Page 272 of Rush
“You want something to drink?” he asks, already heading for the kitchen.
The same kitchen he had me bent over…
I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”
I watch him for a moment, silent. This night—thisnot-date—is more than perfect. It’s unforgettable. And somehow, I’m standing here with the man who made it happen.
What did I do to deserve this?
“Enjoying the view?” he asks, smirking.
“I am.”
I saunter over, and before I can say another word, he scoops me up. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist, my skirt riding up as his hands slide beneath, gripping my ass to hold me steady.
“Broderick—tonight was incredible,” I murmur against his ear. “Thank you.”
He chuckles, low and rough.
“Do you know how much you mean to me?” I ask, the words slipping out quieter than I mean them to—the feelings from New Year’s Eve, bubbling up to the surface.
His breath catches.
“How much?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“You mean the world to me.”
He laughs, a smile breaking through whatever just flickered across his face.
“You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday,” he teases. “Butterin’ me up for some birthday buffoonery.”
“Take me to bed and maybe I’ll give you some cake.”
His expression shifts—just slightly. Still amused. But darker. Intent.
“Okay, trouble,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “We’ve been edging each other all night.”
“Yes,” I breathe, already aching.
He carries me to the bedroom and drops me onto the mattress like a gift he plans to unwrap slowly. His eyes burn into mine as he pulls off my sweater, then my skirt. My bra’s gone with a flick of his wrist.
“We’re keeping these on,” he says, nodding at the black thigh-highs I still wear.
I lay there, breath ragged, body buzzing.
He crosses to the nightstand, pulls something from the drawer, and turns back to me.
“Your eyes, Elena,” he murmurs. “Are my undoing.”
Heat pulses low in my belly.
He slides the blindfold over my face—black silk, soft and cold against my skin.
“You trust me?” he asks, kneeling over me.
I nod.
“Words, Sweetheart.”
