“You need to take off your jeans.” I sat up and rested on my elbows. “I want to see.” I’d never been this brazen before, not with any lover, never asked for what I wanted. He dipped his head shyly and then undid the button on his jeans and pushed them to his hips, leaving the cotton briefs, but I could see the outline of him and the damp spot, and I really wanted to see it all. “Take it out,” I pleaded, but maybe it came out more like an order because Brody scrambled to push his briefs down, and finally I got a real look. He was everything that was perfect, and the way he didn’t touch himself, just letting it stand there ready for me to touch, was more than I could take.
“Come here.” I want to taste you.
“I want to taste you first,” he said quickly and dipped his gaze again. “Can I?” He was so polite and there was no chance I was going to say no when he asked permission like that so perfectly.
“Fuck, yes,” I agreed, anything to ease the ache inside me that was begging for release. “Please,” I begged and groaned low in my throat as he didn’t hang around, licking and then sucking before swallowing me as far as his fist and increasing the pressure. I could see his hard cock, and I wanted to touch, but I wasn’t going to last with his talented tongue and the way he moved and the way he—
“Fuck!” I shouted as I was coming. I hadn’t even had time to warn him, the orgasm burst out of every cell of me in an instant, but he might have known, must have realized, and I ended up covering his hand in cum and wondering if I would ever be able to move again.
“My turn,” he said.
“Let me—” I began feebly and reached for him, but he shook his head frantically.
“I can’t,” he muttered. “Too quick… I… ” He fucked his hand with incredible concentration on his face, staring right at me, he finally closed his eyes and came into his hand, rearing up, his neck stretched, his lips parted. I’d never see anything so utterly sexy before.
Breathing hard he collapsed next to me, and wordlessly I passed him the towel I’d used to dry my hair after my shower all that time ago when I first came back to the room to hide.
“Thanks.” He waited until his breathing settled and then leaned up and over to kiss me again. I threaded my fingers in his soft hair and stared up at him. “That was… ”
“Yeah… ”
“We need to do that again. Maybe in the shower, maybe in a bed, I don’t care if it’s on the floor again.”
“All of those places. But right now, I can’t move.”
He reached up and yanked down pillows, giving two to me and propping up his head. The carpet was thick, and it smelled of warm floaty evenings and sex. Or was that just my wishful thinking?
“I’m sorry your flower shattered today.” For a brief moment, I wondered if this was a pity-fuck.
But really all he wanted to do was to talk about that. “Normally, people come in and mess with my stuff, making sure it’s camera ready, and I didn’t have anyone to do that, so I was going to fix it properly myself. I was too late to get to it. I should have done it right in the first place.”
He made this noise much like the judges did, a hmmm of understanding that made me think he didn’t understand at all.
“I see, but you do all your own bakes, right? I mean the videos you share, it’s all you, I know that.”
“All of them, everything you see that I post is mine.” I was fiercely proud of that but ready to acknowledge that maybe I wasn’t brilliant at the finishing touches, nor as pleased with some of the branded ingredients I had to use.
“But you have someone that takes the photos professionally.”
“Erin does. She has a team, and they come in and take beauty shots, fixing anything I messed up.”
“Hmmm.” He made that sound again.
“Why the hmmm?” I asked as carefully as I dared, waiting for him to explain that it appeared what I did on my Instagram was nothing short of lying. Hell, it’s what I thought myself half of the time.
“The flower would have fallen off anyway, gravity is hell on delicate sugar work that’s suspended like that.”
“Yeah but—”
“And even if you’d got to it, or some other person had, and tried to fix it, then it would have probably still fallen. I could see from the angle I was at that it was slightly tilted. That’s all.”
I sat up then, leaned against the sofa, and yanked up my pants as I did so. “You must think I’m an idiot to have to rely on others to fix my shit and to mess up in the first place.”
He blinked up at me and then frowned before sitting and adjusting his jeans, crossing his legs, then leaning back against the opposite chair.
“No, I don’t think any of that.”
“You’d be the only one. I’ve had people tell me that—”
“I think you’re incredibly talented,” Brody interrupted. “I watched every one of your episodes. You were only nineteen yet you nailed it. Your skill at baking is amazing, and if you weren’t already a social media dude I’d ask you to come and work with me at 3B.”
“You would?” I briefly had this picture of the two of us baking side by side, and warmth filled me. Then one image of my stuff next to his hit me, and I knew I had to make him understand something.
“Our challenges in season one weren’t as hard as yours, it was the start of the show, so they hadn’t gotten all fancy with what they wanted,” I began, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“That’s blatantly not true. The bakes in my season were insane like we had to make five desserts in two hours, and it left all of us open to fail, but no one expected perfection.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
He sighed then brightened. “Do you recall the week one cake from your season?”
Remember? It was the absolute pinnacle of my entire life. Not only had I made it onto the show, but I’d made the perfect cake with the most spectacular jam and silky smooth buttercream.
“Yeah?”
“See? You won that hands down, and you can’t hide any lack of talent with a simple cake. Your skills are right there for people to see. No cream or layers or chocolate swirls or all the shit they had us doing. A bake can look like perfection, but at the end of the day it’s all about the taste. I make cakes every day, and I still throw a third of them in the garbage. God help me if they give us a task to do a simple cake.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He looked confused. “Why would I just be saying that?”
“To make me feel better.” I crossed my arms over my chest, ready to go into stupid self-pity mode because he was laughing at me.
He did snort a laugh, but it wasn’t aimed at me. “I’m saying that because it’s true.” He tapped my foot, which was right up against his knee. “You’re one of the favorites in this competition, and you know it.”
I’m not sure I agreed with his assertion. Only something about the way he said it sparked a light of confidence inside me. “Thanks,” I finally offered because he appeared to be waiting for a reply. “I’m doing okay with the endorsements though.”