can finish sizzling. As the beat thumps through my ears, my entire body hums. It’s not the flu or any type of discomfort or anxiety. I’m flushed from the song. It’s one we danced to that night outside the club. Best night of my life.
Something changed after we fooled around near the ocean. I’m calmer. More content. A new sensation bubbles inside me, but I can’t grasp it long enough to figure out its shape and what it means. Maybe it’s best if I don’t. There’s a whole rainbow of feelings buzzing through me, and not all of them are good. There’s happiness and hope, flutters of affection, but also uneasiness. Worry. Dread.
I sit at the kitchen table to wait as the steaks cook. Brody’s words on the beach—the way he raised doubts about my mother—have been digging holes in my thoughts all week. I know she’s not the best mother, but she’s my mother. She loves me in her own way. Her loneliness can cloud her judgment, but she has good intentions. She only wants to take care of me and have me close for comfort.
My thoughts won’t let me rest, so I grab my phone to pull up the list of lawyers Amber sent. Even if I don’t move forward with messy, expensive, and never-guaranteed legal action, there’s nothing wrong with an objective opinion. Right? Talking through email won’t hurt. My message can be anonymous.
I stare at the list, chewing my hair. I hate the idea of something bad happening to my mom. Just looking at lawyer names makes me queasy. What will happen to her if I go down this path?
One message. Anonymous. And only so I can address these nagging thoughts in my head. I select a lawyer from the list, but before I can message her, the timer on the oven goes off. I’ll message later. After dinner.
Once the steaks are out of the oven and resting on the counter, I move to the salad. As I chop lettuce and tomatoes, the front door clicks. I smile. Even through the EDM in my ears, I hear keys and a wallet drop on the kitchen table. A moment later, fingers glide through my hair, scratching along the sides of my head, brushing strands off my shoulders.
I set the knife down and lean back into Brody’s large, firm torso. Then his arms are around me, holding me, and he places a soft kiss in the crook of my neck. The calm inside me deepens, radiating through every cell.
He pops one of my ear buds out to put it in his own ear. “What are we listening to?” he asks. After a moment, he adds, “Oh, this sounds familiar.”
I nod.
He hugs me tighter, his thick arms swallowing my chest. His lips leave trails along my neck. “Now you’ve got me thinking dirty thoughts. I loved fucking you next to the ocean.”
I melt against him. Me, too. I loved that, too.
His hardness presses into my lower back, and I release a soft breath.
“I think we can spare ten minutes before dinner,” he says.
I nod again. I don’t even care about the food. The steaks can get cold, and I’ll cook new ones later. I’m obsessed with the feeling of being in his arms. Brody’s touch. The warmth of his presence. Even if I never orgasm or love him back, I like this. I want to be wrapped in his arms and never leave.
He turns me around and we kiss. An all-consuming, forget-about-the-world kiss. I squeeze his hardness through his pants, and he moans against my mouth. I want all his moans. Every moment of laughter and those sweet smiles he gives only to me.
When I wrap my arms around his neck, he lifts me onto an empty section of the counter. “Let’s get these off,” he says, hooking the waistband of my yoga pants with his fingers. I wiggle my hips until he pulls them off and drops them to the tile. With a hungry stare, his eyes roam between my legs. “I think I’ll let my fingers have fun now and save the rest for after dinner. You’re the best dessert.”
I unbuckle his pants so I can stroke him. I want dessert, too.
He grins against my lips. His tongue grazes mine, then his fingers slip inside me right when the song blasting through our ears mellows to a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Soon, the song will build and drop, built and drop in undulating waves that get stronger each time. Beat drops are ecstasy.
“I think this is my new favorite song,” he whispers. His fingers push deeper, curving up to rub the spot I’m surprised I never found before him. A deep grunt escapes my mouth because I can’t help it. It’s like his fingers have a direct connection to my throat.
“Fuck, you’re really turned on and wet today.” His hips pump into my hand that’s encircling his length.
The music pulses down my body into my core, swirling around Brody’s fingers and movements. I release his cock to dig my hands into his back.
“Fuck, you know I love that.”
I dig deeper until he moans, his fingers matching the rhythm of the song, the beat building. Building. His fingers pumping. Moving faster. Faster. Pulsing. His fingers and the music pulse between my legs. I gasp when his thumb presses into my clit.
He pulls my hips closer to the edge of the counter, closer to him, then his teeth nip at my breast through my top. “I’ve never seen you this turned on. I hope I don’t spill on the floor because my dick is throbbing like crazy for you.”
I arch my back and push his mouth against my chest. He teases a nipple, fingers curving into that sensitive spot, the heel of his palm smacking against my crease. Feeling twists into every muscle. Every nerve aches and burns. I don’t know what this feeling is, but I need more. More stimulation. While one hand grips Brody’s hair, my other rubs my needy, swollen clit.
This is too much. What do I do with all of this? This feeling. My racing heart. Am I having a panic attack? My skin is ablaze and desperate for touch. My thighs tremble. This ache is about to absorb me until nothing remains. Terror shoots up my body from the new sensations. A lump forms in my throat, but I can’t stop rubbing. I can’t pull free from Brody and this maddening song.
Brody glances up from my chest. His gentle blue eyes gaze into mine, and I exhale. Brody is here. I’m safe. I’m safe. Everything is—
The beat drops and a second later, a deafening moan slashes through my throat. The ache swallows me whole, ravaging my core, demanding more touch, more rubbing, more of Brody’s fingers. My body shakes, every muscle tight and swallowing each drop of heat until I’m as fiery as the sun. I tremble and moan and almost fall off the counter as Brody’s fingers prolong the ache. Then everything, the world, softens. My muscles ease into a deep, penetrating relaxation I’ve never felt before. My breath slows. My pulse returning to normal.
Brody eases his fingers out, and we stare at each other. All he says is, “Did you?”
