Page 34 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

“It doesn’t,” I say, getting myself under control.

“So how about it? I take off mine, let you get a look at my tattoos, call it even?”

“That’s okay,” I say. “Maybe we just don’t talk about it.”

“I don’t know, that doesn’t seem to be working. I think I’d rather talk.” He sips his wine, eyes roaming my body.

“It’s not like you saw anything.”

“Small, pink, perky. Nice and firm. I’m guessing you’re at least a C-cup.”

I blush, regretting that. “Okay, asshole, I get it. You saw my boobs. Grow up.”

His smirk only gets bigger. “You’re so embarrassed right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I blurt out. “Wouldn’t you be if I walked in on you changing?”

“I wouldn’t be ashamed at all,” he says. “Actually, you can do that right now, if you want.”

“You’re such an ass. And you’re lying.”

“I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, little rose.”

I wince at the nickname. “Quit calling me that. I’m not little.”

“You’re very little.” He steps closer to me. “At least compared to me.”

“Everyone’s little compared to you.” I bump up against the back of the couch, surprising myself. I wasn’t even aware of backing up.

“Parts of you aren’t little, though. Like that show you gave me.” He cocks his head. “Not little at all.”

I groan. “Don’t be a pig.”

“That ass. Those hips. Those lips. Just the right size.” He stops in front of me, eyes blazing, and I know what he’s thinking. I know what he wants, and I want it too, so fucking badly.

But I know he’s not going to do it. Just like last time, he’s going to stop, get me all worked up and run off. I can’t handle that, not again. As he gets closer, this time I reach out and take his wrist, pulling him against me. He grabs my hips, lips so close to mine.

“This is a mistake,” he says softly.

“It’s only a mistake if we do something wrong,” I answer, taking his hand, but flipping mine around so that his palm is against the back of my hand. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

I slowly guide my hand between my legs and he keeps his on top of mine. I let out a stiff, embarrassing little groan as I put my hand between my legs, his larger hand on top of mine. His eyes go wide as I start to rub myself, sending pulses of energy and desire rolling through my body.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he repeats softly.

“Right,” I pant a little bit. My hand slowly rubs my clit, feeling the weight of his palm, his body so close to mine, his breath practically on my mouth. “You’re just standing there, minding your own business.”

“While you take care of perfectly natural impulses.” His free hand slides up across my cheek and in through my wet hair, pulling softly, tipping my chin back.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Taking care of myself. You’re just here.”

“Watching.”

“Watching,” I repeat. “Helping.”

“Not helping,” he whispers. “That would be wrong.” His hand tightens in my hair.

I groan, not able to stop myself. I slide my hand up again and start tugging down my shorts. He helps, getting them over my hips before I slide my hand between my legs again, finding my pussy soaking wet, my clit hard and ready. His hand covers mine again, moving my fingers up and down as I tease myself, biting down on my lower lip.

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