by Evie Claire
He wanted to share this. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when he pushed into her—the ecstasy, the pleasure, the pain, everything. He had to know. Was this real or was she just having fun?
He took a deep breath and readied for the sensation of sliding into her depths. One hand on her lower back, the other on her ass, he pushed up, pulled down, and rolled into her with the slowest of movements. The effort forced a sigh from his lungs, his body desperate for some sort of release. Still, he held her gaze. She bit her lip to control herself, unable to look away from him. Trapped in the web of their shared emotions, she wrapped her fingers around his biceps and dug her nails deeper with every inch she took. When he reached her apex, her eyes rolled back in her head, breaking the gaze. Her head lolled on her neck as if it may have snapped.
“Brody…” She drew out the syllables of his name, a deep, tortured, longing sound that held everything he needed to hear. And when he stayed pinioned at the top of her—long enough for her to gather her wits—he stilled, until he felt her muscles clench and begin to work against his.
Her head fell forward again. Breathing hard, working even harder, she smiled in a way that told him she fucking loved it. And as if she’d spent a lifetime in his saddle, she started to ride him like he was a damn stallion thundering across a wide-open plane.
Together they moved, sex so in sync it was damn near musical. Because it was. Rolling off her tongue, his name sounded like the “Hallelujah Chorus” clamoring into every inch of her ten-foot ceilings.
They made love, but they also fucked, both so desperate for each other it was anything but pretty. And when they finally came, she collapsed on him with the most sated of smiles on her face, one that told him that she never had experienced—nor ever would again experience—anything so fantastical in all her life.
His dick still inside her, she didn’t even bother rolling off when she finally spoke.
“You know what?” she asked, still breathing hard, elbow propped on his chest to support her chin.
That was the best sex of your life? he thought.
“What?” he said.
“That wasn’t the best drink I’ve ever had.” She giggled.
Brody feigned disappointment, poking out his bottom lip. She grabbed it with her teeth and sucked for a long moment.
“But that was by far the best sex. Ever,” she said against his mouth.
And when he lifted his face so he could see hers, the earnestness in her eyes answered his previous thoughts. He was inside Phebe Stark. In the places that matter most.
Chapter 15
Phebe
Morning orgasms were an indulgence Phebe could get used to. Especially when they came compliments of the man currently spooning her. Obviously. She hadn’t even suggested he leave last night. That was a first. Usually, the prerequisite after-cuddle that sex demanded made her uncomfortable. And the mere suggestion of someone staying over made her palms sweat. She much preferred sleeping alone. That’s just who she was, and no man had ever made her want to change.
But Brody held her differently than anyone ever had. His arm loosely draped over her waist. He snuggled her back, his breath warm against her neck, like he was content just to touch her. Not the bear hug of a man who wanted to possess her like some trophy for his wall. The warm crook of his naked crotch heated the cool curve of her ass perfectly. Was there any better feeling than parts that had just loved so savagely touching so tenderly? If there was, Phebe didn’t know it.
No, not loved. Fucked. It was just fucking.
Phebe’s phone exploded on the bedside table, shattering the quiet. Instinctively, because she wasn’t used to having to consider anyone else’s feelings, she threw the covers off and pounced on it, hitting speakerphone instead of holding the thing to her ear.
“Hey, Jenn,” she answered her friend’s call with a smile, whipping her hair over the shoulder opposite her phone. Was it Jenn’s call or the endorphins flooding her bloodstream that pulled her lips into a curve? Oh, who was she kidding? Jenn was great, but good dick was fucking fabulous.
Brody’s fingers reached across the sheets to reestablish the lost connection, finding the perfect spot in the angle of her hip. She flinched at the unexpected touch and held his roaming hand in hers to keep it still. She needed to concentrate.
“Hey, Pheebs! I was hoping I could treat you to a cup of coffee after your meeting with Brent this morning.” Jenn’s voice on the other end paused like she was thinking of what else to say. “I know this can’t be easy for you.” Phebe could almost see the way Jenn’s mouth would turn down when using such a sympathetic tone. After a decade of friendship, they knew each other too well at times.
“Thanks, I’d love to grab coffee. Brent never told me where we were meeting. I was just about to text him,” Phebe answered, ignoring the touchy-feely part of Jenn’s offer.
“Oh, well, let’s meet at the club. The dining room will be quiet that time of day. The kids are all in school.”
“Okay.” Phebe grimaced at the suggestion but agreed. Country clubs weren’t really her scene.
“Also, we’re hosting the Boys and Girls Clubs gala at the end of the month. If I bring an extra invitation, do you think you could get it to Joel Stewart? Personally hand-deliver it?” There was a pause, like this was a huge ask. It was, since Phebe wasn’t technically employed yet. But there wasn’t a single charity event in the city that didn’t beg for him—his wallet, at least—to attend. It was something he’d be used to.
“Yeah, sure. I can certainly extend the invite. We’ll talk more over coffee.”
“Perfect!” Jenn half squealed into the phone. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” she said, as if Phebe had saved her firstborn from a pack of wild dogs.
“I’m happy to help. See you soon.”
Phebe hung up, ran a hand down her face, and exhaled deeply. It was a lot. Meeting with a best friend’s husband to discuss the preliminary steps of a workplace sexual harassment and wrongful termination case wasn’t exactly how she wanted to spend her Tuesday, but it couldn’t be avoided. Jenn being there might lighten the mood of rehashing every detail from the past five years. All the comments. All the insinuations. And the recorded conversation of her firing. That was the point that nauseated her the most. Reliving that foul moment. Ugh. The thought unsettled Phebe.
“What’s that?” Brody’s voice came softly muffled from the pillows.
“I’m meeting with my attorney today to start proceedings against my former supervisor.”
“Good for you. He deserves it.”
Phebe nodded and scrolled through her email.
“What did she say about the Boys and Girls Clubs?”
“Oh…um…” Phebe shook her head to concentrate as she tried to do two things at once before coffee. “They’re hosting some sort of gala and she wants me to help with an invite. You know about it?” she asked absently to put the burden of conversation back on him.
“The after-school program I volunteer with is one of theirs. I’m going twice a week now. They do great work in this city.”
“I had forgotten you did that.” Phebe stopped, putting her phone down and turning back to him. Brody raised up onto his elbows, his stomach muscles rippling under the sheets. Her tongue tingled, remembering what it felt like to trace those rolling canyons.
How had she forgotten that? Aside from being hot as lava, and quirkily smart, he actually had a heart. It was one of the more endearing qualities she’d admired the first time they met. But Brody wasn’t one to toot his own horn. He’d said nothing more on the subject.
“So much for your downtime.” He traced his fingertips over the back of her hand.
“I’m not the kind of girl who can sit still. I wish I was. But aside from Sunday afternoons, sitting on the couch watching TV is fucking torture.”
“I can t
hink of a few other ways to torture you.” Brody leaned up, catching her cheeks in his hands and teasing his lips along the line of her jaw. Last night, she would’ve loved every lick. Now her brain had kicked into work mode. She wasn’t in the mood and she had a million things to do.
“Tempting. But my vagina needs a break.” She didn’t look at him when she pushed off the bed and grabbed her T-shirt from the floor. She didn’t have to. Looks like his were palpable. Yes, she maybe just a little bit sounded like a bitch. She certainly could’ve picked her words more carefully. “Coffee?” she asked to soften the blow.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled tight-lipped, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. “You make the coffee. I’ll get breakfast.” He was dressed and out the door before Phebe could think of a polite way to decline the offer. Seconds after her apartment door closed behind him, she still stood motionless beside the bed, staring at her open bedroom door, wondering if she could just text him. Admit that she didn’t actually eat breakfast. Or make up some excuse as to why he didn’t need to bother. Passiveness wasn’t a quality she possessed, and the simple fact that he was forcing her to employ qualities she’d rarely, if ever, used before made her palms itch.
The day would no doubt be filled with emotion. Something Phebe didn’t do very well. For someone who liked to keep things professional, businesslike—distant, even—she needed the morning to herself to prepare. Was that too much to ask?
Usually, Brody was perfectly in tune with her moods. It was more than a little annoying that he hadn’t picked up on the fact that she needed space. Last night was fun. But now the fun was over, and it was time for her to get to work. Isn’t that what normal people did? It was Tuesday morning, for crying out loud.
She stalked to the bathroom, intent on brushing her teeth. One hand gripping the sink’s side, the minty smell hit her square in the nose. She stopped cold. No, if he smelled toothpaste he might take that as an invitation to stay. An invitation to round two. She didn’t want him to stay. Did she? No, she had stuff to do. Instead, she pulled on her rattiest yoga pants under the Braves tee she was swimming in. No way would he find such a getup sexy.
Thirty minutes later Phebe was hunched over building plans and the financing application, distracting herself with a cup of salted-caramel-sweetened coffee, anxiously drumming her nails against the warm ceramic mug when Brody walked through the door. In the office, her computer waited, the first round of online submission forms ready to send as soon as she had signatures on Project Brody.
“Hey. I’ve got your plans here. If you can sign off on a few things to give me a baseline budget, I can start the financing process and plan approval today. A friend of mine at Atlanta Savings and Loan is happy to do us a favor. We’re getting an insanely low interest rate.” Phebe dove headfirst into work like she always did when she was avoiding other things. It was efficient and productive. Worrying wasn’t.
“Okay, slow down.” Brody pumped his hands and gave a lazy halfway smile. “Can I get some coffee first?” He didn’t even wait for an answer, shrugging and shaking his head like it was all too much too soon.
Phebe swallowed hard, hating the idea of having to tell him to leave. But really, was a little alone time too much to ask? It gave her heart palpitations. And not the good kind. Had she been any other woman, she could’ve enjoyed a morning after with Brody. But she wasn’t. She was Phebe. She didn’t need coffee talk. She needed space to process what would inevitably be a shitty day.
Instead of sensing her annoyance, he strode into the kitchen, eager as a schoolboy, and set two paper-wrapped biscuits on the counter.
“Sure…” She turned the plans toward him, tapping a pen on the signature line and then offering it to him with a pointed look. The smile faded from his face. He looked down at the plans and grimaced.
“We’re really doing this?”
“What?” Phebe stood from her stool. “Brody, you agreed. I’ve already put hours into these plans.”
“No.” Brody put a hand on his head, rubbing at his eyes to find focus and obviously backpedaling. “I mean…” More stalling on his part. Phebe sat back down, folding her hands in her lap, trying to summon patience she didn’t have time for. “Right now. We’re really doing this right now? It’s eight A.M.”
“And? I’m usually in the office by seven.”
“You don’t have a job anymore, Phebe. Remember?” Brody half laughed, turning for the coffeepot. “Let’s take it easy. You can teach me how to renovate a building. I can teach you how to relax.”
Phebe’s chest tightened at the suggestion of her current state of unemployment. How could Brody be so fucking heartless? Yes, she was out of work, and it was embarrassing as hell for someone so singularly focused on their career. But if she had been looking for a reason to kick him out of her apartment, she’d just found it. Her eyes narrowed, and she calmly laid her palms on the kitchen island.
“Look, I appreciate all this. Really, I do. But I’m not the kind of girl that expects breakfast in bed after a night of—” She broke off because the thought of putting into words what they had done the night before made speech legitimately difficult.
Brody said nothing but took to the coffeepot and poured himself some coffee. He wasn’t at all tuned in to her melancholy mood, which only reinforced her need to be alone.
“We had a lot of fun last night. But this…” She pointed to the breakfast he’d placed on the counter. “…is more than we agreed to. We’re just fuck buddies, remember? So, if I can get you to agree to these preliminary plans, that would be great, and I’ll call you once I’ve secured financing.”
“Or when you’re ready to fuck again?” he asked over his cup of coffee, uttering the word fuck with too much emphasis for her liking. He hadn’t totally made himself at home, but the way he casually rested against her countertop was not what she’d expected, further stoking her anxiety.
“Stop.” Phebe held up a hand, closed her eyes, and gritted her teeth. “Don’t go there. We’re fuck buddies. We’re business partners. That’s what we agreed to. I can keep this professional if you can. If you’re looking for an emotionally satisfying relationship, that’s not me.”
“Really? No emotional satisfaction. Ever?” His head tilted to the side.
“Nope.”
“Then whose shirt is that?” Brody gave a teasing smile. It was a joke, obviously. But there was a hint of jealousy tinting his words. And even if he was faking for effect, it was all she needed.
“None of your goddamn business.” Her hand found her hip. “Fuck buddies don’t ask questions like that. And they damn sure don’t catch up over coffee.” Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to the side, pushing her salted-caramel coffee away from her with a finger. “And since you so obviously don’t want to get any business done, I have to wonder—why are you still here?” It came out wrong. So wrong. Sounding way harsher than it had in her head.
Had she taken the pot of scalding hot coffee and poured it straight into his eyeballs, it would have burned him slightly less than her words. The smile vanished from Brody’s face, replaced by an incensed look that made her feel about an inch tall.
“Goddamn, Phebe. I was just trying to be your friend. You’ve got a shit day ahead of you. I get that, and I thought you might want some company. Forgive me for trying to help.” Because he was too much of a gentleman to do anything more, Brody slammed his ceramic mug down on the counter. Black liquid erupted from its depths like a volcano. He spun on his heel and headed for the door, taking one of the biscuits with him.
And as she watched him go, she felt his words hollow out her chest. That was the worst place ever to feel words. A chasm so vast you knew there was no way in hell you would ever fill it back up.
But desperate to do just that, Phebe followed him, wanting some way to soften the blow.
“Brody…” Phebe’s voice echoed down the lo
nely expanse of her entryway walls, all ten pristine feet of them. But she didn’t know what to say. His words were still sinking in, but the idea that she had gotten things so very wrong was taking up too much mental capacity to see things clearly.
At the door, hand on the knob, Brody paused. He turned back to her. Opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. When their eyes met, something strange happened inside Phebe. Her heart, confused as it was, swelled so large in her chest, she feared it might crawl out of her throat and find its way into Brody’s pocket. And while she swallowed against the knot, from the innermost folds of her brain, a small voice begged her not to let him go. It was an emotional plea. A tiny, desperate voice she hadn’t heard in years, disconnected from her feelings as she was.
She parted her lips. Did she dare let it out? No. No, she couldn’t do that. Instead she stood silently, shaking her head in the only apology she could offer.
And let him leave.
Phebe was a leopard incapable of changing her spots. And why should she? They’d served her just fine up until now. But…now? Now she wasn’t so sure that being the ballsiest chick in the room was a good thing. Especially when she found herself still staring at the closed apartment door five minutes later. In her bare feet. On the cold wooden floor. Arms wrapped around her middle to shield herself from an imagined chill. Regret looming over her like icebergs.
Had her apartment ever seemed so empty before? Without the warmth Brody brought to it, she suddenly couldn’t bear the deafening silence another minute.
PHEBE: Can we have coffee before I meet with Brent? I’d like to talk about the Boys & Girls Clubs’ gala.
She fired off the text to Jenn because she had to get out of there. Sure, it was a bullshit excuse, but the pile of bullshit she’d just dropped on Brody was even bigger. As she dressed, her anger ebbed, and his reason for not taking her hint found its way in, making her feel even worse.
