Page 47 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

“Jesus god, Aspen.” He barely says my name, and he’s going even deeper. Within moments, my world splinters, and I’m gone, but I can still feel him driving into me and shaking and then coming.

After, he freezes while I can barely get my eyes open. I’m scared to see whether he regretted any of this. I’m scared to see if he looks wrecked. Instead, when I do finally open them, he strokes my cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” I’m still seeing unicorns and fuzzy carpets, but I’m good. “Are you?”

“I was scared I hurt you.”

“Hurt me? No. No, not like this. It was really good.”

He slowly withdraws and adjusts his clothes. Then he finds mine and has to help me get dressed because I’m still so far gone. Seeing fuzzy carpets isn’t good for coordination. Who knew? I’m kidding. Obviously.

After, he sits down hard on his desk chair, but he pulls me with him. We sit like that, both of us so quiet. I feel like I should say something. “I think you might need to get a job. Just for the fun of it. For the camaraderie and to get out of the house. Or not. Maybe a hobby? Something to keep busy. Something to keep sane.”

“You’re now implying that I’m crazy? A job makes most people that way, darling.”

I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but hearing even sarcastic endearments does something to me. “Oh, I know full well that most of them are soul-sucking machines, but not all.”

“You want me to be a regular mindless one of the masses,” he states.

“You’re overthinking that a little. I mean a job or a hobby you enjoy. I’m sure there’s one out there. It has to be better than just hanging out here all day.”

“Idohave a job. It’s untangling all this money and turning it into something I can actually use.”

I lose myself in his lovely, dark eyes. “I think there are lawyers and accountants for that.”

“It takes up more of my time than you’d think.”

“Alright, a hobby then.”

He snorts. “I’d rather lick tarantulas every day than make pottery.”

“Tongue bathing. Awesome.” I laugh. I want to trace the little scar on his neck right above his shirt collar with my tongue. “So what if you hate pottery? There are other things in the world. If you miss parts of your old life, just go to the gun range orsomething. You could teach shooting. Or self-defense. I bet you have lots of skills that other people would like to learn.”

“Or I could just join a security and bodyguarding firm.”

“Well, if that’s what you truly want to do. But I think not having to go to work worried about taking a punch or catching a bullet every day would be a good thing.” I can’t even think about him doing those things. It makes my stomach lurch and my chest feel heavy and rocky.

“Vigilante justice then?”

“No,” I reply.

“You should do what you know.”

“Is that what you know? Vigilante justice?”

“I suppose that was a tad sarcastic,” he says with a light chuckle.

“You could raise geese,” I suggest.

“Gah! I’m in the city. And I know nothing about raising animals.”

I can’t help it. I have to kiss his jaw. “You don’t have to live in the city. And you can do research. Ooh! Maybe you can do research, raise geese, and vlog so other people can raise them too! That’s exciting!”

He quirks a brow. “Do I seem like I’m the popular vlogger type?”

I nuzzle my nose right by his ear, inhaling the goodness of him. “You could be anything, I’m sure.”

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