Shit.
Shit.
He wasn’t answering.
Why wasn’t he answering?
Brody: Commando again? Do I need to come over and take care of any photographers?
Me: Nope. I’m all alone.
Brody: One sec.
One sec?
Okay. I was sweating. Blatant, blatant flirting.
If he didn’t say something one hundred percent flirtatious right back, after his “one sec,” I was going to backpedal the hell out of here and call it a night.
The minutes. Ticked. By.
One sec, my ass.
I put the phone down and tried to get into a video about how to cut an onion without crying. Because that was a handy thing to know. I was planning to make Roni nachos and margaritas tomorrow night, to thank her for letting me stay with her longer than expected, saving me from booking myself into a lonely hotel room or crashing with the horny honeymooners over at my brother’s place.
After that, I pulled up a vid on how to make a killer strawberry margarita.
After that, I started thinking about Brody in his skimpy black briefs—not that I’d really stopped—and my hand found its way between my legs. Just kind of rubbing the crotch of my sweatpants, but still. If he was going to leave me hanging, again, I was prepared to take matters into my own hand.
Things were just starting to get good when finally, fucking finally my phone buzzed.
Brody: Sorry had to take a call.
Me: Cool
Brody: Zane says there’s a party at my place tomorrow night.
Me: Sounds like Zane.
Brody: Yeah have to prepare. Stock the bar. Make sure smoke alarms are working. You know.
Stock the bar? A little shiver of horror ran through me.
Zane was a recovered alcoholic. He didn’t mean…?
Me: Zane’s not drinking???
Brody: He’s not drinking. Everyone else will be.
Oh. Right.
Of course. Even if Zane was drinking, Brody wouldn’t be stocking booze for him. He’d be checking him into rehab, like stat.
But Jesus. Scare a girl much?
My hand was nowhere near my crotch anymore.
The whole idea of Zane falling off the wagon, or even the mention of Zane himself, a dude who was like a brother to me, was enough to kill the buzz.
Brody: You coming?
Um, no. I definitely wasn’t coming anytime soon.
Me: ?
Brody: To the party.
Did I want to go to the party?
Yeah, I kinda did.
Especially if Brody was inviting me.
Me: Should I?
Brody: Yes.
Me: Ok
Brody: Why? You wanna come now?
Come?
Like over to his place??
Now?
Me: ?
Brody: Take off the pants.
I stared at the message. Four little words, impossible to misinterpret.
Still…
Brody: Commando, yeah?
Me: Yeah…
Brody: You should take off the pants.
Brody: So you’re wearing nothing but my shirt.
Holy shit.
Me: I guess that would be sexier
Brody: Sexy as fuck.
Okay, then.
This was… happening.
A shiver of excitement rippled through me, even as a weird, floaty unreality made me blink and look around, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
But if I was dreaming, Brody would be here, right?
So I decided to follow orders. Not like he could see me. What harm could it do?
I was about to do it anyway, whether he told me to or not.
I slipped the sweats off and kicked them on the floor. Then I lay back on the bed in the glow of the screen of my phone wearing nothing but his shirt. Pretty much like I had many, many times before. I’d slept in the thing for years. Probably why it was falling apart.
Brody: Are they off?
Me: Yes, sir.
No response. But I was reasonably confident that you didn’t get to be as bossy as Brody was and not like someone following your orders, and calling you boss or sir or high commander or whatever. Especially if that someone was a chick you’d just ordered to take off her pants.
I reached down and touched my clit, because I couldn’t help it.
Brody just told me to take off my pants…
Just the thought of it was getting me hot. And damn, that felt good. All warm and melty… I sighed into the bed. Might as well enjoy this while I could. It probably wouldn’t take very long; I’d only been hot for him all week.
Well, all my life…
And if Brody was into this… yeah, it wasn’t going to take long.
The pleasure spooled, hot and tight in my core, aching for release…
Brody: U touching yourself?
I struggled to balance the phone on my stomach and type with my left hand. My right hand was much too busy.
Me: Ys
Brody: Do you ever get off thinking about me?
God, yes.
All. The. Time.
Me: Yse
I closed my eyes as the image of him in his bed washed over me, and my pussy clenched. I was tensing up, just trying to relax as the pleasure built. He wasn’t eating take out anymore, I decided. Nope. He’d tossed the noodles on the floor and shoved his skimpy underwear down and grabbed hold of his long, hard dick—
My phone rang and I almost screamed.
Brody.
I fumbled with my incompetent left hand and answered on the third ring.
“Hello,” I gushed, breathless. My fingers were driving me right to the edge. I could go off any moment. One too-deep breath, the sound of his voice…
“Do it, now,” he said, his voice all husky and thick.
“Do… what…?” I bit my lip.
“Get off,” he said. “I wanna hear you.”
“You should… maybe you should come over?” I gasped out, because really, if we were doing this… maybe we should just do this.
“I’m in Chicago,” he said.
“What?” I paused what I was doing down below. I blinked, took a few breaths, got my bearings.
He was where?
“I’m in Chicago,” he repeated. “My mom needed help moving into her new place.”
My head spun a little, trying to keep up. “Your mom lives in Chicago?”
“Yeah, for about three years now. She’s on her second divorce since my dad died.”
“Oh.” My hand dropped away. Back away from the pussy. This is not the time. “You’re at your mom’s house?” Nothing to make a girl feel like a perv than the mention of a guy’s mom.
“I’m at a hotel. Are you touching yourself?”
“Uh… no.”
“Focus, Jessa,” he said, his husky tone laced with amusement. “I know you want to come. I can hear it in your voice.”
I bit my lip again.
Really?
What did he know about the sound of my voice when I was about to come?
Of course, there was the other night, in the bathroom… or maybe he was just speaking from general experience.
Which reminded me—Shit!
“What about Amanda?”
“What about her?”
“You know what.” Jesus. I’d totally forgotten about Amanda. “Shouldn’t you be doing this with her?”
“She didn’t text.”
My mouth dropped open.
“I’m joking, sweetheart,” he said softly. He laughed a bit, very Brody-like, and tingles ran through me. “We broke up.”
“Oh.” I sighed my relief and relaxed back into the bed; didn’t even realize how much I’d tensed up. I didn’t know what else to say. The wires in my head were crossed. My body was throbbing. All I could hear was my pussy screaming at me to keep doing what I was doing, just listen to Brody’s voice and forget about everything else.
“Hav
e I killed the mood?”
“Uh… no…” I slipped my hand back down and picked up where I’d left off. “Just… talk about something else.”
“Like what? Like how I’m gonna slide my tongue between your legs the first chance I get?”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Definitely. You gonna let me?”
“Um… okay…”
“I’ll be home around eight tomorrow. You should be at the party.”
“I… I will be…” I was panting now, softly, trying not to do it into the phone for some reason.
“Good,” he said. “Then maybe you can show me what you’re doing right now. It’s not fair you’re doing that shit for me and I don’t even get to see.” He sounded frustrated; a little anguished, even.
And maybe I was a terrible person, but it was turning me on.
Maybe I was a cock tease?
“Yeah,” I breathed, my brain completely disconnecting from reason. He could say about anything right now and I’d agree.
“Or touch,” he said.
“Yeah…”
“Or taste.”
I came then—I couldn’t stop it if I tried. The thought of Brody tasting me, of him wanting to taste me… and I just blew up. I cried out softly, kind of into my pillow, remembering Roni and her guests. Likely they couldn’t hear me. I still had music on, and they were probably too busy anyway.
Brody could hear me, though. For sure, he could.
He heard me all the way in Chicago.
“Fuck… Jessa…” I heard him murmur, and he was breathing heavy.
“You should touch yourself,” I managed to say. “Take your cock out.”
Geez. I’d never said anything like that to a man.
Felt good.
“It’s already out,” he said, his voice thick with arousal.
“What are you doing?”
“What I always do when I think about you getting yourself off.”
“Oh,” I sighed, still touching myself as I came down. “You think about that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “A lot. Jessa…” His voice got huskier and all breathy as he jerked himself off, which I was pretty sure he was doing by now. “You asked me to come over…”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You want me to?”
“Yeah. I want you to.” I swallowed, but I’d been this brave already; I could be braver. “I wish you were here.”
“Why? You want this, sweetheart…?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I want it. I want you… deep inside me.”
Oh, shit. Did I say that?
Truth. It was nothing but truth. But… wow.
Brody liked it; his breathing got faster, heavier still.
“Tell me what you’re doing right now,” I said.
And he told me.
He told me how hard he was for me, how much he wanted me. He told me about what his hand was doing, and how much better it would’ve felt if it was me; how hot it was when I came, and how he was going to come too, soon, but he didn’t want it to happen too fast, because this was all just way too fucking good, and he could barely believe it was real…
“It’s real, Brody,” I whispered.
And for some reason that I now could not fathom, I realized that the thought of a guy jerking himself off had never seemed all that incredibly appealing to me, yet the thought of Brody with his dick in his hand, all hard and throbbing and wanting into my body… oh, God, yeah… I was all over that.
And he was really, really good at phone sex.
I’d never had phone sex before. I’d never had a long distance relationship. I’d never had any relationship where I needed to get off, like now, so bad that I had to do it over the phone while just listening to him breathe and coax me along.
It was new. Hot. And familiar, somehow. Because my eyes were closed as I pictured him, and that I’d done plenty of times.
Hundreds of millions of times.
Really, when had I ever had sex, with myself or anyone else, when I wasn’t thinking of Brody?
Never.
Never, ever.
“I’m gonna come, Jessa…”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Come.” And as I listened to his tight breaths, the low grown as he lost control of himself—picturing him coming, his cock in his fist—I came again, losing myself in the sounds of his ecstasy, in the image of it in my head. All the while just kind of blown away that this was happening.
And wondering how we’d gotten here.
Lasagna. I’d been making lasagna.
Then Roni came home and turned my night inside out with her Which one of you are you trying to bullshit anyway? Because that’s what a wild card did.
For once, I’d have to thank her for it.
“Sweetheart…? Are you crying?”
“No,” I sniffled, realizing I was. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Babe. What’s wrong? You okay?” His voice had softened and filled with worry.
I took a few shaky breaths, my mind gone all to mush in the wake of that last orgasm. But one thought stood out, prickling at me like a burr.
“Why did you go to Chicago, Brody?”
“I told you, sweetheart. My mom.”
“Yeah. But… you were getting away from me, right? You wanted to get away.”
There was some rustling around as he changed position. “Babe. I had some shit to take care of. That’s all. Don’t read anything into it. I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You good with what we just did?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
I was. It was a total rush.
A rush that had let loose a whole flood of shit I didn’t even know how to process. A whole flood of shit that was sweeping over me now, threatening to take me under.
“I just… I wish I could hold you now,” I whispered.
Brody swore under his breath. “We shouldn’t have done that over the phone. What the fuck was I thinking.”
“No… seriously. It’s okay. It was good. Great. I just… I miss you.”
I did. I so fucking missed him.
Not just today, or the last few days.
I’d been missing Brody my whole fucking life, and these few moments of intimacy we’d just shared, over a phone, had brought that to light.
I wanted him home. In my arms. Now.
He was silent a long moment.
Then he sighed and said, “I miss you too, Jessa,” his voice rough with emotion.
This.
This was exactly what would’ve happened if I’d ever texted him back, if I’d ever returned any of his calls over the years. We would’ve ended up right here… only without all the wasted years between us.
I cried harder, cradling the phone, trying to hold my sobs in so Brody wouldn’t hear. I just sobbed and sobbed as I listened to his voice, muffled, from far away.
Jessa?
Sweetheart… don’t cry.
I’ll be home soon.
Chapter Sixteen
Brody
I arrived home to find a smallish party getting underway in the party room at the back of my house. Just the band and some close friends having a jam and a few drinks. They were pretty settled in and things were starting to get loud. They’d probably go all night.
I made the rounds, quickly, but my head wasn’t in it. The only person I really wanted to talk to was nowhere to be seen, so I went looking.
I ran into Maggie in the hall. “Jessa here?”
“Yeah,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me a little. No idea what that look meant. Didn’t wanna know. “Not sure where. Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Thanks.” I walked past her, ignoring the look she was still giving me. “Good job, yeah? Keep… uh… holding down the fort.” Then I grabbed my travel bag from the foyer and disappeared upstairs.
I poked my head into the other rooms—two guest bedrooms that friends sometimes crashed in, and one that I’d meant to make into some kind of pr
oper gym but never had—then headed to my room at the end of the hall.
No sign of Jessa.
Maybe she’d left?
I dropped my bag and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling out my phone—but then I saw her. Through the glass door, out on the rooftop patio. She was lying on the outdoor couch in front of the fireplace, where a fire was burning steady.
I couldn’t see her face, but I could see her long legs stretched out and her long hair spilling over the cushion. She was wearing some kind of knit leggings and furry slippers, like something out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue—winter edition.
I tossed my phone on the bed and went to the door, watching her. I paused there, my hand on the doorknob and my chest tightening, as I suddenly remembered, vividly, the last time I saw her before she left, six-and-a-half years ago.
Right here, in my bedroom.
She was almost finished her first year of college and I was home with the band on a break, part way through the tour. It was the night before we went back out on the road and there was a huge party. It’d been a great night for everyone but me… and maybe Jessa. She’d shown up with a date, for one thing. Some greasy piece of shit who got kicked out by Jude when I caught him dealing, which, at any Dirty party, was un-fucking-welcome; party favors at a Dirty party came courtesy of Piper and the Kings, and anyone with half a brain cell knew as much.
Jessa knew as much, but she wasn’t happy when her little friend got thrown out.
Still, she stayed.
Christy and I had broken up long before I’d gone on tour and I wasn’t with anyone that night. Didn’t want to be. Spent the entire night trying to get Jessa alone, while she just kept trying to get me to talk to this cute little Maggie girl she’d met in college. I couldn’t help grinning a little at that memory. Looking back, it was clear she was trying to get Maggie a foot in the door with the band, and good thing; Maggie had proved ten times her weight in gold over the years. At the time, though, I thought Jessa was trying to hook us up, and I was the least bit interested. She could’ve been trying to introduce me to the entire Victoria’s Secret runway lineup and I wouldn’t have been interested. I just wanted to get Jessa alone.
Dirty Like Brody: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 2) Page 17