Actually, this scene bears a striking resemblance to my teenaged fantasies. The way he’s kissing me, like he can’t get enough. The weight of his hips exactly where I want it. And Brody Wilder knows how to move. A hitch, a swivel, the perfect amount of friction through his jeans and mine.

I pant and writhe under him, lifting my hips to try to get more contact. He kisses me deeper, slides a hand between us and into the V of my thighs. Working me with his palm, getting the pressure in exactly the right place. He breaks the kiss long enough to ask, “Like this?” and I nod. He wedges his thigh where his hand was, working the thick, denim-clad muscle over the damp seam of my jeans. I am already on the edge, and he somehow knows exactly how much pressure I need and want. The pleasure is both amplified and muted by the layers between us.

He finds my nipple through my t-shirt and bra, brushing his thumb back and forth over it.

“Brody,” I beg, but he just kisses me again.

He’s relentless, the thumb on my nipple, the rhythm and friction of his thigh, and I try to slow him down, to draw it out, but he breaks the kiss, watching me, eyes gone dark at whatever he sees in my face. I’m helpless, and he holds my gaze, eyes green and fierce on my face, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Brody!”

“That’s it, you come, baby. Come for me.”

I’m clutching him, thrusting up desperately to meet him, coming in thick, drowning waves of pleasure.

He cups his hand over my throbbing mound, feeling me through the last surges and aftershocks, his expression… awestruck.

“Holy fucking God, Rachel, you’re so hot. If I had had the slightest idea, high school would have been an entirely different experience for both of us.”

“Probably for the best,” I manage, breathless. “Want me to—?”

He lets me unfasten him, and then I kneel and take him in my fist, ducking my head to lick around the tip of his cock.

“If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, you should probably know that I’m pretty worked up.”

His hands are tangling in my hair. Gently, though. No force, no pressure. It feels good.

“It’s okay,” I say, and take him in my mouth. I love the sensation, the velvet of the taut head, the way each suck I give him echoes in my core. I pop off and say, “I’m not, like, good with the whole, you know, deep thing.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me. You don’t have to take me deep and you don’t have to swallow. It’s only sexy if you like it.”