Page 22 of Dating Her Brother's Best Friend

I give him what he wants, our tongues tangling as he fucks me out of this dimension and into one where it’s just the two of us. I taste myself on his lips, on his tongue, and I love the thrill it sends zinging through me.

“Christ, I can’t wait until you’re pregnant with my kid,” he breathes against my lips. My core clenches at the thought, squeezing his cock. He feels it and growls, “You want it, sweets? You want me to breed you? Fill you with my cum?”

“Yes,” I sob, unable to deny how badly I want it. Every damn time he asks, I just want it more.

He slips his hand between our bodies, pressing his thumb to my clit. “Then come all over me, baby. You know I’m not giving you what you want until you do.”

He plays with my clit, fucking me mercilessly as the coil in my belly winds tighter and tighter. I feel a scream building in my throat, too big to contain as the orgasm bubbles inside of me, so I do the only thing I know to do. I bite him. Hard.

He roars my name, pounding into me without rhythm as the waves break over me, shattering me into pieces. I sob, writhing in ecstasy as I feel him coming with me, his seed splashing hot deep inside me.

“Fuck,” he groans, pumping his hips to work out every last drop. “Fucking hell, baby.”

I go limp beneath him, sucking in deep breaths, still shaking and trembling. Happier than I’ve ever been. More alive than I’ve ever been.

“What the fuck?”Jeremy mutters an hour later, scowling at his phone.

“What?” I yawn, peeking over at him. “Are my brothers mad?”

He’s the one who decided to propose on national television, so he’s the one who gets to deal with them. I turned my phone on silent when it started ringing. Not my problem.

“No. They said congratulations and a bunch of other bullshit I didn’t read,” he mutters. “But Sawyer sent a link to the Silver Spoon Single Serve.”

“Are we on it already?” I groan.

“No. Apparently, we aren’t going to be,” he says. “Someone in the comments linked an article about us and said congratulations on another successful match. Someone named Fairy Godmother replied, ‘They were meant to be, but I can only take credit where credit is due. This one was all their own doing.’” He glances over at me, one brow arched. “She’s not taking credit for getting us together.”

“Maybe she felt like she didn’t really make the match so it doesn’t count?” I shrug.

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s worried I really will find out who she is.” His brows furrow. “You really don’t know?”

“No one knows, Jeremy. That’s the point of her being anonymous.”

“Someone knows,” he mutters.

I chuckle, reaching over to trace the frown lines around his mouth. “Give it a rest, Ranger. She’s doing good work. When she’s ready for the world to know, she’ll spill her secrets. Until then, we have to wait to figure it out just like everyone else.”

“You aren’t the least bit curious?” he asks, tossing his phone on the nightstand and rolling toward me. “Not even a little bit?”

“Oh, I’m dying to know who she is.” I smile at him. “But I’m a good girl. I know how to behave.”

“Oh, really?” His eyes darken as he prowls over me, the matchmaker forgotten. “You want to test that theory, baby? See how well you can behave for me?”

“Only for all of your tomorrows.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically launching himself at me. His lips come down on mine, his kiss scorching. “I fucking love you, Caroline Steele. Don’t you ever forget.”

“Never, Jeremy Richard Head.”

EPILOGUE

JEREMY

It’s been seven wonderful,eventful years since I married Caroline, and I’ve come to realize our life is like a hilarious sitcom. With three kids under six, the chaos in our house keeps me on my toes. Today’s scene unfolds innocently enough over coffee and kiddie cartoons, with my brother Sawyer providing the usual comic relief.

The breakfast bar is still covered with cereal bowls and discarded napkins, the remnants of mornings corralling three small children. Caroline refused to leave her job at the school, so I took on the stay-at-home dad gig, which suits me more than I initially thought it would.

Sawyer sits across from me, nursing his coffee and looking every bit the proverbial "cool uncle" who occasionally stops by to survey the chaos. The noise of the kids’ favorite cartoon filters in from the living room as Sawyer tells me about the weird rash Simon developed on his backside a few days ago.

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