Broderick: A Sabine Valley Novel by Katee Robert (best reads of all time txt) 📗

include the fancy tea setup she favors. For someone so badass, Harlow sure loves that tea cart and forcing us all to drink that shit. It’s actually pretty good, but I’ll never admit it. “Works for me.”

We parts ways when the hall branches, her heading downstairs and me heading to the room that’s become mine. I was never meant for captivity. If it weren’t for the daily trips to the Amazon faction and tower, I’d be going out of my mind by now.

I half expect Shiloh to be in the room when I get there, but it’s empty. I frown. She better be okay. Abel seems to have a choke hold on the Raider faction, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t still loyalists meandering around with itchy trigger fingers, just waiting for one of his people to pass by. No matter how capable she is, she’s not bulletproof.

If Broderick weren’t such an ass, he wouldn’t have let her walk out alone. He doesn’t see clearly where she’s concerned. Obviously he has a thing for her, but instead of admitting it, he veers too far in the other direction, holding her at a distance even though they’re supposedly such good friends. I don’t know how other people treat their friends, but I don’t avoid mine like they have the plague.

Though most of my friends are actually family.

Fuck.

I’m spiraling. This is ridiculous. I march into the closet and pull off my work clothing, switching to a pair of leggings and an oversized white shirt that looks like something that should be on a romance novel cover, complete with deep V down the chest. It’s ridiculously dramatic, and normally wearing it cheers me up immediately.

Nothing happens this time.

“I shouldn’t have let her walk out of that bar, either,” I mutter. It doesn’t matter that the power imbalance seems permanently off when it comes to me and Broderick. I could have kneecapped him and marched out of there on Shiloh’s heels. It’s not like it would have been hard.

The door to my bedroom opens, and the woman herself walks in. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief. I truly don’t. It’s just a tiny soundless exhale as I survey her, and I’m certainly not looking to make sure she’s okay and unharmed.

She shoots me a long look. “What’s got that expression on your face?”

I shrug. “It’s my face. I’m a person who has expressions.”

“Whatever.” She strides past me, pulling her shirt off in the process.

“What are you doing?” The question comes out too high, too fast, but what the fuck?

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t stop. “I moved my stuff in here earlier. I’ve been sleeping in this room anyways, so there’s no point in taking up space in the barracks.”

“Um.”

She stops in the doorway to the bathroom, wearing only a black bra and jeans. It’s not even a fancy bra—no lace, and it’s a perfectly serviceable style—but my mouth goes dry at the sight. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” The word is out before I can think of a reason I should have a problem with it. Surely there’s something? Yes, she’s with me pretty much twenty-four-seven, but maintaining some level of space is important… Isn’t it?

I haven’t been this thrown off by a pair of tits since I was fifteen and Casey LaRue showed up at school in a V-neck with a pushup bra on. I was so busy staring, I ran into an open locker like a complete fool. I was dating her less than a week later, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s one of the few times in my life when I forgot myself so completely, I acted totally out of character.

Shiloh is about to make me add to the list. Especially when she turns around and her hands go to the front of her jeans. “I need a shower.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “That wasn’t an invitation, by the way.”

“Oh.” Surely I can do better than this? I’m still trying to come up with a word that isn’t two letters when she kicks the door shut, closing us off from each other. The click of a lock makes it clear that she meant it.

The water turns on.

Right now, she’ll be sliding off those jeans. Probably unhooking her bra and shimmying out of her panties.

I press my lips together, but all the thwarted desire comes back tenfold knowing that she’s naked in the next room. Before I can talk myself out of it—and really, why would I bother?—I slide off my leggings and drop onto the bed. I waste no time dipping my hand between my thighs and stroking my clit. Fuck, I’m halfway there and all I did was look at her.

I should take my time, but I’ve never been all that good at doing things I should do. I trace my opening and then spread my wetness up to my clit. Light circles, designed to tease me right to the edge. A tiny moan slips free. Will Shiloh masturbate in my shower? I really, really hope she does. That detachable showerhead is a piece of art and should be appreciated fully.

Maybe I’ll show her sometime…

The image roots itself in my mind. Both of us naked in the shower. Pressing against the back of her lean body as I maneuver the showerhead to her pussy, to her clit. I already know what she sounds like when she comes. I’m going to hear that cute little whimper in my dreams tonight.

I can’t wait to coax another out of her.

I come hard, not bothering to muffle my moans. I’m in my room, after all. It’s her damn fault for teasing me.

I’ve barely brought myself down when the bathroom door opens and Shiloh appears, wrapped in a towel. She stops short, her gaze going from me on the bed to my hand buried between my thighs. “Monroe,” she says slowly. “Were you just masturbating to the image of me in the shower?”

“To clarify,