Page 52 of Reach Around

My back hits the shelves, cold bottles and cleaning rags pressing into my spine, and in this desperate moment, nothing else matters. Not the team, not the noise, not the risk—just hishands, desperate, worshipping, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

He slides my jeans down just enough, his mouth finding mine again, one hand slipping between my thighs, fingers quick and practiced, making me arch and bite back a moan. His other hand unzips his zipper, his own need rough and urgent. Somewhere in the mess, he pauses just long enough to fish a condom out of his wallet, tearing the foil with shaking hands.

I almost laugh—can’t help it. “You really keep one in there?”

He grins against my neck, breathless. “Only for emergencies. And, JoJo? This is a five-alarm situation. Need to be inside you.”

He rolls it on, awkward and fast, our laughter muffled by the way our mouths collide again—fast, frantic, half-mad with want. It’s messy and perfect and so impossibly us.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s got my back pressed against the shelves, jeans shoved down to my knees, one of my legs hooked over his wrist. The angle’s filthy, perfect, my shirt bunched around my waist and his eyes wild and hungry.

“Jesus, JoJo… you’re so—fuck, how did I live without this pretty little pussy?” His mouth drags along my jaw, and then he’s lining himself up, the tip of his cock nudging at my entrance.

My whole body is aching for him, desperate and wide open, every nerve ending lit up with anticipation. “Brogan,” I whisper, half pleading, half promise. “Please. I need you inside me—right now. I can’t wait anymore. I don’t want to.”

He stutters out a broken sound, voice wrecked and low. “You—sure? We—shit—gotta be quick, but—God, I need you. Been thinking about this—all day—all damn week.”

“Fuck me,” I whisper, bracing myself, digging my fingers into his shoulders. “Just… now, Brogan.”

He pushes in, slow at first—like even now, even here, he doesn’t want to hurt me. The stretch is fast, perfect, my gaspswallowed up by his mouth as he sinks all the way in, hips jerking like he can’t hold back.

“Shit—JoJo—so tight, so wet for me. Fuck, you feel… you feel like… like—like mine.”

He barely gives me time to adjust, one hand braced behind my head, the other sliding between us to find my clit. He circles it, thumb pressing down, clumsy but determined, making my whole body arch and quake against the cold metal shelf.

I don’t want more time anyway because I want him, deep and filthy and raw. The second he bottoms out, I swear I almost come right then—he’s so thick, so hard, I can feel every inch, and the stretch is delicious, perfect, everything. I can barely breathe, can barely think. It’s messy and hot and desperate, my pussy sucking him in like it’s starving. I dig my nails into his shoulder, grinding up to meet him, my mouth pressed against his ear as I let the filth spill out.

“Fuck, Brogan—your cock feels so fucking good. Fill me up. Don’t stop. God, I can feel everything.”

“Wanna—wanna make you come first, babe. Need to—need to feel you… fuck—just like that. That’s it. God, that’s it—”

His words dissolve into half-formed curses and praise, hips snapping, breath coming hard and desperate. Every time he rubs my clit, I feel the coil inside me wind tighter, and his mouth keeps stammering out all the things he can’t say when the lights are on.

“You—shit—you’re so good, so perfect, babe—never—never gonna get enough—”

I break first, coming hard around him, biting my own fist to muffle the sound as my whole body shudders. Brogan loses it right after, muffling his groan against my neck as he pulses inside me, holding on like he’s never letting go.

For a moment, we just breathe—hot, frantic, a mess of tangled limbs and barely-contained laughter.

He sets my leg down gently, brushing my hair from my face with a shaking hand. “You—uh—okay?”

I grin, still breathless. “I’m so much better than okay.”

Both of us are shuddering, breathless, the supply closet still spinning as we tug ourselves back together, hands lingering, lips swollen, hearts pounding out the same wild beat.

Brogan ties off the condom, glances around, and discreetly tucks it into a paper towel to toss in the nearest trash on his way out. “Don’t you dare tell my mom what we just did.”

I breathe out a laugh, smoothing my hair and straightening my coat. “Like I would ever do that.”

He kisses me one last time, soft and slow. “You’re worth everything, JoJo.”

And with that, we slip back into the noise and lights, secrets still clinging to our skin, both of us a little wrecked and a lot more alive.

Chapter Fifteen

Brogan

There’s something about Molly’s Café on a Saturday morning that brings out the best—and the absolute weirdest—in this town. News travels faster than Molly can refill a coffee cup, and there’s no such thing as a private conversation when you’re within shouting distance of the pie case. If you’re a Foster, everyone’s got an opinion about who you’re dating, who you should be dating, and whether or not your eggs are runny. And if you’re Brogan Foster—well, let’s just say the whole town’s been waiting for you to trip over your own heart. Today, as word drifts from booth to booth about water towers, bar coasters, and supply closets, I just sit back, sip my burnt coffee, and enjoy the show.

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