Page 53 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

I unlock the door, the sound echoing softly in the quiet Boston evening. I stand aside to let her enter first, following close behind, shutting the door with a soft thud that seems to seal us away from the rest of the world.

Her gaze sweeps across the foyer, taking in the dark wood floors, the high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, and the grand staircase that spirals up to the second floor. Her eyes widen—a mix of wonder and curiosity—and it makes me see my own home through new eyes.

"Wow," she breathes out, and there's something about the way she says it—like a secret shared between just us—that sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

"Like it?" I ask, though it's not really a question. I want her to love it here—to imagine herself in every corner, in every shadow.

She turns to look at me, her lips parting ever so slightly.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but it's enough to pull me back from the edge of my thoughts.

"Just how you fit into this place," I confess, letting truth color my words. "How much I..."

I trail off, catching myself before I reveal too much, before I cross a line I've drawn a thousand times in my mind. I let the bag of leftover dessert drop to the floor with a soft thud as I take a step toward her.

It's an unconscious act, one that underscores the gravity of what's pulsing between us. I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands finding the cool wall beside her head, trapping her gently within my space.

I lean in, my breath mingling with hers, and admit in a hushed tone, "I'm imagining having you here permanently... making you mine in every possible way." The words hang heavy in the air, a confession wrapped in desire, and it takes all I have not to lose myself in the idea of it.

Her eyes search mine, sparkling with a hope that makes my chest tighten. "What does that mean, Liam?"

I hesitate, the truth threatening to spill over, but I shove it back down. I can't afford the vulnerability—not now, not with her.

"It means I'm thinking about all the different places and positions I want to fuck you," I say instead, my voice rough with a restraint I barely feel.

The hope flickers in her eyes, replaced by a flash of understanding or maybe disappointment—I can't tell. But it's better this way. It's better to keep this dance of ours on the edgeof something dangerous, something forbidden, than to dive into the depths where I might just drown in her.

I spin Shiloh around, her chest against the cool plaster, and she gasps—a sharp intake of breath that tells me she's caught onto my urgency.

"Hands on the wall, legs spread," I growl, low and commanding. She obeys instantly, palms flat against the surface, her obedience sending a rush of heat through me.

My fingers are rough as they hike up her skirt, no time for teasing, no patience left in me. The fabric bunches at her waist, and I pull at the delicate lace of her panties, yanking them down just enough to bare her to me.

When I slip my fingers between her legs, she's already wet, and I feel a sense of triumph—that even with my harsh words, her body can't help but respond to mine.

"Scream for me," I order. My voice is barely more than a whisper, but it's laced with an edge that brooks no argument.

She bites her lip hard, enough that I can see the indent of teeth on the plush flesh. Her hands clench into fists on the wall as I find her rhythm, the slick sound of her need filling the room. It's all too much—the tightness in my chest, the way she moves against me, seeking more, always more.

"Shiloh," I hiss when I feel her getting close. Her name is a prayer, a curse, a claim, all in one.

And then she's there—her body rigid as I push her over the edge, her voice echoing around the foyer of my house. The sound of it nearly undoes me; I'm so turned on I'm struggling to draw breath, every pulse point in my body thrumming with the need to possess her fully, to mark her as mine in ways I can't afford to consider.

"Fuck," I exhale, watching her come undone, feeling the tremors of her release against my fingers. It's raw, it's messy, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Her climax keeps rolling through her in unrelenting aftershocks, and I feel the savage triumph of having wrung that response from her body. But my own need is a living thing inside me, clawing its way to the surface. The image of Shiloh spread out on my bed flashes in my mind, but I know there's not a chance in hell I'll make it that far.

"Sorry, beautiful. Can't wait," I rasp, my voice a rough edge of desperation.

She's still panting, her body pliant and warm, when I free my cock with a haste that borders on violence. My hands shake as I line myself up with her, and for a brief moment, I pause, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance.

"We have all night," I promise, though it's more for myself than for her—a reminder that this isn't just about the burning need tearing through me.

Then, without further preamble, I thrust into her in one hard move.

Shiloh gasps, a sharp intake of breath that seems to fill the room. Her inner walls clench around me, hot, wet, and oh-so-tight. It’s perfect, almost painfully so.

"Shiloh," I groan, holding myself deep within her, trying to memorize the feel of her around me. This is where I belong, where I've always belonged, even if neither of us knew it until now.

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