Page 70 of Rush

Instead, I step even closer, fingers grazing his broad chest, tracing over hard muscle, heat rolling off his skin. He doesn’t move.

I like that.

My hand slides over his shoulder, nails dragging down his bulging arm. His jaw tics.

“Since the moment I walked in here,” I whisper, my fingers moving lower, teasing the waistband of his gray sweatpants, the bulge in his pants growing. Just enough that I can make out the outline of his cock.

“All I’ve wanted…is totasteyou.”

His breath catches and his eyes widen in surprise. I see his throat bobbing as he swallows.

I lean up, teasing him like I’m going in for a kiss, he leans down and I know I’ve got him.

I tut. “No kissing,” I say wagging a finger at him, pressing my fingertip to his lips.

I go in again, my breath dancing against his warm, wet skin, dragging my tongue slowly and deliberately up his chest—tasting the heat, the salt, the sweat—savoring the shudder that rips through him.

“El,” he groans through strained lips.

“Shh.” I brush my lips against his skin, just enough to make him shiver.

I trail my tongue down his abs, over each decadent ripple, drinking in every flicker of tension, every controlled breath. Peppering kisses along his torso.

Placing my hand on his chest softly. I look up at him directly.

Then I push.Hard.

He stumbles back onto the weight bench with a dull thud, startled, eyes a wild mixture of shock, and excitement. Broderick could easily resist me, overpower me with his sheer size, but he lets me take control. He wants this just as much as I do, and the thought makes me mad with lust.

“Hmm,” he hums.

But I’m already sinking to my knees, fingers hooked in his waistband, my gaze locked on his.

“Now obey.” I lick my lips, still tasting the saltiness of him, as I tug at his sweatpants down inch by inch.

I take in the V that frames his taut abs.

Fuck he’s perfect.

His body is strung tight, like the tent in his pants, though he looks as if he’s still deciding whether to turn the tables or surrender.

Finally, Broderick relaxes on the bench.

“Good boy,” I whisper, hoarse with hunger and need. I want to see him come undone.

I pause just long enough to meet his eyes. “I told you. This is aboutme.”

His chest rises and falls, fast now. He nods slowly.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It’s…it’s about you,Baby.”

Baby?

The word knocks the air clean from my lungs, slipping from his lips like velvet, soaked in heat and something that feels dangerously close to reverence.

It caresses something deep inside me, a desperate need to be cherished.