by Evie Claire
The resigned tone in his voice broke Phebe further. She knew exactly what he meant. What was their endgame? That wasn’t a question she could answer, because while she had resigned herself to the fact that she was far from ready to let Brody out of her life, she didn’t exactly know how he fit in it, either. But for the first time ever, she found herself wanting him to fit into more than just her vagina. That had to count for something. She studied a small black tat that swirled over his wrist to the base of his thumb. Damn those hands! They held each other when they should be holding her, and it suddenly felt all sorts of wrong that they weren’t.
“Relationships never have a guaranteed endgame. Each one is a risk you consciously take.” Phebe slid her chair even closer, close enough to rest a hand atop his fist. “I’m willing to bet on you. On us. Can’t we just have fun and see where this goes?”
“Fun?” Brody questioned, his brow wrinkled.
“Fun.”
Brody’s brow loosened and his eyes narrowed. Again, Phebe was reminded that fun wasn’t a word typically used to describe her. The thought sparked nerves in her belly. He straightened to pull his hands away, but Phebe grabbed them and stopped his retreat. With an unapologetic shrug, she cracked a half smile and added, “I like you, Brody. And that puts you in a minuscule minority of the world’s population.”
It was enough to stop his retreat. Brody stared at their hands and then rubbed his thumb over the soft spot just under hers. He exhaled what should have been a chuckle and shook his head.
“Um…okay. I can’t do this anymore.” His words impaled Phebe even though his hands hadn’t moved from hers.
“What?”
“You are the worst fucking fuck buddy anyone could ever fucking ask for. It hasn’t even been a week, and you broke every damn rule we made. I can’t do this.”
Phebe pulled her hands away and sat back, unable to look at him. What the hell had just happened? Had she lost? Had she put every card she held on the table only to have them shoved down her throat?
“This…” Brody held up the invitation. Phebe saw it only out of the corner of her eye, already turning to gather her things and make the most painful retreat of her life. “This, I can do.”
Phebe froze. Dropped the straps she’d gathered in her hands and looked up with disbelief. “You mean…”
“I’d love for you to be my plus-one. But…” Brody held up the invitation to emphasize a point. His lips pulled into a smile. “I’m never going for breakfast again. Unless you beg. Preferably on your hands and knees.”
God, when that boy smiled so wickedly, it was everything. Like the sunshine decided his face was the only surface worthy of touching that day. It was so warm and inviting; Phebe felt its heat flood into every pore she possessed—the sweetest of reliefs.
“Deal.” She didn’t even try to keep the smile off her face. Because why should she? She liked Brody. Really liked Brody. And now that she had admitted it to herself and to him, she could finally relax and just enjoy it. Assuming those were things she could learn to do.
She’d never really enjoyed much outside of work. In her mind, she reasoned it was about damn time. Besides, she didn’t exactly have much to do for the next few weeks. Except him. Always the perfectionist, she knew if they were going to have a fighting chance, she had to come clean about a few things. Standing up, she kicked a leg over his and sat down. Straddling his lap, she pushed him farther into the chair and fixed him with a serious expression.
“A few things you should know about me.”
“Do I need a pen?” he joked. Phebe landed a soft blow to his gut.
“I love morning sex. I don’t even mind cuddling with you for a little while after. But unless you want to drive me absolutely insane, you’ve got to give me my space. A leisurely morning of postcoital coffee may sound heavenly to some, but I’d rather slit my wrists. That’s just me.”
“I can promise you I will never make that mistake again.” Brody tucked his head to the side like the memory was too much to bear.
“I don’t want a man to solve my problems. If I’m bitching about something, just give me space to vent in a judgment-free zone. That’s the only help I need.”
Brody nodded.
“And don’t confuse me for the passive-aggressive type that says one thing really meaning another and leaves it for you to figure out. I have zero problem telling you exactly what I need and want.”
“Life would be much simpler if everyone did.” Brody’s eyes went wide with the truth, but when Phebe’s found her lap instead of his honest gaze, it was obvious there was another truth she had a harder time admitting. He circled his arms around her hips, giving her his full attention. Not in a sexual way, just in a loose one that told her he was ready for whatever she had to throw at him.
“I think I may have mentioned my mom to you.” Phebe kept her hands and her attention in her lap.
Brody nodded, clearly remembering the discussion on the very same porch after she’d lost her job. It was a passing comment at the time—one about alcoholic family members. But even then, her offhand words held more weight than they should have.
Not seeing his head nod, Phebe looked up, her eyes steely and gray and hard. Like she wasn’t sure she should continue or not.
“You said she chewed spearmint gum to hide the alcohol on her breath.” Brody repeated her comment near verbatim. Phebe took in a small breath, surprised by how much he remembered. Her face, though still blank, eased out of the lines it had worked itself into. Brody was a safe space. If she hadn’t known that before, she was figuring it out now.
“My mother needed a man to function. When my father left, she lost the ability to do anything for herself. Some days she didn’t even get out of bed. For years, I watched her. How helpless she was. How needy. And every day, I swore to myself I would rather die than turn out like her. My career, my determination…in a way, it’s my own personal life insurance policy.” Phebe paused, tucking a few errant hairs behind an ear. Her gaze rested on his chest now instead of her lap.
Brody remained silent, but moved his thumb to barely brush along the side of her hip. An encouraging gesture, one that told her he was there, but only if she wanted him. And she did. She turned her head toward his thumb, watching the way it held her. Taking a deep breath, she found the words to continue.
“Whenever anything comes into my life that threatens to disrupt the balance, it freaks me out. Makes me feel out of control. And I do things and say things that I don’t always mean. Usually I don’t give a shit when I fuck things up. I just pick up the ball and keep running. That doesn’t really make me a good person, but it’s never bothered me before.” Again, Phebe’s attention moved away from him, like she was bracing herself against what was about to come. “But you make me wish I was…better. Softer.”
Brody’s chest caved in on itself. Enough to pull his shoulders infinitesimally forward with the sheer impact of her words. Because it wasn’t just what she said, it was how she said it. All halting and uncertain. Not at all the way Phebe Stark normally spoke. Which told him the most important truth she would never utter that day—these were words she’d never spoken out loud. Words she’d never dreamed of sharing. Until Brody.
Brody took his arm from behind her, grabbing her hand in one of his, and lifting her chin with the other. He stared deeply into her eyes for a few silent seconds, waiting to be sure her attention was fully on him and no longer second-guessing her honesty.
“I fucking love your determination. Don’t you ever think I don’t. Where most men fear you, I respect you. For everything that you are. And if I do disrupt your world?” Brody bit his bottom lip and released it in one slow roll from between his teeth. His eyebrows raised and he shrugged slightly, as if pushing all his chips in. “It’s only because I’m trying to make mine better.” Brody’s gaze softened, and he exhaled a small breath throug
h his teeth. That was his admission—something he’d known since she first found his bar top. Life was better with Phebe. The air changed when she was in his space. It was a small thing, but somehow everything, too.
The instant her brain processed what he was saying, the storm clouds blew out of Phebe. Her steely eyes found a fun, flirty light that told him what he said was everything she needed to hear. A smile cut across her face and all the self-doubt and second-guessing from the minutes before evaporated into thin air. A lightness of being took her over; one so palpable, Brody felt its warmth flow from her hand into his like fucking sunshine.
What was that?
Wrapping his hand in both of hers, she pulled it into her lap, planted it at the crease between her thighs, and beamed at him like a girl who was about to burst.
“There’s something else.” She tried to sound serious, like there was another cause for life-or-death type honesty coming his way. She failed horribly.
“Eeeesh…” Brody rolled his eyes and playfully slouched his shoulders under the weight of it all. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“I fucking love Fireball,” she whispered, ashamed of her gauche tastes. Like she was genuinely shocked her high-dollar gin palate had anything in common with the college kids who drank it to get absolutely bombed.
“Drew!” Brody yelled down the hallway at their back, hoping to get the young bartender’s attention.
Minutes later, Brody was pouring the first shot of cinnamon whiskey when Phebe laid her last ace on the table and mentally congratulated herself on another deal closed.
“…and your pool table.”
* * *
—
“This pool table?” Brody asked, bending sideways to turn on the single-bulb work lamp. In his other hand he managed to make holding two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey effortless. The man was extraordinarily good with his hands. So good, Phebe needed them on her. Five minutes ago.
“You mean our pool table?” Phebe corrected naughtily, trailing a finger down the long side as she made her way to the balls. “You got any cues?”
“No.” Brody frowned. “Just the balls.”
“I guess these will have to do.”
“For what?”
“Ever played strip pool? You miss a pocket; you lose an article of clothing.”
Brody nodded thoughtfully, running a hand over his beard to hide his smile. “I have to warn you, I’m exceptionally good at pool.”
“Hmm…then should we up the stakes?” Phebe rolled a ball over in her hands, thinking. How exactly could the rules be bent to her favor? Not that they really needed bending. Judging by the bulge rebelling against his zipper, Brody was as ready to seal their deal as she was. But it was fun. Tantalizing. Teasing your lover until the sexual tension was enough to drive you mad. “Tell me a spot that drives you wild.”
“As in…?” Brody toyed back.
“As in the bedroom. Where could I put my lips that would make it damn near impossible for you to sink this”—she placed the ball in his hand—“in that pocket.” She pointed to the far corner, and leaned against the velvet top, her eyes never leaving his.
He brushed a quick glance down her face, over to the pocket, and back again. The smile he’d quit fighting pulled his lips apart as he contemplated the rules of this new game. Without a word, he moved to her, straddling her where she sat. One hand raised to his mouth, gently tapping his lower lip, the other snaked around her waist. “Your kisses always drive me wild.”
Phebe nodded, repaying the favor by wrapping herself around him. He placed the ball on the velvet, lining up his shot. She raised her lips to his. But instead of diving in for the kiss like he expected, she hovered, just barely touching their mouths together. She opened her lips. He opened his, as well. She licked her lips. She took in a quick breath. Stealing the tiniest amount of air from him when she did. He started at the sensation. Then ever so gently, she sucked his bottom lip between hers. Running her tongue down the smooth length of it, her bite grew infinitesimally harder.
The ball left his hands, requiring a gentle effort from all his muscles, distracted as he was. Languidly, he rocked against her as his other hand found its way into her hair. Swoosh. The ball sailed into the corner pocket.
“I think I’ll take this.” Brody pulled at the hem of her T-shirt, eager to claim his winnings.
“Shouldn’t you start with my shoes?” Phebe teased.
“I don’t necessarily need your shoes off for what I have planned.” Brody lifted her shirt and exposed the lilac lace bra beneath. The sight was so much, he couldn’t resist the tiniest kiss. Buried right in the middle of her cleavage. She inhaled deeply. At the rate this game was going, she wasn’t sure it was one she could win. “Your turn.” He placed a ball in her hands.
Phebe hopped off the table and pressed her bare belly against the cool wood side. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she upped the ante. A shot of Fireball sat on the rail beside her. She dabbed a finger in the liquor and drew a trail along her neck for him to follow. In the intimate moments of life, words were hard to come by. Because her truth was simple—it was the only time she wanted to be dominated. And while she could tell Brody what felt good, the thing she most wanted was for him to take control of everything—her orgasm included. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t even want to plan it. She just wanted it to happen. At the request of his very capable hands.
Brody pressed into her back, so forcefully she had to steady herself to keep from falling over the table. Pulling their hips tightly together, he let his breath go hot and heavy on her ear. “Don’t miss…Love,” he whispered his implicit instructions.
Riding the crest of an emotional wave, Phebe’s mind loosened its grip on the world. Leaning in to him, she gave full access to the earlobe he nuzzled. Then took…in his teeth. Slowly he followed her line all the way to the nape of her neck. Nibbling. Kissing. Licking. It felt so right in so many ways, she forgot to roll the ball. Instead, it skittered from her hand and bounced uselessly off the side. Brody chuckled against her neck. And spun her to face him. Okay, this was definitely not a game she was going to win.
“And now I’ll take this.” Brody slid his fingers under the wire of her bra, teasing the line from edge to edge of her underboob. Causing her nipples to press as hard against the delicate lace as his cock pressed against her inner thigh. Guiding her hands up over her head, he quickly whispered back down her sides, and then in one motion—one he seemed to know way too well—her bra disappeared. Breast bursting free and into his waiting mouth.
“Suck it,” Phebe moaned against the feel of his beard skimming her areola. He did exactly what he was told, which was zero help for her. Because now she was useless, writhing against the sensation, groaning with each pull he took against her. How he managed to do anything else was beyond her. But ever the good sport, he swatted at her ball, intentionally missing a pocket.
“I guess I have to lose these,” he said, pulling away long enough to whip his pants down. The fact that he offered up his boxers, too, wasn’t lost on Phebe. But there was a time and place for rule following, and this certainly wasn’t it.
“Ah-ah-ah.” Phebe gained her composure long enough for another attempt at their game. “You didn’t tell me what drives you mad before that shot.”
“Your tits in my mouth weren’t distraction enough?”
Phebe shook her head.
Brody nodded, and sticking his finger in the shot glass, traced a wet line down the V on his body that ended in one very heavenly spot.
Phebe sank to her knees. Grabbing his glorious ass, she bent to the task of licking off every cinnamony drop. And then some. Because the taste of Fireball mixed with a splash of Brody was something she would never get enough of. He wouldn’t, either, because his cock—rock-hard already—brushed against her cheek and tangled in her hair with every m
otion she made. And every time it did, a sound emanating from his throat told her he was just about to break.
Still he made the shot.
“And next, I’ll take this….” Brody fingered the button of her jeans, popping it open with very little effort, only to discover she wasn’t wearing panties—which was the entire reason she’d suggested the game in the first place. His eyes went wide, then narrowed in a lover’s admiration. “Good god, woman. You’re going to kill me.”
He lifted her onto the pool table, pulling her jeans down the length of her with the help of his foot. Where his boots and his own jeans had gotten to was anybody’s guess. The man seemed to have mythic abilities when it came to undressing. But he didn’t take her shoes and jeans all the way off. Instead he stepped into the space created where they bunched at her feet. Pinioning himself between her bare legs.
Another mythic ability? Condom production. Because while she had been losing her mind over his tongue and fingers working through parts of her, he’d managed to have one of those ready, too. A small foil packet he now held up to her mouth.
“Open your mouth,” he whispered, nodding his head to emphasize the request. Only there was zero humor in his expression. Only need. And hunger.
She opened her lips, took the edge of the packet in her teeth, and allowed him to pull it open. Her heart quickened at the gesture. Because, holy hell, it was like making a deal with the devil. She knew full well what that thing was about to slowly roll over. The girth of him currently lay heavily against her abdomen, the tip already wet.
In the tiny space between them, he pulled the rubber out. God, that smell. So sterile, but still so sexy because there is nothing in the world that smells like a condom. It was a sex smell that, for some reason, made her wet as hell the way he did it.