Page 76 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

I can't deny her; I can't deny myself.

With a growl of need, my hands slip to her waist, fingers hooking into the band of her leggings and panties. A quick tug and the last barriers between us are gone. She's exposed, vulnerable, and achingly beautiful.

I lower my head, my mouth hovering just above the sweetest part of her. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, overwhelming. I can't wait any longer—I dive in, my tongue flickering out to taste her. She's exquisite, addictive, everything.

"God, yes..." she breathes out as my mouth works its magic. Her legs fall open wider, an invitation I accept without hesitation. I hold her inner thighs gently but firmly, refusing to let anything interrupt this moment. My lips kiss her, then mytongue swirls around her clit, drawing soft, desperate cries from her lips.

"Please, don't stop," Shiloh begs, her voice laced with pleasure and need.

I wouldn't dream of it.

Her hips rock up toward me, her body seeking more of the pleasure I'm giving her. I oblige, knowing exactly how she likes it. The pressure builds inside her, and then it crests, washing over her in a tidal wave of release.

She cries out, a sound so raw and pure that it echoes off the walls. It's the sound of her freedom, her pleasure, her trust in me to take her to these heights.

"Scream for me, Shiloh," I urge, my voice rough with my own arousal. "Let me know how good it feels."

She does, again and again, until her voice breaks and her body shudders beneath my mouth. No secrets between us, not anymore—not when we're this close, not when I've stripped away everything but her ecstasy.

I rise from my knees, my hands shaking slightly as I fumble with the button on my pants. Her eyes follow every movement, dark with desire and something deeper, something that ties my stomach in knots and makes my heart feel like it's about to burst through my chest.

I shed my pants, kicking them aside, and she crawls backward toward the pillows. Our gazes lock—a silent conversation in the space between us. I follow her, each movement fueled by the magnetic pull of her presence.

Once she's against the pillows, I box her in with my elbows, our breaths mingling in the charged air. My eyes stay locked on hers, reading every flicker of emotion, every hint of need. And then, with a steadiness that belies the storm raging inside me, I slide into her.

"Shiloh..." It's all I can manage—a whisper that's both a prayer and a claim.

She holds my gaze, her eyes reflecting back all the love and desperation I feel for her. This is where I belong—in this embrace, in the warmth of her body, in the unspoken promises we make with each touch, each breath, each heartbeat.

"Shiloh," I repeat because her name is a talisman against the chaos of the world… saying it anchors me to the most real thing I've ever known—us.

Her response comes not in words but in a soft groan that vibrates through me as we join, her body welcoming me home. It's an indescribable sensation, one that transcends pleasure and touches something primal, something sacred.

I love her so much it hurts. The thought of proposing to her right now flashes through my mind—a fierce, sudden urge to lock down this certainty, to claim her for life.

But the words get stuck somewhere on their way out, choked by the overwhelming tide of emotion that swells within me.

Instead, I lower my mouth to hers, our lips meeting in a kiss that speaks volumes more than any ring or vow could. My hands roam over her, memorizing every curve, every line of her body as if I'm afraid she'll vanish if I don't hold onto her tightly enough.

"Shiloh," I breathe against her lips, my voice rough with need and something akin to awe. "God, Shiloh."

In these moments, nothing else exists—no past mistakes, no uncertain future, just Shiloh and me and the undeniable truth that we're meant to be. I kiss her deeply, pouring all my unsaid words, all my hopes and dreams, into the connection that binds us together.

I move inside her at a desperate pace, every thrust met with her hips rising to meet mine. This isn't just fucking; it's claiming and being claimed, giving and receiving, a communion of bodies and souls.

"Yes," she whispers, her voice laced with want and affection.

Her hands dig into my back, nails leaving trails of fire that only spur me on. She is the sun in my gray world, the bright spark of joy amidst the shadows of my life. We climb higher together, chasing that peak, that sweet release that waits for us just on the horizon.

And then we're there, crying out in unison as pleasure crashes over us like a wave, sweeping us away from the shore into the depths of blissful oblivion. For a few heartbeats, we're suspended in time, lost in each other, and nothing else matters.

As we come down from the high, our breathing slows, and our hearts still race, yet perfectly in sync. We curl up together, limbs tangled, her head resting on my chest. I stroke her hair, feeling its softness between my fingers. This is what peace feels like; this is what home feels like.

"Shiloh," I whisper into the quiet room, though she's already drifting off to sleep against me. "You're my everything."

She murmurs something unintelligible but content, nuzzling closer as if she could burrow into my very soul. And maybe she can because she's already there, etched into every part of me.

Lying there, with the woman I love more than life itself, I make a silent vow. Tomorrow, I'll buy a ring—an outward sign of the bond we already share—and I'll ask her to be mine forever.

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