Page 87 of Big Dill

The fact that Brody ordered pizza—without being asked, without making a thing of it—wraps around my chest like an invisible band, pulling tighter with every breath. It was such a small thing. And somehow…everything.

He’s right about one thing. I do like giving myself over to him. Letting him take control. Letting my body respond without thinking. But this—this is different. He isn’t just taking care of my body.

He’s taking care of me.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

I turn off the tap and blink hard when my eyes sting. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m overwhelmed. Or maybe—terrifying thought—I’m touched in a way I haven’t been in a very long time. No guy I’ve dated has ever really cared about what I needed. Not in the quiet moments. Not in the bedroom. Not anywhere in between.

Not that we’re dating.

My stomach growls, the sound embarrassingly loud, and a laugh slips out before I can stop it, chasing away the tears.

“Get it together,” I murmur. “Breathe, girl.”

I drag in a deep breath, filling my lungs, grounding myself. But my mind betrays me, replaying that hungry kiss, the way he looked at me like restraint was a choice he was actively losing.

What is it about that man that absolutely destroys my self-control?

I snort. Self-control. Please. I have none when it comes to Brody.

The bathroom door creaks open, and the second I step into the hall, I stop short. Brody is coming out of his bedroom, looking warm and relaxed and devastatingly real in gray sweats and a flannel shirt.

“Brody,” I say, my voice betraying me as my gaze drifts, lingers. “Did you…?”

He steps closer, close enough that I could reach out and touch the soft flannel stretched over his chest. “I was getting comfortable too,” he murmurs.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and something electric snaps between us.

“You look⁠—”

“Snack-a-licious?” he offers, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

I laugh, helplessly. “I was going to say like a big fat snack, but yeah.”

Grinning, his hands settle on my hips and he backs me up until my spine hits the wall. Heat floods through me at the feel of him—solid, strong, everywhere. Exactly like every fantasy that’s haunted me since that night.

“Brody…”

“Yeah, Jami?”

Instead of telling him what I want, I show him. I rise onto my toes and kiss him, reaching for the buttons at his shirt. His rough growl vibrates against my mouth and suddenly I’m airborne.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing and heads for my bedroom, my legs locking around his waist, my hands fisting in his shirt. I kiss him like I’m starving—tasting, claiming, losing myself—because once again, with Brody, I don’t want control.

That should scare me. I almost want it to. But it doesn’t.

He slams the door shut behind us, the sound echoing through the room as he lowers me onto the bed and follows me down without hesitation. There’s no careful choreography—just hands everywhere, breath everywhere, urgency colliding with want. Clothes disappear in a clumsy rush, laughter and groans tangling together as skin meets skin.

I push on him and he rolls to his back. I kiss a path down his throat and brush my lips over his chest, his nipples. His strong heart hammers beneath my mouth, and it does something crazy to me. I’m suddenly worried that this isn’t just about desire. It’s about need. The kind that settles deep and refuses to be ignored.

Working to do just that, my mouth travels lower, and I tug down his sweats. His gorgeous hard cock juts out and I grin up at him.

“Is there something you need, Brody?” My voice is needy, breathless even to my own ears.

He inches up, and cups the back of my neck. His gaze holds mine, the teasing gone. “You,” he says simply. “I need you.”

I stare at him. Never have I felt so wanted. I suddenly can’t breathe and he cups my neck tighter, and like he knows exactly what I need to hear him say. “Mouth on me, Little Birdie. Put your pretty lips around my cock and suck.” The power shift sends a thrill straight through me. “Can you do that for me?”