Page 52 of Speed

“Yes, fuck yes, Noah I’m…. that… fuck… good!”

I wriggled downward, hands pushing his legs even wider apart to make room for my shoulders.

“I’m going to make it even better,” I bragged as I eased his dick down my throat again. He began to speak in tongues when I sucked his cock. I felt his orgasm pulsing out of him, each spurt coating my throat. I swallowed, grinding my dick into the bed to get some friction. He came and came and came, the tiny plug humming away. I humped the bed like a mad dog, the taste of his cum pushing me over the edge. My balls emptied onto the sheets as I moaned around his prick. He thrust upward several times, then eased out, spunk and spittle coating my lips and chin as we both collapsed into a sticky, breathless heap.

“Good… holy… hell,” Brody gasped, splayed out like a limp noodle under me. I took care in removing the plug, then turning it off. I laid it on the bedding, then dropped small kisses to his spent cock before maneuvering myself up to lie beside him. His gaze fell to me as I spread myself halfway over him. “That was… there are no words.”

“So did you like it?”

“Baby, that was one high-octane ride,” he replied before moving over to tangle his legs with mine. “I loved it. I may never be able to walk again since my legs are now putty.”

I stole a kiss. “I think my foot is in a cum puddle.”

“Wow, that was romantic.” He nipped playfully at my shoulder.

“Want to hear something even more romantic?”

“I’m not sure my romance meter won’t burst, but go ahead and hit me with your glorious, passionate, love talk.”

“Someone has to wash the plug.”

He laughed so hard his eyes watered. I pulled him in close, grinning like the fool falling head over heels that I was. If only this moment could last forever…

SEVENTEEN

Brody

We managedto bypass the media, which felt like an uphill battle given the chaos my social media post had caused. They were everywhere—circling my brother’s neighborhood, parked outside the gates, snapping pictures of anyone who came or went. Logan and Sadie handled the no-comment game like pros, but I could feel the weight of it, the way my mess had become theirs too. The guilt settled heavily in my chest; a constant reminder this wasn’t just my burden anymore.

I’d hired private security to patrol their house and keep an eye on Noah, though he didn’t know about that part. It wasn’t as if I was following him; I couldn’t risk something happening to him because of me. The thought was enough to keep the guilt at bay—just barely.

Getting to the doctor’s office was a covert operation in itself. We slipped through a back entrance, Logan leading the way while I kept my head down. The clinic was quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the empty waiting area.

Dr. Reilly met us in his office, his face a practiced mask of calm professionalism. He gestured for us to sit, and I sank into the chair, my heart pounding. Logan settled beside me, his presence steady, but it didn’t stop the tension from coiling tighter with every passing second.

“I’ve reviewed the MRI results,” Dr. Reilly began, his tone measured. “And as you thought, the headaches and dizziness are due to a change.”

My stomach dropped. “What kind of change?”

He folded his hands on the desk, his gaze steady but serious. “The aneurysm has grown. It’s still small, but the growth indicates increased pressure in the vessel wall. At this point, we need to consider surgical intervention.”

The words hit me like a freight train—surgical intervention. My chest tightened, my breath shallow as the room seemed to shrink around me. “‘Surgical intervention’,” I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Reilly nodded. “Yes. The good news is that it’s operable, and the prognosis is positive. However, I won’t sugarcoat this—there are risks. It’s brain surgery, Brody. As I explained before, complications are rare but can include issues with memory, motor skills, or speech,” he explained. “We’ll take every precaution to minimize those risks, but you must be prepared for the possibility.”

Logan leaned forward, his tone firm but calm. “And the good news? What’s the best-case scenario?”

Dr. Reilly’s expression softened. “The optimal outcome is that we successfully repair the aneurysm, and Brody fully recovers with no long-term effects.”

Logan’s hand landed on my arm, a steadying weight. “Then, that’s what we’ll focus on.”

I couldn’t share his optimism. My thoughts were stuck on the words“brain surgery”and“risks,”circling endlessly until they drowned out everything else. I stared at the desk, gripping the edge of the chair as if it could anchor me. I felt as out of control as when I’d lost traction at a hundred and ninety miles per hour during qualifying in Monaco, the car spinning out in the rain while I fought to regain control. Like then, as other cars headed straight for me, I could do nothing but brace for impact and hope the damage wouldn’t be catastrophic.

Dr. Reilly cleared his throat, pulling my attention back to him. “I understand this is a lot to take in. I’ll give you a couple of days to process, but we must schedule the surgery soon. The longer we wait, the greater the risk of rupture.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. Logan spoke for both of us, thanking the doctor and promising to follow up as we left. My legs felt as if they were moving on autopilot, each step toward the car heavier than the last.

I collapsed into the passenger seat, staring out of the window. My hands trembled, and I clenched them into fists to stop the shaking.

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