Page 59 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Martin Luther King Jr.?” I ask, and he smiles, obviously delighted I recognize it. “It feels like a concise life motto for all things Brody.”

“Thank you.” He leans forward and kisses my shoulder, and I find myself distracted by the longer equations that wrap around his back, which Brody tells me are unsolved physics problems.

“I figure when I’m too decrepit for sex, I’ll have time to just sit and ponder. Maybe I’ll solve problems while the nurses feed me pudding.”

There seems to be no connective tissue between the disparate things Brody has tattooed on himself, and I find myself envious of such a life. The entire reason I’ve never gotten a tattoo is because of the permanence of such an act.

“Does it bother you? That there’s no cohesive pattern to . . .” Brody adjusts my thigh so that it’s resting over him, opening me to his ministrations, and I momentarily lose my train of thought, closing my eyes as I try not to rock against his fingers. “No overarching plan with your tattoos?”

“Nah. I love what I love.” He leans forward and kisses me, a gentle exploration that is administered in counterpoint to his fingers. “It doesn’t all have to make immediate sense.”

As always, Brody revels in the foreplay. But unlike last time, when he knew I was in a rush to get home, he takes his time, bringing me shockingly close to the edge before his fingers retreat again. Every now and again, his hips thrust against me, but he’s in no rush to enter me more completely. Only when I am a whimpering, needy mass of want and desire does he finally adjust our bodies so that I’m sitting astride him, my hair hanging down my back as he kneads my breasts.

When I move to center myself over his erection, his firm hands stop me, waiting until I’m looking at him before he suggests, “Why don’t you sit on my face?”

Brody’s smile is a wicked thing, pure sin, and I can’t help but lower my head to my hands, trying to hide against his chest, too shocked to reply with words. I try to wiggle away from his grasp even as I can feel myself growing wetter as he murmurs against the fall of hair I’m hoping obscures my face.

“I’ll stop if it becomes too much,” he assures me, one hand trailing down to my ass.

“It’s already too much,” I whisper as his hands expertly encourage me to part my legs again, as his one long arm cups me from behind.

“Please, Sophie.”

It’s not that I don’t feel . . . sinful for even entertaining the idea, it’s that my excitement and need outweigh that little flicker of embarrassment. I give the slightest of nods and allow him to guide my hands away from my face and to the headboard, and though I tremble through it, I let Brody position my thighs on either side of his head.

I close my eyes in mortification and wait for the glide of his tongue to bring some relief, but Brody, of course, makes me wait while he moves beneath me, finding a way to open me first with his fingers, making an already wanton act feel even more wicked. By the time he finally puts his lips on me, by the time his tongue flicks my clit, I am gasping, my head bowed forward in a way that makes it feel difficult to stay upright, despite where my hands are gripping the old wood of the headboard. All I want is to sink onto his face, to bury my core in his mouth. My grip is so tight on the wood my nails hurt with the pressure as Brody guides me, murmuring words I cannot possibly hear or understand as I writhe.

There is a sheen of sweat that covers me as he clenches my ass, anchoring my hips when I would be tempted to wrench away because the feelings are too much, my entire being somehow simultaneously electrified and foreign, rudderless as the sensations build to a painful point.

“No one will hear you scream,” he tells me, pausing as I remain suspended above him, clenching my thighs against his head, the tickling sensation of his hair against my legs intimate in a way I will never be able to forget.

“I—” And then I stop, because truly, I have no idea what I wanted to say, what words are possible when his mouth returns, angling me the tiniest fraction, which touches off an orgasm more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced before. I scream. I might sob.

Even as the release rolls through me, I can feel a part of myself return to consciousness, and the desire to move away and hide is overwhelming. But Brody continues to lick and lap, to hold me open in a way that doesn’t allow me to escape, that demonstrates the ways in which he clearly knows my body better than I do.

There is not a single coherent thought in my brain as Brody finally allows me to lie down against the now-tangled sheets. Vaguely, I hear the sound of a wrapper tearing, and even though it’s too much and I’m far too sensitive, Brody kisses me.

“Given how little time we have to ourselves, I’m going to need you to come again.”

My legs part without my needing to pause or consider the action, even as I hear my raspy voice saying, “I’m not sure I can.”

He leans down for a quick kiss that deepens until my arms are wrapping around his head before he chuckles, disengaging from me long enough to place a pillow under my hips, angling my hips as he rises to his knees. “Open your eyes, Sophie.”

I do so just in time to see Brody kneeling in front of me, hair wildly tousled from where I’ve pulled at his curls, his grin lopsided as he rests one hand on my thigh before lining up our bodies and thrusting into me slowly. His gaze studies our joining intently, and I too find myself mesmerized by the sight of him lodged inside me, his hips flexing as he retreats briefly before slamming back in. My eyes close as I clench around him, feeling every inch when he thrusts in, rising to try to meet him when he leaves.

“We should stay here forever.” He reaches forward to cup my breast and pinch lightly at the nipple.

“Okay,” I murmur, eyes drifting closed again as my hands fall to either side, grasping at the sheets.

“This is when I should make all my requests, isn’t it?”

I shake my head. “That’s not very nice.”

He angles his pelvis, retreating completely, leaving my body open and helpless as he murmurs, “Who said anything about nice?”

This time, when he thrusts forward, he uses one hand to spread my legs farther apart. His praise feels indecent as he tells me how well I’m doing. He leans over me and bites lightly at my jaw, kissing his way to my ear as he remains lodged inside me, and I can no longer tell what is pleasure or pain as I shudder. When he reaches down to thumb my clit, my entire body spasms and our groans mingle together. There is a hushed moment of silence while Brody rests his forehead against mine before he finally seems to lose control. His movements are slightly jerkier, with far less of his usual finesse as he lifts one of my legs to rest along his shoulder, adjusting the angle between us as his other hand braces against my thigh. My flesh is swollen and far too tender, but as he rolls his hips, once, twice, hitting some hidden sweet spot that I never knew existed, that is all I can bear. I scream as another wave of pleasure rolls over me, my release triggering his until we are both lying together, his hands moving restlessly over my back and hips even as our bodies are still joined.

“Better yet, you should be the one making requests,” he says.