Page 154 of Rush

“Broderick, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

I tug at his shirt. “Fuck me.”

His jaw tightens. “I know you’re only using me to forget him—I…” He falters, eyes catching the hurt on my face. His expression softens, torn.

“I need you, Broderick. Please.” My voice cracks. Please don’t end this. Not now. Not yet.

“Baby, then why won’t you let me in?”

Because if I let you in, maybe you’ll leave me like Alex did.

“Please…Elena,” he murmurs again, searching my eyes.

The words choke me. They won’t come. “Broderick,” is all I manage.

I can see the war in him—doubt, desire, restraint shredding by the second.

I strip off my hoodie, then my top. His eyes widen, then darken as the fabric hits the floor.

“If you don’t want this…if you don’t want me, then just tell me and I’ll?—”

He’s on me in an instant, tension snapping as our bodies collide. His hands claw me everywhere, rough, frantic, desperate to hold on to whatever this is between us.

“You want to forget him?” he growls against my mouth. “Then I’ll rearrange your insides—you won’t remember him when I’m done.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

My body begs where words fail me. Pulling him closer, I dig my fingers into his skin.

He lifts me clean off the floor and strides down the hall with me clinging to him, deeper into his apartment—through double doors I’ve never seen before—into his bedroom.

Before I can even take in my surroundings, he throws me onto the bed.

He’s on me again, feral, like an animal devouring prey. His hands rip at the rest of my clothes while I tear at his, a tangle of greedy fingers and shredded fabric.

“You are mine,” he growls, sealing it with a kiss that steals every breath from my lungs until all I know, all I taste, is him.

Everything blurs.

Broderick’s cock presses hot against my thigh, his abs ridged beneath my hand as I wrap my fingers around his length, pumping slow and deliberate. He groans into my mouth, then pulls back with a tut.

And just like that, he’s gone—standing, leaving me aching, my skin cooling without his heat.

“Step one,” he says, voice low and commanding. “I’m going to fuck you howIwant.”

Hunger twists deep in me. Broderick’s body is carved perfection, muscles flexing and slick from his workout. My mouth waters as I watch him cross the room to a sleek dresser. He pulls something out and returns, laying items on the bedside table.

Silk. A bottle. A gleam of silver shaped suspiciously like the Chicago Bean.

Oh, fuck. My pulse spikes.

He wants to fuck my ass.

“Do you trust me?”

“In theory.”