Page 94 of Mr. Broody

Owen stops, and we all look toward the bottom of the stairs. Henry wears a half smirk/half smile. My savior.

I climb down from Waylon’s back, almost falling on my ass again. It’s slightly embarrassing to be fighting with my brothers at my age.

“Hey,” I say.

“Oh jeez, she’s all flushed again. Come on, Bodhi, Mom made some chocolate chip cookies.” Owen nods to the stairs, passing the phone to Henry.

“Can I have one?” Bodhi looks at Henry for permission.

“Sure.” He runs his hand through his son’s hair.

The three of them run up the stairs as if it’s a competition who can get there the fastest.

“Loosening the reins. Allowing him to have a cookie before dinner?” I ask, breaking the distance, hoping we can sneak in a kiss or two before any interruptions.

He must have the same thought because he meets me at the edge of the pool table, handing me my phone. “I would’ve said yes to a five-scoop ice cream sundae with every topping imaginable for a few minutes alone with you.” He cages me with his hips against the edge of the table.

“Oh.” Heat rises to my cheeks.

“Your texts just about killed me.” He leans in, and I don’t fight his lips meeting mine.

“Your authoritative voice when you were talking to my brothers did the same to me. It was hot.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Really?”

I nod. “Real daddy energy.”

He cringes and I chuckle.

“Please don’t.” Henry shakes his head.

“You don’t want me to call you daddy? Daddy Henry has a nice ring to it.” I press my body into his.

“Fuck, call me whatever you want as long as I can get a taste of you.” His voice is as rough as Lake Michigan before a storm.

I rise on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck, and meet his fervor with the same intensity. He doesn’t hold back—lips firm, tongue searching, hands roaming. When his hands slink down, grabbing my ass and pushing my core into his hardening length, it’s all I can do not to let him take me right on the table.

Footsteps above us running from the front room pull me out of my lust haze, and I push on his chest. “We need to stop.”

“One more taste,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine again.

For another few minutes, I lose myself all over again. God, this man… he can kiss.

More footsteps. They sound as though they’re headed toward the back of the house and the basement stairs.

We need to stop, but it feels so damn good.

“Okay, really.” I push him away and unwind out of his hold, breaking free. “I have to get my camera stuff.”

“Come to an away game,” he says.

I stop midstride on my way to the cabinet without turning around. “What?”

“Come to an away game. Mack will have Bodhi. I have a game Friday. We’re playing Minnesota.”

I turn around to face him. I’m not passing up time with Henry. Especially alone time. “Okay.”

He walks toward me, his smile only growing. “I’ll take care of everything, and I’ll fly back with you Saturday.”

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