Page 5 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Sandy," I hear Cade whisper.

I stay perfectly still, slowing my breathing just enough.

"Sanders," he calls again.

Deep. Breaths.

"Fuck," Cade mutters before the door clicks shut.

I don't touch my phone again. The fake sleep becomes real, pulling me under like an undertow.

Later, the door clicks again, but I'm already halfway to dreaming. Cade and I are teenagers again, and he's sneaking into my room to use my window to sneak out of the house. My room was always the entry and exit port.

Good times.

Then lips brush against my cheek, soft like the girls who used to climb through my window in high school.

I kiss back, drifting in that space between dreams and reality, imagining sunlight filtering through brown hair.

She kisses my lips, her hands traveling south. I'm already rock hard, and she giggles against my mouth. I catch that thick bottom lip between mine and bite it.

"Hey," I murmur.

She smiles against my lips. "Hey yourself," she whispers.

Chapter 3

Cade: I’m home. Sweet dreams, Hannah. Good night.

I may have raced my ass over here to get the night started before my nerves could stop me, before those whispers of doubt could crawl back in and convince me to wait another day, another week, another lifetime. But he’s actually asleep already, which I find surprising.

Standing in the darkness of his doorway, I feel the weight of the moment. The culmination of two months of wanting, waiting, wondering. Lennox and I went lingerie shopping the other week, and I've been holding onto a very sexy set, saved for this perfect moment like a secret weapon.

I want to tell Cade how I would lick the matcha off his jeans if he asked me to. I want to tell him how every girl, including myself, was gushing over him being shirtless the first week we made it official, and how I’ve had to had the best self-control known to mankind these past two months even though it seemed like I didn’t want to have sex with him.

I want to tell him about my fantasies, how I've imagined our first time being perfect—candles, music, the whole ridiculous cliché that I pretend to mock but secretly crave. But I don't say a single fucking word when I enter his bedroom. The darkness wraps around me like a second skin, and the only sound is his steady breathing, the rhythm of sleep.

I hesitate, doubt seeping in like cold water through cracks. Maybe this is the worst idea I've ever had. Maybe we should have gone the traditional route—dinner, a movie, a natural progression to his bedroom rather than sneaking around and my random plan of seducing him in his sleep.

I shake my hands out at my sides, trying to dispel the nervous energy. I'm already here, already committed. The soft click of the door closing behind me feels final, like crossing a threshold I can't return from. I strip down to my lingerie, the expensive lace and silk cool against my heated skin.

God, please give me brownie points for my bravery.This is the kind of karma I need in my life—someone who's willing to put themselves out there for me the way I'm doing now. I hope Cade will remember this moment, this gift of vulnerability, and return the favor.

I lean over the bed, trying to make out his features in the darkness. But the moon isn’t out tonight. In fact, it’s extremely dark and I can’t even tell which side he’s facing. I consider using my phone as a light, but the thought of that harsh glare illuminating my uncertainty makes me cringe. Instead, I follow my instincts, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on what I hope is his cheek.

The response is immediate—he turns toward me, his lips finding mine with surprising accuracy in the darkness. We kiss a few times, deeply. When he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, a shock of electricity races through me. My entire body goes on high alert, nerves singing with the realization that Cade is a far more intuitive, assertive kisser in bed than he's ever been outside of it.

My hands move on their own, traveling down his body until they find him already hard beneath the thin fabric of his sleep pants. A quiet pride blooms in my chest at his immediate response to me.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

I smile against his mouth, my confidence surging as I feel him pulse beneath my touch. "Hey yourself," I whisper, the words barely more than breath.

I slide beneath the covers, the sheets still warm from his body heat. My entire being feels like a live wire, every cell vibrating with anticipation. We kiss deeply, hungrily, and I make the first real move, sliding my hand beneath the waistband of his pants. My fingers brush against coarse hair, and a shiver runs through me like a current. Once I cross this line, there's no return to who we were before. I push further, wrapping my fingers around his dick—thick, long, and rock-hard—and a tremor runs through my legs at the reality of him.

Monster, as Lennox said of his older brother.

Well, he is monstrous too.

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