Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

12

Rachel

“Whew,” he says, when they’re all gone.

We’re standing on the dock, catching our breath, coming down from the intensity of the party. It’s dusk now, the sun’s dipped below the horizon, the sky is starting to darken. He’s close to me, the warmth streaming off his body, his leather and musk scent. I’m hyper aware of him. I’ve spent the last hour talking about sex, handling model penises, and watching Brody look at me like he wants to devour me. It’s enough to make a girl buy stock in panties.

“Is that going to happen a lot?”

I shake my head. “Pretty sure Benton Frusk is going to be more careful about his multi-tasking after the two of them are done with him.”

“That was cool.” He ducks his head, not quite looking at me. “What you said to them. You can think on your feet. I wish I could.”

“You did,” I say.

“Yeah, but I was all brawn. You were finesse.”

I laugh at that. “I’m flattered, but—I think it was more desperation than finesse.”

“Well, you’re good at that. Keeping things from blowing up. Keeping the party on track.”

“Thanks.” I duck my head.

“And the other thing, too. Explaining the products. Selling them.”

I lift my chin and meet his gaze, green and hungry. He’s staring at me. Not looking away. It’s almost too much. I have the ridiculous thought that Brody limits his eye contact because it’s a controlled substance. And he doesn’t talk because he doesn’t need to. His body is eloquent. Green eyes, the tilt of his head, the tension in his shoulders, his clenched fists.

All that tension sets up an answering coil of heat in my body.

“There’s something I need to know.” His voice has dropped, low and husky.

“What’s that?” My own voice is barely audible.

“Do you?”

I don’t know what he’s asking, but I feel like he’s cast a spell over me. I can’t move. I’m just—waiting. For what’s already happening. Whatever he wants to know, the question is heavy with intent.

“Do I what?” I dare.

“Have two in right now?”

I’m still puzzled.

He holds his hand out. My gaze drops to it. He rolls two invisible, imaginary ben wa balls in his palm, and the sparklers in my body give way to fireworks.

I make a small helpless sound, and his pupils flare, wide and needy.

“Brody—”

His voice is rough. “Because it’s all I can think about.”

I shake my head. “No. But—you’re making me wish I did.”

It’s his turn to utter a dark, wordless groan. Because we both know what I mean. That I need to be full. Filled.

I’m breathless. I can feel the slick of my body’s lube on the swollen lips of my sex.

He catches me as my knees sag, tugs me into his arms, and kisses me with a rough desperate sound. His hands cup my head, his mouth opens and slants over mine, and I can’t breathe or think. I clutch his head, his hair, his shoulders. His thigh slides between mine, and I can’t help myself, I move against it, hungry and helpless.

And then as fast as it started, like a summer thunderstorm, it’s over, and he steps back. I’m left panting, revved up, needy. I want to grab him and hold him—but I don’t.

“I—” Brody attempts. For a split second I’m sure he’s going to apologize and I will have to disembowel him, but he shakes his head. “Wow, Rachel.”

My voice is shaky. “Can we do that again?”

He laughs, a honey-rough, perfect sound. Then he sobers, the rare and beautiful smile falling away. “Can we talk a minute first?”

I raise my eyebrows. “That’s not your line.”

“I know. But I don’t think on my feet, like I said.”

Part of me doesn’t want to talk. It just wants to do, to keep kissing and touching.

To be filled.

But it’s starting to rain now, just a few droplets, and if our situations were reversed, I know I’d want him to hear me out. Not rush me.

I say, “Maybe in the truck?”

We climb up. He sets both his hands on the steering wheel, but doesn’t start the engine. He just sits there. The silence rolls out between us. The windows are down. I can hear us breathing, even above the shrill sound of tree frogs and crickets.

“I know this whole thing is weird. Me being your brother’s friend, and all.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“And you’re selling sex toys on my boat.”

“Relationship enhancement products,” I say, reflexively, which makes me smile.

Actually, I feel a lot like smiling. My lips—no, my whole mouth, including my tongue and teeth—are tingling, and my body’s on fire. Or melted. I can’t tell which. I just know I want to reach for him so badly, to drown my need in him.

“But all that aside. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long, long time.”

Okay, now, that’s a surprise. “You have?”

“Mmm-hmm. I’m not going to put a date on it, because I don’t want to go to jail.”

I laugh, and then grind to a halt. “Wait. You’re saying you didn’t start feeling this way just since I’ve been back in Rush Creek.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Way before that.”

Waybefore? “So why were you always so curt with me?”

He raises his eyebrows like this might be the dumbest question anyone’s ever asked. “Self-preservation?”

“I thought you hated me,” I admit.

“Oh, Rachel,” he says helplessly. “Jesus. No.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat.

“Me too. I mean, I’ve wanted this for a long time, too.”

His eyes pop open. It’s his turn to look startled.

“What?” I say. “Did you think I was the one woman who was immune to your charms?”

“I’m not that charming.”

Oddly enough, I think he means it.

“You are. And I’m not. Immune. I’m not.”

“The point is,” he says, “I want to kiss you again.”

Ohhh. Okay, then.

“You could,” I whisper, unable to look away from his mouth. It’s full and soft and I can practically already feel it. The slide of his tongue, the taste of him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

It’s a growl.

“What if…” My breath is a hot mess, rapid and ragged. “What if I want to tempt you?”

“Rachel,” he warns. The roughness in his voice does terrible, wonderful things to my nipples, which in turn send a shot of heat to the needy place between my legs. “I think we both know it’s a bad idea. You’re just off a bad breakup—”

“Connor told you that?”

“Uh-huh. And I’m off a bad breakup.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Connor’s information stream is one-way, I guess.

He waves a hand, as if to say it doesn’t matter, but of course, I’m curious.

“And Connor has been my best friend my whole life.”

“Also fair,” I say. “But Brody?”

“Yes?” he says.

“I don’t care.”

And then I kiss him.

Brody

Rachel’s mouth is soft and lush and hungry. She kisses me like she can’t get enough, moaning her pleasure, and I kiss her right back, licking into the softness, into the wine-taste of her. Her hands come up, thrusting into my hair, and the pull on my scalp tugs a hundred other sensitive places. I was hard before her lips touched mine, but now I’m hard enough that it hurts, the best-ever ache.

She crawls over and straddles me, pressing her heat against my throbbing cock.

Holy shit, she feels good. Her weight where I want it, my hands suddenly filled with her curves. I yank her close, closer, and thrust up against her heat.

She’s frantic, tipping her hips, rubbing along my length.

I break the kiss and say, breathless, “Keep that up, and I’m going to come in my pants like a teenager.”

“I want that. I want to make you feel good.”

“You’re already making me feel good. Kiss me again.”

We kiss and kiss. I can’t get enough. It’s a good thing I didn’t know any of this about Rachel—how soft her tits feel in my hands; how hard her nipples get when she’s turned on, especially in the cool night air; that she whimpers each time she rolls her hips.

I kiss her mouth, slide my lips along her jaw to find her earlobe, soft as satin, and the patch of smooth, tender skin just behind it. I breathe against the shell of her ear, loving the jerk of her hips, her broken moan. With the tip of my tongue, I chase that sensation for her, and am rewarded with more rubbing, more moaning.

She is so fucking hot.

I cup both her breasts in my hands. They overflow my grasp, and it’s my turn to moan and jerk against her, involuntarily, and for a second I almost lose control. Then I find it again, and stroke her through her t-shirt, loving the softness, the way her head rolls back and another sound, one I haven’t heard before, escapes her lips. A needy little huff of breath.

I’m hungry for more. I yank her shirt up and find her bra underneath, dip my head to lick one hard peak through the thin lace of a bra whose color I can’t make out in the dim cab.

“Brody,” she pleads, so I lick again, circling, imagining that I can draw the tension there to a perfect, sweet, crisis. With my hand, I work the other nipple, and she finds a steady rhythm against me.

I grasp her hips to make her stop, and she whimpers again. “Please.”

“Not yet.”

I reach behind her and unhook her bra. The moment I release the strap, she sighs, and when I reach to touch her, both hands on those soft, perfect globes, she makes a strangled sound of pleasure and relief.

I pinch her nipples lightly, so lightly, and work them patiently while I spread my thighs a little to make it impossible for her to rub off on me.

“Stop teasing.”

“It’s too fun.”

“You’re killing me.”

She reaches between us. For the button of my jeans. Lust makes her clumsy, and she grapples unsuccessfully.

I shake my head.

“I want you,” she says. “You’ve got to have a condom in here somewhere.”

I put my hands on her shoulders. Gently. And shift her back, just a little. Using the spread of my thighs and the press of my palms to keep her at a safe distance.

“We should stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she says breathlessly, which almost tears through my self-control.

But this is Rachel. Rachel.

I’ve had a lot of sex in trucks, and I’d bet she hasn’t had any.

“I don’t want to stop either,” I say. “I want to know if you’ll come like this. My fingers on your nipples and your pussy rubbing off on my cock. I want to know what sounds you make when you come. What you look like. How flushed you get. I want to know if you’ll beg me if I take too long.”

“I will!” she breathes. “God, Brody. I will!”

“But if I don’t stop now, I’m going to end up fucking you in my truck. And you’re not that girl.”

I’m looking right into her eyes when I say this. It’s dark, but even so, I see it.

The flinch.

I feel it, too. She freezes under my hands. Stock still.

Like she went from flame to stone in a second.

I know I’ve made a big mistake.

“Rachel.”

She’s shaking her head. She eases off me and turns to settle herself back in the passenger seat. Even from over here, though, I can feel that sudden stiffness in her body.

“Rachel, talk to me.”

For a split, fearful second, I think she won’t. And then she crosses her arms, opens her mouth, and unleashes.