Page 15 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tanner
I read her text again, fingers hovering before I tap the call button. The line rings twice before she picks up.
“It’s only eight,” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Hey, Tanner.”
I ask if she can come down and talk. She hesitates, mentions a deadline, and that her nanny is about to leave. I tell her to send her CashApp. She asks why.
“Just give it to me.”
She does, and I wire her two hundred and fifty bucks with a quick message: Tell the nanny to stay a little longer.
I plead, “Please, Brooke. Please come down. Just for a bit.”
Silence hangs before she says she already had dinner.
“That’s okay,” I say, “where I’m taking you will only be half an hour. Then I’ll bring you back.”
She sighs and finally says, “Give me ten minutes.”
The city’s quieter at this hour, but my pulse isn’t.
I watch the glow of her building as I wait, leaning against the hood of my vintage ‘69 Camaro. My hand runs over the curve of the door as I hear footsteps. When I look up, she’s there—red shorts, matching top, sandals that click softly on the concrete, and a high ponytail that makes her look younger than she should, like summer bottled into a girl-shaped silhouette.
“Hey,” I say, voice lower than I intend. My eyes sweep over her without apology. “Beautiful.”
She shifts her weight, arms crossing like a reflex. “What are you doing here, Tanner?”
“I want to show you something.” I nod toward the car.
She eyes it. “I thought you rode a bike.”
“Sometimes I prefer leather. Tonight, I prefer horsepower.”
A smile flirts with her lips as she follows me, the door creaking open when I reach it first. She slides into the passenger seat like it’s the most natural thing.
Once I’m in, I turn the key. The Camaro growls awake, and we pull away from her building and into the flow of the city’s night.
She watches the buildings blur by, quiet except for when she asks, “Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
I drive toward the financial district, cutting through side streets until we reach one of the tallest towers downtown. She’s looking at me again, confused. “Tanner…”
“Trust me.”
I thank the doorman with a nod and a folded hundred, and he lets us into the private elevator.
Brooke glances around, then back to me as the doors slide shut. In the silver reflection, she’s radiant. Tension rolls off her, but so does curiosity. I don’t speak. I just watch her.
Damn, she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. She tilts her head toward me like she knows what I’m thinking but doesn’t want to acknowledge it.
The elevator dings. We step onto the rooftop and walk into warm night. Above us, stars stretch out over the Miami skyline, diluted only slightly by city lights. She walks to the ledge and looks out. “It’s really beautiful up here.”
I smile and pull my jacket from my shoulders, spreading it out over the rooftop’s concrete for her to lie on. “Got one more surprise.”
Her gaze lingers as I sink down to my knees, then lie back, arms behind my head. “What are you doing?”
“The stars are better like this,” I say, patting the spot next to me.
She hesitates as I guide her down gently, hand on the small of her back. Her shorts shift higher up her thighs as she folds down beside me, her hair swaying over her shoulder. She smells like coconut and something sweet I can’t name, and it’s driving me insane.
“There,” I murmur, pointing up. “That’s Orion. You can see his belt right there. And over that way, that’s Lyra. They say it holds the brightest star.”
“Wow,” she whispers, her breath brushing my jaw. “How do you know all this?”
“Came here a lot. When I first got drafted. When the city felt too loud. I’d climb up here, stare at the sky, tell myself it was okay to want more. That I could have a piece of something good, too.”
She looks at me like I just handed her a secret. “It’s really gorgeous.”
I turn toward her. She turns too. Our faces close now. Her lashes flutter as her eyes lock with mine.
“What was that text about?” I ask, voice quieter now.
“You know,” she replies.
My hand lifts, my thumb brushing over the soft curve of her cheek. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be my friend anymore,” I say. “Because I don’t want just that anyway.”
Her lashes lower. “Tanner.”
“Listen,” I say, pressing in. “There’s something here. You know it. Stop pretending you don’t. Stop overthinking every second.”
“We can’t,” she breathes.
“We can,” I whisper. “You just don’t want to let yourself want it.”
She hesitates, blinking slowly. I watch her shift, her lips parting slightly, like she’s about to argue. But instead, she leans forward and presses her mouth to mine.
It starts soft. Warm. Curious. But it escalates fast. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer as our lips crash again. Her tongue meets mine, hungry and certain. My hand slips around her hip, then up under her shirt, skimming bare skin as she sighs against my mouth.
She pulls me in again, deeper this time. When we part, she’s breathless and pink-cheeked.
“Kiss under the moonlight,” I murmur.
She smiles and kisses me again.
This time, I shift my weight over her, pushing her gently onto her back. Her thighs part as I settle between them, her shorts tugging tight over her hips. I brace my arms beside her head, looking down at her flushed face, her lips glossy and swollen from my mouth.
My cock is already hard, straining against my jeans, the friction from her body making it worse. Her legs curl around me, locking at the ankle, grinding herself up against me like her body’s already decided.
“This is crazy,” she whispers, breath catching.
“I know,” I growl, pressing into her. “But it’s real.”
I rock into her slowly, our bodies clothed, but nothing about the way we move feels innocent. Her hands clutch my shoulders, pulling me closer, her hips rising up in rhythm with mine. Every push makes her gasp, makes her arch, her shorts darkening with wet heat where she grinds into my bulge.
“Fuck,” she moans, her breath hitching. “Tanner…”
I lower my mouth to her neck, kissing down the curve of her throat, tasting sweat and something sweeter. Her back bows. She’s so close. I can feel it. The heat radiating from between her thighs, the way her breath stutters with every grind.
She claws at me now, hands dragging down my chest. Her whole body tightens beneath mine, her face twisting as her orgasm crashes through her.
She moans my name, long and loud, grinding hard into my cock as she comes.
My jeans are soaked from how wet she is, her arousal soaking through both layers of fabric like a brand.
She’s shaking, wrung out and limp, and I’m still hard as a rock, throbbing in my pants. My cock aches, dying for friction. She reaches down, grabs my hand, and guides it into her shorts.
“Touch me,” she pants. “Please, Tanner.”
I slide two fingers inside her, and she whimpers, thighs clenching, hips rocking up to meet every stroke. Her walls pulse around me, begging, squeezing like she’s still peaking.
“Fuck,” I groan, watching her unravel all over again.
She’s soaked. My fingers glide in and out of her, thumb brushing over her clit. Her whole body arches, her moans high and unfiltered as she bucks under me, riding my hand like she owns it.
The tension in me snaps. My cock jerks in my jeans, and I come hard, grinding into her thigh, spilling into my boxers like a fucking teenager.
I grit my teeth, breathing ragged against her throat, hand still working her through it.
I’ve never come this fast, this desperate, fully clothed and completely wrecked.
She’s whimpering my name, wet and ruined beneath me, when her phone starts to ring.
We freeze.
She shifts, her chest rising under mine. I glance toward the pocket of her shorts where the screen glows.
Cam.
Fuck.
Her eyes go wide. Mine too.
We’re both breathing hard, the space between us filled with too much.
“I have to take this.”
I nod, jaw tight. I sit back as she pulls her legs from around me, smoothing down her top with trembling fingers. Her voice when she answers is steady, but her hands are still shaking.
I turn away to give her space, heart hammering and body strung tight. The rooftop suddenly feels colder than it did a minute ago.