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I’m hot all over, and this time, it has nothing to do with a fucking fever.

My body, it’s aching, my pussy begging to be put out of her misery, the need his mouth created doubling down with the feel of his bare legs tangled with mine.

God, what would he say if he knew? What the hell is wrong with me?

This is Brady!

My Brady.

Maybe it’s not about him exactly but more my body’s natural reaction to being touched. To be fair, it has been a while .

My eyes flick open at the thought.

Oh my god. It’s been a hot minute for me, yeah, but I’ve gone months without sex, and it was no big thing, but Brady?

This must feel like a lifetime to him. It has to be some sort of record for my insatiable friend.

I wonder if he fucks his hand often.

Aaand now I’m thinking about him stroking himself, taking his thick dick in his massive hand and tugging the way he likes.

I bet he’s a firm-grip kind of guy. The kind who likes you to take him by the balls and squeeze while you bite at the tip—when giving head, I mean.

I’ve got a long neck, so my head game is strong.

I wonder if I could take all of him.

OMG, off track. Stop thinking about deep throating the man who knows you used to piss your pants as a little girl.

I close my eyes again, letting out a long, controlled sigh in an attempt to send a wave through my brain that will wash the images flashing around away.

It doesn’t help, and I drift back to thoughts of him pleasuring himself.

I guarantee he takes himself hard and fast but probably stops right before he’s about to come, waiting for the burning to ease before starting all over again. Yeah, he’s definitely that sweet, sweet torture type. The kill-me-softly sort of man.

I wonder if he’s a cucumber or an eggplant. Straight and solid or curved and firm.

I bet he sounds like a wild animal when he comes, all throaty and chest deep and… God, my god, Cameron, what the hell!

Stop it.

Except I can’t.

I can fucking see it, and when I close my eyes this time, the images only become more vivid.

Brady with his head thrown back, that plump, plush lip—the color you get when you’ve been eating pomegranate seeds—between his teeth.

Eyes screwed shut tightly and muscles clamping, every inch of his body primed and prepped for release.

And right before he comes, his long-lashed eyes flick open, buttery-brown gaze locking on mine.

My core pulses, and before I know what I’m doing, my hand is between my legs.

I toy with myself first, the pads of my fingers brushing teasingly over my clit and making my toes curl. I ease a little lower, sliding one finger through my slit, and I bite into my cheek at the wanton feeling that blooms inside me.

Eyes still closed, I get lost in my imagination, my fingers swirling slightly, playing the torturous role tonight to match my fantasy of the man behind me.

My orgasm builds and builds, my arm starting to shake lightly as I seek out the release, ass cheeks clenching.

I imagine his lips dragging along my neck. They’re heavy and warm. Perfectly puffy and a teeny bit chapped, creating a provocative, velvety bite. And he does bite. It’s light, more of a graze of teeth as he tugs the skin of my neck into his mouth before sucking it raw.

A small sound escapes my throat and his hold on me tightens.

And I fucking freeze, ice shooting down my veins as my eyes fly open wide.

He’s… Oh god, he’s…

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, biting again. Because it wasn’t my imagination at all.

“Brady…” I start to shake my head.

His hand moves under the covers, gripping my hip, and my stomach hollows out.

“Shhh,” he whispers, nose gliding along my neck until it’s tracing the shell of my ear. I shiver at the feeling, fucking starved for this.

For him?

“It’s all right. We’re playing pretend, remember?”

“Pretend? ”

“Mm-hmm.” He pushes my hair from my face, and my eyes flutter closed again. “But this time, I’m not your fake boyfriend. I’m just a guy you met at the bar.”

A croaky chuckle leaves me, my clit crying for attention. “The Brady I know would never allow me to leave with a guy from the bar.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here, Hellcat. This is our little secret.” He squeezes my hip, pressing himself closer. “He’ll never ask you about this because he doesn’t know…”

In other words, we won’t have to talk about this tomorrow.

I should stop. I should laugh and own it and put a fucking pillow between us.

I don’t do that.

I tip my head back, giving this stranger from the bar more access to my neck, and in turn, he takes my wrist and pushes it back between my legs.

Why is that so hot?

I wait for him to release me, but he doesn’t. His fingers stay wrapped around my wrist, pushing so my touch can’t possibly be featherlight but rather rough.

Closing my eyes, I give in to the need inside me. My fingers dance against my clit, swirling and pressing, and he licks along my collarbone, making me moan.

“Yes,” he mumbles, biting and kissing and squeezing until I’m a shaking mess in his arms.

He takes my ear between his teeth, his free hand sliding under my pillow, palm swallowing mine and folding our fingers together.

A moan comes from deep within my chest and then he’s gripping my chin. He turns my head, his warm mouth coming down on mine with a ferocity, his groans thick and heady.

I feel him harden against me, and I gasp into his mouth, choking on his tongue as he plunges deep inside. I press back into him and he allows it .

Heat licks across my spine, down my every limb, and they lock up, preparing for the big finale.

“Come, Cammie Baby. Come for me,” he begs.

I come on command, body shaking and breath ragged as I tear free of his mouth, panting into the dark room as wave after wave crashes over me.

My eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion suddenly hitting me so hard that there is no time for embarrassment or afterthoughts about what I just did.

What we just did.

My eyelids flutter closed, the man behind me snuggles even closer, and in what feels like seconds, sleep wins out.