Page 54 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

I wrap my hand around her throat, not too tight, just enough for the control to surge between us. I start moving, each thrust hard and sure, our hips slapping together in a rhythm that's as old as time yet feels brand new with Shiloh. She's mine, here and now, and I want to claim her in every way that counts.

"God, I should have you work from home," I mutter under my breath, the thought striking like lightning. The idea of her on video calls, trying to keep her voice even while I'm burieddeep inside her sends a jolt of pure lust straight to my groin. "Wouldn't get a damn thing done."

"Would you?" she gasps. “I don’t… I don’t understand…”

"I’m saying I want you,” I hiss. “Riding my cock all day and all night."

The fantasy takes hold, igniting my desire into an inferno. Her body meets each of my thrusts, willing and eager. It's more than sex; it's a dance of power, possession, and unbridled passion.

Shiloh clenches around me again, and that's all it takes. I come, hard, spilling into her with a groan that rips from my throat. My head drops to the crook of her neck, my breath hot against her skin.

"Beautiful," I murmur against the salt of her sweat. "You're perfect."

Kissing her neck, I move up to her shoulder, nipping gently. The taste of her is addictive, the feel of her skin against my lips is something I could get used to. And right now, all I can think about is keeping her this close...forever.

A tremor runs through her as I pull back, the sound of our ragged breathing filling the room. There's a warmth spreading through my chest, something that goes beyond the afterglow of sex. It's terrifying in its intensity.

"Shiloh," I whisper, and it's more than just a name—it's a realization, a truth I've been fighting not to acknowledge.

She turns slowly, her eyes meeting mine, and there's an openness there, a vulnerability that matches my own. In this moment, stripped down to nothing, there's no hiding from the truth.

I'm falling for her.

The thought crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. It's dangerous, so damn dangerous. She works for me, for Christ's sake. She's supposed to be off-limits. But here she is, looking atme like I'm her whole world, and fuck if I don't want to be just that.

It's not just about wanting her body—though I do, desperately. It's the laughter we share, the way she challenges me and pushes back when no one else dares.

The way she looks at me, not just seeing the billionaire boss, but Liam—the man with flaws and fears and a heart that suddenly feels too big for his chest.

I'll keep her safe, even from myself if I have to. Because what scares me more than falling for her is the thought of ever losing her. And that's a risk I'm not willing to take—not now, not ever.

I need to make my intentions clear that this is purely physical… even if that’s a lie.

Chapter twenty-two

Shiloh

My legs wobble likethey're fresh out of a blender. I yank down my skirt, flustered and flushed from what just happened between us.

Liam, with his usual control slipping, is stuffing himself back into his pants. His gaze locks onto me, intense and raw, as if I'm the answer to questions he's never dared to ask.

I part my lips, a torrent of confessions teetering on the tip of my tongue—I want more, I've always wanted...

But he cuts through the moment, his head tilting toward the stairs.

"Naked. In my bed. Now," he commands, voice gravelly with lust. He points upstairs, "Room's at the top of the stairs, to the left.”

My chest heaves with a shaky breath; this is madness, thrilling and terrifying all at once. Without a word, I step by him, my heels clicking against the marble floor. I ascend the stairs, each step lighter than the last, propelled by an intoxicating mix of desire and a sense of inevitability.

The staircase spirals upward, each step a silent drumroll to the inevitable. My gaze drifts along the walls adorned with exquisite artwork—abstract forms and vibrant colors that tell stories without faces. No photographs hang there, only paintings that hint at Liam's taste for beauty and complexity.

Maybe his mother made them. He said she’s an artist. It feels like a peek into what he likes, the real him.

It’s dangerous… intoxicating.

I want to know everything about him.

I reach the landing, and his instructions echo in my head: straight to the left. The door is ajar, framing a room that exudes meticulous order—the bed made so neatly it could be a display in a showroom. I pause for a heartbeat, listening as Liam's footsteps ascend behind me, a steady reminder of what's to come.

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