Page 104 of Rush

We play like that—dumb, giddy, blissed out—until I’m breathless, clinging to the edge, hair slicked back, cheeks flushed, skin humming with heat.

I turn to him, trying to catch my breath.

“You know that’s another rule broken, right?”

He raises a brow. “Which one?”

“No post-orgasm frolicking.”

He smirks. “That wasn’t in the contract.”

“It’s implied,” I deadpan.

He swims closer, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “Then I guess I’m a repeat offender.”

I narrow my eyes. “Brody—I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. This can’t happen again. Not this weekend. Not with all these people around.”

His hand brushes over my stomach, light and slow. “Alright.”

“We can’t risk anyone else finding out.”

He nods—still too close, too warm—like a promise he has no intention of keeping.

I meet his gaze, trying to sound stern. “Swear to me.”

He gives me that crooked, infuriating smile. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you ever a Scout?”

“Nope.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the grin tugging at my lips.

And deep down, I know—we’re wading into dangerous waters.

Chapter 12

Ruin the Friendship

The next morning, I wake early, my body aching in the best way possible from Broderick’s hydro-therapy. I lay there, limbs loose, relishing every throb and stretch. Every muscle tender with satisfaction.

Then—like an uninvited guest—the thought crashes through my post-coital bliss:Riley caught us.

Broderick. Balls deep. Me. Moaning like an unhinged banshee.

Fuck.

We need to talk. I groan, dragging myself out of bed. I throw on my robe, still damp at the hem, and make my way barefoot down the hall toward her room. She’d still be asleep.

Hopefully.

Or plotting the inevitable interrogation. I’ll save her the trouble—I ease the door open quietly, not bothering to knock.

Her room’s decorated much like mine—except it’s a complete disaster. Riley’s version of “unpacked”. Clothes everywhere, suitcase half-open, and there she is: ginger hair poking through a mountain of pillows and blankets she’s nested in.