Page 99 of For the Boys
Brent came suddenly with a groan, his head once again falling onto Berkley’s shoulder, letting out a long, warm breath onto the side of her neck.
“I’m so sorry,” he said a moment later. “That was really selfish of me.”
Berkley laughed and trailed her fingers up and down his back in a comforting gesture. “Tell me, Brent. Have you ever apologized to a woman before for coming first? Assuming this isn’t the first time it’s happened, which I would bet it’s not.”
Brent lifted himself off her and sat back on his heels, looking down his nose at her. His hair was sticking up all over the place, head haloed by the lamp behind him.
Someone should paint this man.
“Well, no…”
“So why start now?”
“What?”
“Why start now?” Berkley repeated, sitting up and climbing onto his lap, straddling him. Brent wrapped his arms around her. “Why apologize to me?”
“Well, because you’re different,” Brent said, kissing her cheek. “I want to take care of you. That includes in bed.”
Berkley answered his kiss on her cheek with one of her own to his nose. “I have every confidence that you will later.”
“Or…now,” he growled, tossing her onto her back and taking his mouth to her.
Berkley told him what she liked, not with words, but through the sounds she made, the pressure of her fingers in his hair, and the gentle nudging of her thighs around his head.
His tongue, teeth, and lips worked in perfect harmony, urging her toward her own release, which Berkley once again felt building low in her belly.
And then, he added his fingers to the mix, and coupled with the most perfect suction and a light scraping of his teeth on her clit, Berkley was a goner, coming undone with a strangled cry, breathing, “Holy fuck, Brent” over and over until the shock waves ceased.
Brent looked up at her, licking his lips, a smirk on his face. “And that’s what happens when you let me take care of you.”
She knocked her knee lightly into the side of his head. “Shut up,” she said, laughing and out of breath. Her limbs had that amazing, wrung-out feeling that only came after a mind-blowing release, and now all she wanted was a nap.
Brent rolled onto his back at the foot of the bed, then got up and padded into the bathroom. A second later, the shower turned on.
“Weird time for a shower!” Berkley yelled at him.
“I’m just rinsing the chlorine from the hot tub off!” he yelled back. “Otherwise it makes my skin all dry and itchy.”
She rolled onto her side and spotted Brent’s phone on the nightstand near her head.
“Hey, what’s your passcode?” she called to him.
“1-4-9-7-3-6,” he recited, voice muffled through the wall. “Why?”
“I want to send those pictures we took earlier to myself,” she said. Truthfully, she wanted to snoop.
She wasn’t proud of it, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d just take a little peek around into his messages, then send the photos from earlier to herself. He would never know.
She clicked into his text messages, seeing what she had expected: messages from his siblings, parents, and Warriors teammates. There was one from a lawyer, one from his agent, and his and Berkley’s text thread.
Instagram was a different story. His direct messages were full to the brim with correspondence from hundreds—yes, hundreds—of women. She opened a few and was confronted with innumerable selfies and half-naked photos, plus phone numbers and pleas to call for a good time the next time he was in this city or that.
Locating the photo app, she tapped into it, and it opened up to a screen showing his photos organized into a variety of labeled folders. She scrolled, searching for the one containing the most recent photos. A chill ran down her spine when her eye caught on an album with a cover photo of an athletically built woman posing for a mirror selfie. The woman was wearing a sports bra and teeny-tiny shorts, leaving very little to the imagination.
The folder was titled “Anna,” and Berkley tapped on it. When it opened, about twenty similar photos appeared, as well as screenshots of text messages saying things like, “I look hot in these, but I look even better out of them ;)” and “I could be wearing even less than this if you come over.”
“What the fuck,” Berkley whispered.
