her cries peaked.
She shouted his name over and over, until the syllables jumbled together into an incoherent decree of passion and release. Shock waves ran through her and he withdrew his hand slowly, gently. His mouth found hers, his tongue parting her lips and bringing her back to the moment.
‘Still think I’m cruel?’ he murmured against her mouth, sliding a hand beneath her neck to lift her into a sitting position.
She faced him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Heat enveloped him as her hand slid down the front of his pants and stroked his erection. She caressed him—long, slow movements designed to make him want something out of reach.
‘I think you’ve got magic hands,’ he said.
Hair tickled his chest as she rested her head against him, still touching him. He pressed into her hand, gasping at the sharp flare of pleasure that forced his eyes shut.
‘Brodie?’
Olive eyes met his, the black of her pupils wide. Her tongue swiped along his lower lip, the taste of her tempting him.
‘I want you inside me. Now.’
Her hands tugged down his pants, exposing him to the warmth of her thighs. He lifted her from the bench and carried her to the bedroom. They landed on the bed, her body pinned beneath his, and he reached out to his drawer and withdrew a condom. Sheathing himself, he plunged into her. His mouth slanted over hers, hot, demanding. He savoured her heat and tightness until she couldn’t hold on.
Her muscles clenched around him—thighs around his waist, arms around his neck. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop the desire to drown in her warm skin and open mouth. Burying his face against her hair, he brought her close to the edge again. She shook, holding on as if she were about to fly away.
‘Let go,’ he whispered. ‘Just let go.’
And she did. Crying, shaking, gasping. Her orgasm ripped through her with an intensity that brought on his own release within seconds. He rode her slowly, until the waves of pleasure subsided.
The realisation that she wasn’t in her own bed came swiftly when morning broke. Sunlight filtered into the room—Brodie’s room—and the ache between her thighs confirmed that she hadn’t imagined those naughty images of them in his kitchen. It wasn’t a dream—it was the mind-bending truth.
Brodie was like peanut butter ice cream with extra fudge. Decadent, tasty, hard to say no to. But, like all delicious things, he wasn’t the best choice she could have made. What she needed was a steady diet of apples and focus—not ice cream and orgasms.
‘Morning,’ he murmured against the back of her neck.
One arm was slung over her mid-section, turned slightly to expose the edge of his anchor tattoo. She traced the outline with her fingertip. Something firm dug into her lower back. She moved under the guise of stretching her back, smiling when he groaned and pressed against her.
‘Don’t start what you can’t finish.’
She chuckled. ‘You’re insatiable.’
‘Says you, Miss Body Shot. I was perfectly happy sleeping on my own last night.’
‘Liar.’ She rolled over, catching his stubble-coated jaw with her cupped hand.
He didn’t hesitate to kiss her, his tongue delving and tangling with hers. A hand found her breast, fingers tugging and teasing her nipple until she gave in and let him roll on top of her.
‘Weren’t we supposed to be going for a run this morning?’ she asked, blinking her eyes at him with faux innocence.
‘I know a few other things we can do that will burn calories.’
Apples, not ice cream.
‘Worried you won’t be able to keep up?’
‘Ha!’ He grinned. ‘Like I said before, don’t start what you can’t finish.’
‘Oh, I can finish it.’ She tipped her chin up at him, giving his chest a playful shove. ‘Loser makes breakfast.’
‘You’re on.’
Chantal regretted making the challenge a few ks into the run, when it became clear that Brodie was much better at running than she was. He jogged effortlessly alongside her, breaking into a sprint every so often to prove he could. The Newcastle coast blurred past in a haze of blue skies, bluer waters and pale sand. How was it possible to be in such a beautiful place and not be able to enjoy the scenery?
‘Can we take a break?’ Chantal slowed to a walk and fanned her face.
‘Conceding defeat already?’ He jogged on the spot, a victorious grin on his face. ‘You know that means you’ll be making my scrambled eggs when we get back?’
‘Fine. You win.’ She waved him away as she took a long swig from her water bottle. ‘Looks like dancing fitness doesn’t translate to running fitness.’
‘No need to make excuses,’ he teased, and she elbowed him.
‘No need to be a smug winner.’
He reached for her water bottle, tipping it to his lips and gulping the liquid down. Muscles worked in his neck. It was hard not to stare at how he made the most regular of actions seem inherently male.
‘It’s not often I get one over you, so let me have my moment. Besides, I’ve got a long way to go if I’m going to run a half marathon.’
Her brows furrowed. ‘You’re training for a marathon?’
‘Half marathon,’ he corrected.
‘How far is that?’
‘Just over twenty-one k.’
‘Funny how you didn’t tell me that when you let me challenge you to a run.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Cheater.’
A booming laugh erupted, startling a woman jogging past with her small dog. ‘That’s not cheating.’
‘Why on earth do you want to run that far?’
He shrugged. ‘To see if I can do it. A buddy challenged me, and you know how I am with challenges.’
‘It just seems…’ She took in the gleam of his tanned skin, the T-shirt that hugged his full biceps, the golden hair on his athletic legs. ‘Out of character.’
‘Why? Because I don’t have the discipline to be a runner?’ A bitter tone tainted the words.
‘No, I meant because you’re more of a water sports kinda guy.’ She cocked her head, studying him. ‘Windsurfing, sailing boats, water-skiing… that kind of thing.’
‘Oh.’ A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
‘I always wondered if you were half dolphin, since you spend so much time in the water.’
‘Wouldn’t
