Page 8 of Rolling with my Best Friend's Brothers

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I barely manage to whisper.

“Even worse.” Possessive rage might be lacing his words but I would have to be dreaming to be so lucky, which is possible since he looks like he’s about to pounce.

How did he know I was on a call? I gather myself enough to take in the full scenario. He has a baby monitor in his hand. My eyes dart around the room and there it is, a monitor on the small table between the crib and the bassinet. I hadn’t done anything on that side of the large room since I’d been unpacking Avery’s things.

I’m guessing that Wyatt and Mammoth didn’t hear my call. Will Gabriel tell them? Did I misinterpret everything? Does he see me as a little girl like he still sees Avery, always controlling her? Shit.

I won’t let him control me. “You had no right to listen.”

“He has no idea how to treat a woman.”

“That’s not for you—”

“Shhh.” He towers over me, extending a finger to my lips.

My heart races. That possessive intensity is real, and it’s not because he sees me as young. Quite the opposite. All I have to do is drop the sheet.

Whatever this connection is, I can’t pass it up, even at the risk of betraying Avery. But I’ve crushed on her brothers, wondering what it would be like to be ravished by them, and want to give in for once in my life.

My fingers relax just enough that the cotton slides through, pooling on my thighs.

A growl emanates from Gabriel’s chest. I nip his fingertip with my teeth and raise onto my knees, taking his finger with me as the sheet drops lower. I challenge his intense gaze with one of my own.

When I release my bite, he drags his finger over my lips, then pulls away. Deciding against revealing who the guy was, I focus on Gabriel. “Are you saying you can do better?”

“Is that what you want?”

I trail a finger up from my belly button, between my tits, and onto my shoulder. “How would I know? Maybe I’m only used to men wanting me to please them.”

It’s the truth. I take care of people. It’s been my role for too long. Sure, I have girlfriends, like the roller derby team who would be there for me, but I have trouble letting my guard down. It’s one of the reasons I fit in the camgirl role—I put myself second to care for everyone else.

Gabriel is safe. I’ve known him my whole life. I trust him. And he’s offering an alternative.

His hand trails up my arm. “You should always come first.”

“That’s what they all say.” I lower my hand between my legs, start rubbing my clit, and exaggerate a fake orgasm. The When Harry Met Sally moment pales in comparison.

Gabriel’s fingers wrap around my free arm and his jaw falls slack.

Moans and cries punctuate a fabulous climax then I stop abruptly and in a cool tone, say, “There, now it’s your turn.”

His grip tightens and before I can regroup, his free hand yanks my fingers from my sex, replacing them with his own.

Oh, shit. My breath stutters. He knows exactly how to touch me. I fall into his chest. Damn it, why did he put a t-shirt on? No, it’s good that he put a t-shirt on. Shame over doing this rallies for one last hurrah before I fling it over my shoulder. I don’t have enough willpower to pull away from how good this feels.

The warmth of his hand. The motion that’s winding me tighter and tighter. The desire that’s oozing from every pore. I need this.

My moans escalate and he says, “Now be a good little girl and do it for real. Come on my hand.”

He shifts his other arm around my back and gathers my braids, pulling them down, forcing my head upward. God, his blue eyes have never been so icy and so hot all at one time.

This orgasm is bigger, stronger, tighter, more everything, most all-consuming ever. My arm reaches around his back holding him close, begging him never to leave.

My cries become deafening as I splinter apart screaming, “Gabriel!”

Then I’m lost. I’m safe. I’m sated. I’m his.

“What the fuck is happening?” A voice breaks through my euphoric haze.

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