She cranes her neck and looks back at me with raised eyebrows. I know what she’s wondering. Brady Taylor doesn’t do PDA. When I’m out with a girl, there’s no touching. There never has been. So why am I breaking my rules with her? The Ferris wheel. The parking garage. Here. I convince myself that none of those count because they were all in dark places.
I kiss her temple. “Turn around, you’re missing the show.”
I spend the next thirty minutes torturing myself by lightly grinding into her from behind. She doesn’t turn and look at me again, and we share no words the entire time, but she does push herself into me, making me crazier than I already am.
One of my hands is on her hip and the other wraps around and grips her stomach, firmly pressing her to me. She reaches up and threads her fingers with mine.
Finally, I break our silence and lean down, putting my face next to her ear. “Let’s get out of here, Ry.”
She turns around in my arms, looking surprised. “But the concert is only half over. Don’t you want to stay and see your friend sing?”
“Fuck the concert and fuck Adam Stuart,” I say. “Because all I want to do right now is fuck you, Rylee.”
She looks up at me with a seductive grin. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
I laugh and take her hand, blazing a trail through the crowd until we reach the other side of the tunnel where the bathrooms and concession stands are. Few people are out here since the concert is still in full swing.
Rylee tugs on my hand, pulling me to a stop in front of a booth. “What size are you?” she asks.
I look over at the concert t-shirts. “Adam will send me fifty if that’s what you want.”
She admonishes me with her stare. “That’s no fun. This is all about the experience, Brady. If we buy a t-shirt here, you’ll always remember this day.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I have a déjà vu moment. My eyes briefly close as my memories go back to when I was eighteen. “You don’t have to do that, Ry.”
“Extra-large?” she asks.
I pull out my wallet since it looks like she’s not going to back down.
“No.” She brushes my hand away when I try to give her some cash. “This is my treat.”
She pays the guy and hands me a shirt. As we walk away, I realize she didn’t get one of her own.
“Why didn’t you get one?”
“I don’t wear a lot of t-shirts. Maybe I’ll just borrow yours once in a while.”
I don’t tell her that it won’t be possible. I don’t remind her that I’m leaving in two weeks and we most likely won’t see each other until spring.
I throw the shirt over my shoulder and grab her hand. “Maybe you can borrow it tonight. Because the thought of you wearing this shirt with nothing under it, just made me hard again.”
She laughs. “Brady, is there anything that doesn’t make you hard?”
“Not when it comes to you,” I tell her.
My driving is on the verge of reckless as I race us back to my hotel. She teases me with light touches to my thigh all the way home. I park in the lot instead of driving up to the valet stand. Rylee gets the key card I gave her out of her wallet. She knows the drill. She goes into the hotel a few minutes before I do. Her going in first is less likely to cause a stir or foster a connection between us should any lurking fans notice me.
As I watch her walk away from the car, I realize she’s the only woman I’ve ever given a key card to.
Convenience, I tell myself. It’s nothing more than that.
After she’s inside, I look around to find the t-shirt, but I can’t see it in the darkness. I’ll find it later.
When I enter the lobby, I breathe a sigh of relief that Rylee entered first. A group of fans rushes over to me before the front door has a chance to swing shut.
“Brady!” one squeals. “Can I get a picture with you?”
“An autograph?” another asks, holding out a pen.
I oblige them all, taking a few minutes to heed their requests.
When I finally make it up to my suite, I walk in with a smile on my face. Rylee appears in the doorway to my bedroom wearing nothing but the concert t-shirt she just bought me.
“Why do you look so happy?” she asks.
“You mean other than the fact that a beautiful half-naked woman is standing in my bedroom?”
She laughs. “Yeah, other than that.”
I stride over to her and pick her up, swinging her around. “I signed an autograph downstairs.”
“Okaaaaaay,” she says, looking confused.
“Ry, I signed it with my left hand. And I didn’t drop the pen.”
“That’s great! See, I told you it would happen. I’m so happy for you.”
I put her down. “Well, it’s not a jar of pickles.”
“Baby steps,” she says. “This is a very good thing, Brady. And you have every right to be happy. Progress is progress, no matter how you look at it. You are going to make a full recovery. I know it.”
Rylee has always been my biggest cheerleader when it comes to my recovery. I still have such a long way to go. What will I do when I’m back in New York? Will my physical therapist there push me as hard as Rylee has? Will he believe in me the way she does?
She grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bed. She leaves me standing at the end of it while she crawls seductively onto the middle of the bed, letting the shirt ride up just enough so I can see what’s not underneath.
Damn. I realize just how much I like her wearing my shirt. I think back to earlier when she said she’d just borrow it once in a while. I don’t tell her that I want nothing more than for her to borrow my shirt. Or anything else she wants to borrow. And more than once in a while. I want her to borrow it and return it. And borrow it again.
Suddenly it hits me like a ton of fucking bricks falling off the Empire State Building.
I want this woman lying on the bed wearing my shirt. I want her for more than tonight. For more than these few months. I don’t want her to be my Tampa girl. I want her to be my only girl.
But I push the thought aside. Because no matter how much I want her. I know better. I can never have her. I can never have anyone.
“Are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to join me?” she asks, teasing me by pulling the shirt up even higher.
I can see her soft tuft of curls. Her flat belly. The undercurve of one of her breasts. Hell, I can smell how much she wants me.
I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the bed, working my way up her body starting at her bare feet. I kiss her ankles. I lick the inside of her knees. I knead her thighs. By the time I reach her sex, she’s already writhing beneath me.
I push a finger inside her. “Ry, you are so wet.”
“Well, what do you expect? This whole night has been one big production of foreplay.”
I push a second finger in and press my thumb on her clit. She whimpers in pleasure. “Oh, God.”
“You’ll be shouting out my name in two minutes,” I tell her.
“Two? You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”
I pull out my phone and set the stopwatch.
She looks at what I’m doing. “You’re kidding, right?”
I put down the phone next to me and press my mouth to her opening. I work my tongue inside her, fucking her with it as I give her a taste of what’s to follow. I replace my tongue with my fingers when I move it to her clit, sucking on it as I feel the little nub grow harder. Her moans become louder and I smile knowing she’s close. I double my efforts and work my pinky finger back to the pucker of her ass. I slip the tip of it in, pushing her over the edge as she pulsates around each finger I have inside her.
As she recovers from her orgasm, I pick up my phone and turn it around, showing it to her. “Ninety-four seconds,” I say, smugly.
“Give me that thing.” She takes it from me. “Now take off your clothes.”
I laugh. “You think you can beat my time?”
She watches my every move as I strip, my erection springing proudly from my boxer briefs as I lower them to the floor. When I’m completely naked, she peels off the t-shirt she’s wearing, revealing her gorgeous body. Her breasts are perfectly proportioned to her petite, trim figure. Her nipples are stiff and puckered. Her face is flushed and her hair is messy from her orgasm. I’ve never seen such an incredible sight. My dick throbs almost painfully.
“Oh, I know I can,” she says arrogantly.
I dive onto the bed and turn around, my head on the pillow and my hands laced behind my neck. “Give it your best shot.”
She hits the start button on my phone’s stopwatch and smiles deviously. She gets on all fours next to me, her bottom inches from my face. She takes my dick into her hands and strokes me steadily. Then when she leans over to take me into her mouth, I get an all-access view of her wet pussy.
Holy shit. I can’t help it when my hand travels up and my fingers find their way inside her again. She moans around my cock, probably still sensitive from her orgasm. The vibrations from her noises drive me insane. Her hand works beneath me to massage my balls and I feel them tighten with my impending release.
She works her mouth faster, up and down, up and down, stopping momentarily to suck on the head before continuing on. I feel a finger traveling across my perineum and when she carefully plunges it into my ass, it sends me over the top. “Jesus, Rylee!” I shout, my powerful orgasm flooding her mouth as she works every last drop out of me.
She sits back on her haunches and picks up my phone with a brilliant smile on her face. She shows it to me. “Eighty-nine seconds,” she says. “I win.”
I laugh and pull her on top of me. “I’d say we both won at this game.”
She laughs with me as she runs a finger across my jawline.
Damn I love this.
I kiss her finger when it traces my lips. “Let me rest for a few minutes and then we’ll go for the record.”
“You should know I’m very competitive,” she says. “We may be at this for a while.”
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