Page 70 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

I nod, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I would never keep you from that—you know that, right?" I say, earnest and insistent. "You're too smart to just be a secretary."

Her eyes narrow slightly, a hint of defense there. "There's nothing wrong with being a secretary," she retorts.

I can't help but chuckle, not at her statement but at the notion of Shiloh, with that sharp mind and quick wit, spending her days arranging someone else's schedule.

"That's not what I mean," I explain, trying to get her to understand. "I want you using that brain for bigger things. I want to sit in a lecture hall and listen to you talk about Brontë or whatever topic sets your soul on fire."

She looks at me, perhaps seeing the sincerity in my gaze, and then asks the question hanging in the air between us. "What does this mean for us now?"

My pulse quickens as I think of the plan I’ve been chewing on all day—a plan that could change everything for both of us.

"Every year," I begin, "I take a couple weeks off before Thanksgiving. I go out to my place in the Hamptons to clear my head." My voice steadies as the picture becomes clearer. "I want you to come with me."

"Take time off work?" she asks, a flicker of surprise crossing her features.

"Yes," I confirm, standing closer to her. "Spend time with me. And when we come back, we'll make it official. We’ll tell HR." Her breath catches, and I realize just how much I’m asking her to risk—her job, her reputation...but I need her to know how serious I am. "I've figured it all out. I want to be with you so much that I'm willing to risk everything. Are you?"

The room feels charged with potential, with the possibility of a future together. It's a gamble, one that could cost us both dearly. But as I look into Shiloh's eyes, filled with hope and uncertainty, I know without a doubt it's a bet worth making. I watch her, waiting for a response. She's silent, pensive, her eyes searching mine.

"What are you thinking?" I ask. “Please answer me.”

Shiloh lifts her hands, her fingers brushing against the fabric at my neck, playing with the collar of my shirt. "I'm thinking," she breathes out, her voice barely louder than the hum of the city outside, "that I need you to kiss me."

The corners of my mouth curve upwards in a smile that feels as if it's been forever since it last touched my lips. I pull her closer, eliminating every inch of space between us. My lips find hers, and we kiss—a deep, consuming connection that's been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Her taste is sweet—vanilla frosting—and I can't help but deepen the kiss, driven by a hunger I've denied myself for ages. My tongue slides against hers, a tender invasion that has Shiloh moaning into my mouth. Her sound vibrates right through me, lighting up every nerve ending.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, holding her to me, unwilling to break this moment of raw honesty where everything else falls away. It's just Shiloh and me and the undeniable truth that this is where we both need to be—right here, together.

I draw back just enough to catch her gaze, her chest heaving against mine, breaths coming fast.

"Liam," she says, voice tight with need, "I need you."

"Anything," I tell her, and it's the goddamn truth. "You've got me wrapped around your finger, Shiloh." My hands are on her throat now, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin, trailing down to the buttons of her blouse. "Tell me what you want."

Her eyes lock onto mine, a storm of desire swirling within them.

"I want you," she says, each word punctuated with urgency, "inside me."

That's all it takes.

In one swift move, I stand and draw her up with me, my hands finding the hem of her skirt and hitching it high. The sight of her in those blue lace panties ignites something primal inside me. But there’s no time for slow undressing; this is a raw need.

I slide the delicate fabric aside as I free myself from the constraints of my clothing, my cock springing out, hard and eager to be inside her. There's a moment of pure heat, our bodies aligning in anticipation, and then I'm turning her to face the window, her hands pressed against the glass.

The lights of Boston stretch out before us, but all I can focus on is Shiloh—her warmth, her wetness, the way she pushes back against me, seeking more.

I guide myself to her entrance, pushing in slowly, with an intention that's both torturous and tender. I'm careful, so damn careful because this isn't just a fleeting moment of passion; it's an admission I haven't had the courage to voice yet.

My body moves with measured intensity, each thrust a silent vow of what's blooming in my chest.

"Shiloh," I whisper into her ear, my lips brushing against the shell of it as I speak. "Look at the city lights." My hand finds hers, guiding them towards the cool glass pane, our fingers interlocked. "That world out there? It’s yours for the taking."

She glances out, pupils dilating as she takes in the sprawling cityscape of Boston under the cloak of the night—the buildings a constellation of human ambition, the street veins pumping life through the urban body.

"Everything you see, I'll make sure you get it," I promise with a conviction that surprises even me. The resolve in my voice feelslike a cornerstone being set in the foundation of our future. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, Shiloh."

It's not just words tossed into the dark; it's a declaration, one that has been building since the first time I saw her smile light up an otherwise dark Thanksgiving dinner, cutting through my well-constructed defenses. She is the unplanned variable in my meticulously managed existence, the exception to every rule I've ever set for myself.

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