Page 16

Chapter 16

Charlie

M y heart’s still racing from the phone call when I pull up outside Brodie’s place. I had to tell him in person. Biggest sponsorship deal I’ve ever landed, and it’s his. And, by extension, the Rebels’. I’ve been working on it since August, behind the scenes, and now it’s sealed.

It’s almost nine, but there’s light upstairs. He’s home and awake. Relief loosens something in my chest. I half expected him to still be at the gym, pushing himself like he has since the last games.

Their season started two weeks ago with one close-run loss. Then one massive loss – against Glasgow in Glasgow. And one very pissed off MacRae.

I jump out of the car, walk up, and rap on the door. If he doesn’t answer soon, I might kick it in. I knock again, harder this time. Still nothing. I put my ear to the wood, straining for any sound.

I’m about to text him when he finally opens.

My grin dies.

He’s hunched over like a question mark, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other pressed to his lower back. Sweat mats his hairline. His shoulders are rigid, breath shallow, and there’s pain in his eyes that he can’t hide.

‘What happened to you?’ I shove my way inside before he can stop me, careful not to touch him.

He tries to straighten. ‘Training. Took a hit.’

‘You’re kidding me.’ I scan him, catching every wince he thinks he’s hiding. ‘Your back?’

He nods, lips pressed into a line. ‘Just pulled something. Probably QL spasm. Doc says it’s not too terrible. I’ll walk it off.’

‘Walk it off?’ I drop my purse and turn to face him. ‘You can barely stand, MacRae.’

He doesn’t meet my gaze, just swipes a hand over his face.

I step closer and soften my tone. ‘Brodie. Talk to me.’

‘It’s fine. Just…need a day or two.’

I’ve never seen him like this. Crumpled, struggling to catch his breath. And that iron grip he’s got on his pride is making it worse.

‘You need to lie down, MacRae.’

‘You need to chill, Harrington.’

‘Now.’ I cross my arms, feet planted. ‘You’re going to haul your surly arse upstairs and lie down. Don’t argue; don’t even think about it. Let’s move.’

Getting him up the stairs is a bloody battle. But one glare from me shuts him up. I practically frogmarch him to his bedroom, ignoring his huffy complaints.

‘Sit.’ I give him a gentle nudge toward the bed.

‘You and your orders.’

‘I’m the boss, as you well know.’

He grunts, but doesn’t argue, and sinks down gingerly on the edge, mouth set like a locked door against whatever pain is in his back.

That is worrying.

I point a finger at him. ‘Stay put. I’m getting ice. The first forty-eight hours ice, then heat. You know the drill.’

He grumbles something unintelligible, but doesn’t move an inch.

When I come back, he’s still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

‘Take these.’ I drop the ibuprofen into his palm and hand him a glass of water. He swallows them down without a word.

I glance around the room, taking it in for the first time. It’s not just a bedroom.

It’s also a damn greenhouse.

Plants everywhere. Vines draping down from the shelves, a huge potted fern in the corner. I can barely see the walls.

I raise a brow. ‘Are you secretly running a garden centre?’

‘It’s a hobby, keeps me grounded. Plants don’t judge, they just grow. And they help me sleep. Calm me down.’

I snort, amused, endeared, and taking the piss. Just a little.

He shoots me a look. ‘Shut up.’

I sit down beside him on the bed, shoving the ice pack under his shirt, pressing it right to the sore spot on his back. He hisses, but I don’t ease up.

‘You’re such a bloody fool,’ I say louder than I should. ‘Pushing yourself like this. What good are you to anyone if you break yourself in half?’

He scowls at me with a side-glance ‘I’m fine. Only a knock. Nothing I haven’t handled before.’

‘Doesn’t impress me. You’re not a machine, Brodie. Throwing yourself past the line doesn’t make you a leader.’

‘It’s my job to push. To take hits. You think I can afford to half-arse it? Not when the lads are looking to me to set the bar.’

‘Set the bar, not hurt your spine,’ I fire back. ‘You’re the captain. Act like it. If you’re out there throwing yourself into tackles like a maniac, they’re gonna think that’s the standard. You want your team to end up in A&E because you’re too thick-headed to know your own limits?’

‘Oh, I know my limits.’

‘Clearly.’ I shove the ice into place, no mercy. ‘You can’t lead or play from a hospital bed, MacRae.’

‘You done lecturing me?’

‘You done being a dick?’ I don’t back down. ‘So, no. Not till you admit you’re being an irresponsible arse.’

His shoulders drop, and some of the fight bleeds out of him. ‘Fine. Maybe I overdid it a wee bit.’

‘Maybe? A wee bit?’

He grunts, not conceding but not denying it either. And that’s about as close to an admission as I’m going to get from him. Still, it’s enough to take the edge off my own temper.

I ease up on the ice pack. ‘Next time you throw yourself around like that, I’ll kick your arse myself. Got it?’

He glances at me, a half-smile softening the line of his mouth. ‘Like to see you try.’

‘Oh, don’t tempt me,’ I mutter, but a smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it.

My eyes snag on something bright, pink, and sparkly on his dresser, overshadowed by an obscenely huge monstera.

I squint, tilting my head. ‘What on god’s green earth is that?’

His gaze flicks over, and he actually looks sheepish. ‘It’s for Hannah. On our promo tour, you mentioned she likes sparkles. Thought she could use a cowboy hat for that Beyoncé performance.’

And the world just…stops.

A burn starts behind my eyes. I stare at this brooding tank of a man. Buying pink cowboy hats with sequins for my sister’s talent show.

He remembered.

It’s not just the hat. It’s the way he remembers everything I say. Like he’s been saving it all up, waiting for a chance to get a smile out of me. That’s how he cares. Quietly. Fiercely. Without ever needing credit.

I’ve spent my whole life bracing for the let-down. For someone to prove I was right not to trust them. And here’s Brodie, the last man I ever thought would crash through my walls, showing me I’ve been wrong about everything.

About him. About me. About us.

I’m trying to keep my shit in check, but it’s too late. I’m crumbling because he’s the one thing I never saw coming. The man who makes me want more. Want better. And I don’t have a script for that.

Shit.

I can’t make myself breathe properly, and I don’t know why it hits so hard. Just that it does. A cheap pink hat and suddenly my entire world implodes.

He notices, glancing at me with a frown. ‘Charlie? Look, if it’s weird—’

‘It’s not.’

The ice pack drops from my fingers. I can’t speak. Can’t do anything but stare at his back, his broad shoulders so tense.

A pink cowboy hat. For Hannah.

He remembered. The sparkles. Her.

The part of me that doesn’t trust splinters open. The feeling is raw and unfamiliar and has me wanting to crawl out of my skin. I don’t even realise I’m moving until I lay my hands flat against his back, palms sliding over the taut muscles as he stiffens under my touch.

‘Charlie?’ He says it carefully, as if he’s not sure if I’m about to lose it or hug him.

My chest is so full, and my pulse is ticking at the back of my neck. I shake my head, holding back the words that want to spill out. Words I shouldn’t say.

He shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be kind and patient and thoughtful. He should be selfish. Like Callum. Like my dad. Like every man who’s ever let me down.

But he’s not.

He’s…Brodie. Real and unbreakable, even when he’s hurting. Even when he’s doubting himself. He buys a pink cowboy hat for a girl he’s never met, because he remembers me mentioning it in passing.

Because he fucking cares.

I feel it like a knife between my ribs, cutting out every doubt I’ve ever had.

I drop my head against his shoulder, and I draw his scent into my lungs. Clean, musky, familiar. I brush my lips against the warm stretch of skin on the nape of his neck. It’s not enough. I want to climb inside him, burrow under his skin and never come out.

‘Charlie. Don’t touch me like that. Don’t kiss me.’ His voice is dark. ‘You don’t get to tease and run. One more move, and you’re mine. You might own my arse professionally, but I’ll make sure I own yours in every other way. That clear enough for you?’

A pause.

‘Yes.’

‘Not enough, Charlie. Spell it out. Say it like you mean it. You want this? You tell me. Loud and clear. Once and for all.’

I’m fucked. Because nothing’s ever felt this right. Or this terrifying. I comb my fingers through his thick hair. It might stop me from tipping over. Behind my ears, everything rushes. Need claws through me so fast I forget how to stand.

The truth is out before I can stop it. ‘I’m already yours.’

He lets out a pained sigh. ‘Then get in front of me, baby. Let me see what’s mine. Let me fucking feel it.’

I get up and move around him until I’m standing in the space right between his thighs. He reaches for me without thinking, but I shut him down with a look, then haul my jumper over my head. My bra comes off next – hook, slide, drop. His gaze flicks to my tits, and his whole face changes, reverence and hunger colliding. He’s barely holding it together.

So am I. Every part of me is hot with it – want, need, whatever the hell this is. The way he looks at me – like I’m his fucking religion – hits so low I almost moan. My mouth parts. And for a second, I don’t know if I want to cry or beg or climb him like a ladder.

All of it. The answer is all of it.

I shimmy out of my jeans and thong, kick them aside, and lean in, mouth to his ear. ‘You’ve got me. So, what are you gonna do with me, captain?’

His breath punches out like I’ve knocked it from his lungs. Hands fly up to my hips, yanking me close.

He kisses my stomach. ‘Charlie. Baby.’

The sound of his voice guts me, and I sway on my feet. One of his hands coasts up my side, thumb skimming under my breast like he’s checking I’m real.

His gaze is pure wildfire. ‘You don’t even see it, do you? How beautiful you are. How fucking gone I am for you?’

He drops his hand and cups my bare mound like it’s his. No patience or softness. Just calloused fingers dragging through the mess he’s made of me.

‘Christ, Charlie. So fucking soft and wet. You need me that bad again?’

The sound he lets out tears straight through my core. Like the only thing keeping him upright is how close he is to fucking me.

‘Always,’ I whisper – and something cracks wide open in his face, like I just gave him permission to hope.

He sinks two thick fingers into me, drags them in slow and deliberate, then does it again. Like he’s testing how much I can take. How much he’s allowed to give.

‘Fuck. Clench around me like that again, and I’ll come in my fucking pants.’

He shifts, working deeper. And I feel everything – his breath against my skin, his fingers slick with how soaked I am. He’s carving space for himself inside me with the push of every knuckle.

He’s still too careful. Too in control. And it’s torture, because I feel the restraint shaking through him. He’s holding back a storm.

But I want that storm.

His digits catch a spot that makes my thighs jerk.

He grips my hip, steadying me. ‘You feel that? Baby, that’s need. Don’t think I don’t feel it too. Every time you touch me, my body fucking forgets who it belongs to.’

He crooks his fingers inside me, hitting that spot again, and I whimper, clinging to his shoulders, desperate for something to hold me together.

But nothing makes sense. Nothing except him.

‘Oh my… Fuck, Brodie. That… Jesus, that’s so good. Where the hell did you—?’

I’m grinding down on his hand like it’s the only thing holding me together, and all I can do is gasp. ‘How are you this good with your fingers?’

‘Fast hands, Champ.’ He leans in, lips brushing my ear. ‘Comes with the position.’

He pulls out, fingers glistening, and I’m already aching. I want to sob, want to grab his wrist and shove him back inside me like I’ll fall apart without him there.

‘No one’s ever touched me like this.’ My voice breaks over it. ‘Like they know my body better than I do. Like they fucking care.’ I grip his wrist, trying to hold myself steady. ‘I don’t want anyone else. I don’t think I ever did. I want you. All of you. I want to feel what it does to me when I finally stop holding back.’

His eyes are black now. Hunger flaring, restraint snapping thread by thread.

‘God. Charlie… Yes. We’re doing this right. All in. But the only way I can fuck you tonight is flat on my back. So come ride me.’

He shifts carefully, one hand reaching back to tug the shirt over his head with a breath that slips through gritted teeth.

I plant my palms on his chest, pushing him back gently. His lips slant like he’s trying to smother a grimace with something cocky. He lets me guide him down, easing onto the bed.

‘Let me be in charge.’ I trace my fingers over his pecs. ‘You don’t always have to carry the whole damn world. I promise to be gentle.’ That last bit slips out on a smug grin.

‘No.’ His chest rumbles with a sound that’s half challenge, half surrender. ‘I want to watch you bounce on it, baby.’

He sinks fully back against the mattress, eyes locked on me, daring me to take the lead.

I reach for his waistband, working the button open, knuckles brushing the flat of his stomach. He lifts his hips with a wince, breath catching as I ease his jeans down. His briefs follow, and then he’s bare – swollen, proud, and so fucking beautiful it makes me dizzy.

Good lord. That’s a lot of cock.

And it’s all mine.

I barely get his clothes to the floor before he grips my waist and pulls me over him.

‘You’ve got me so fucking thick I can’t think. My cock’s aching, my heart’s fucking worse, and I still want you closer.’

I shift, soaked with want, sliding over him slowly. I’m making him wet so he gets in easier. He jerks beneath me, impossibly hard. Like the rest of him. Built to break me open and make me thank him for it.

‘Holy fuck! You gonna ride me? Or are you just trying to kill me?’

I can’t help the giggle that slips out. ‘You think I’m that cruel?’

He grabs my tits with both hands like he’s staking a claim.

‘Charlie…’

‘Yeah?’

‘We good? I mean…you clean? On anything?’

I nod. ‘Implant. Got tested last month. All clear.’

His relief is almost palpable. ‘Same. Never bare.’ His gaze locks on mine, serious. ‘Never wanted to. Till now.’

Something melts and rushes at that confession, all at once, and I’m gone. I hook my fingers under his jaw, tipping his face to mine, and kiss him. ‘Don’t hold back.’

‘You want me to come inside you? Claim that pretty cunt?’

‘Yeah.’ I nip at his bottom lip. ‘I want to feel you. Nothing in the way. Nothing between us.’

‘Jesus suffering fuck.’ His head drops back. ‘You’re gonna destroy me.’

‘Possibly,’ I whisper. ‘Let’s see who breaks first.’

He laughs out loud. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh like that, and it sets my heart on fire.

I sink down on him slowly. He’s so big, so hard for me, and my body can’t decide whether to give up or whine for more. We both gasp at the connection – one shared, ragged sound – as if our bodies are the only ones brave enough to admit what this is. I brace my hands on his chest, fingers digging into solid muscle as I take him all the way, until I’m flush on his lap, and he’s deep enough to squeeze the breath from my lungs.

He’s forcing himself to stay still, to let me set the pace. But his hands are rough on my tits, squeezing enough to bruise, and his muscles are flexing under me, eager to thrust up.

‘Fuck, Charlie. You feel like…like I’ve been waiting my whole goddamn life to be inside you.’

I rock back and forth. The friction sends sparks fizzing through my veins. I roll my hips again, sharper this time, and he groans – a broken sound that bursts from inside him, like he’s helpless to stop it.

‘You look so fucking pretty riding my cock.’

‘I always…look good…on top.’

His laugh melts into a growl as I fuck him faster, greedy for the full stroke of him, my calves cramping, and I can’t care. I keep going just the way I need it.

‘That’s it, baby. Use me. Fuck yourself on me. Make a fucking mess.’

Oh god. This man.

I’m so close I can taste it, heat snaking up my spine. Pressure pulsing in my core.

‘Please,’ I gasp on a sob. ‘Please, Brodie. Make me come… Make me…’

He drives the heel of his hand right where I’m throbbing for it, and I cry out.

‘That what you need? Need me to rub that clit?’

‘Yes – fuck – yes!’ I claw at his chest. ‘Please, Brodie. Need it so bad. Oh GOD!’

He circles me fast and relentlessly, and the pressure lights me up from the inside. I can’t hold back… Can’t stop how I’m shaking, thrusting down harder, using him the way he told me to.

And I crest with a scream.

Savage heat barrels through me. I writhe against his palm, soaking him, clutching around him. He keeps working his hand on me until I’m nothing but sobs and pleasure, begging for mercy I don’t want.

A hoarse sound tears from his throat. Now both hands seize my hips, dragging me down, deeper, holding me there.

‘AH! Yes. Yes! Fuck. Cha—’ He chokes on my name, and I feel it.

His body jolts under mine, hips lifting enough to drive up. He groans, loud and ragged, as he comes. Hot, helpless, spilling in thick spurts. His breath fractures. His grip bruises. He goes still, letting it crash through him.

I feel his heart jumping against his ribs. He slides his hands up my sides and pulls me down, crushing me against him as he groans out the last of it.

One last pulse hits, snug inside me, and I feel every twitch.

‘Oh god. Charlie. Can’t…fuck…can’t even breathe.’

There’s something stunned in his expression, like I broke him and he doesn’t know how to put himself back together.

I know the feeling.

He wraps his arms around me, holding me so tight it hurts. I lick my tongue over his neck, tasting sweat and salt and something achingly real. My body’s still pulsing, and I’m caught between bliss and disbelief. I can’t help it that my heart trips over itself at the way he’s holding me, like he’s never letting go.

Good. Cause I’m here to stay.

‘You’re mine,’ he murmurs against my hair. ‘But god help me, Charlie, I’m so fucking yours.’