Page 41 of The Wrong Brother

The elevator dings again, the sharp sound cutting through the thick air between us. Before I can process it, the doors slide open, and two women step in, their laughter dying abruptlywhen they see us tangled together. Their wide-eyed expressions make my cheeks burn, and I pull back from Zack, my breathing ragged as I try to regain some semblance of composure.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching as he steps aside to give the women room. They glance at each other, awkward and clearly trying not to stare, as the doors slide shut again. The elevator descends, the silence thick with unspoken tension. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel Zack’s gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting.

When the elevator stops at their floor, the women hurriedly step out, throwing quick, embarrassed glances over their shoulders. As the doors close behind them, I realize we’ve gone down again, nowhere near our destination.

Zack mutters a curse under his breath, pressing the button for our floor with a sharp jab of his finger. The movement is taut, controlled, but the moment the elevator begins to rise, all control snaps.

He’s on me again, his hands finding my waist and grabbing my ass, pulling me flush against him. His lips find mine with a ferocity that makes my head spin, the kiss fierce and unrelenting. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to me as if letting go would mean drowning in everything I’m feeling.

The elevator dings once more, the sound barely registering as the doors slide open to our floor. Zack pulls back, his breathing heavy, his hands lingering at my waist as he stares at me with an intensity that leaves me trembling. Without a word, he takes my hand, his grip firm but reassuring, and leads me out.

My legs feel unsteady, my body trembling with adrenaline and something far more dangerous. But his hand is steady, grounding me as we make our way back to the hotel suite. I cling to him, the reality of what’s about to happen humming beneath my skin, making every step feel charged.

When we reach the suite, Zack doesn’t hesitate. He opens the door to his room and guides me inside, the soft click of the door behind us shutting out the rest of the world.

I reach for him, chest heaving and unable to keep my hands to myself.

My hands are shaking as I undo his buttons one after the other, and then midway through he runs out of patience. He takes the rest of it off himself, and in no time the fabric is flying across the room. The sight of him…broad shoulders, toned chest, the raw power of his physique…makes my breath hitch. He groans softly as I trail my hands over his skin, the muscles beneath flexing at my touch.

His hands slide up my thighs, warm and deliberate, taking my dress with them until the silky fabric bunches around my hips. I shiver at the sensation, his palms gliding over my bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. My breath hitches as I feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, the tension between us coiling tighter with every second.

Zack pulls back just enough to yank the dress over my head, his movements swift and sure. The cool air brushes against my skin, and I’m left standing in just my bra and panties. My arms instinctively twitch as if to cover myself, but I resist, the thrill of his gaze anchoring me in place.

No man has ever seen me like this before…completely exposed, vulnerable. My heart races as I wonder what he sees, whether he likes it. My bra, delicate and lacy in a soft blush pink, feels suddenly too small, barely able to contain the fullness of my breasts. They’re larger than most, overwhelming on my small frame, and for a fleeting moment, insecurity creeps in. I’ve always felt disproportionate, too much in all the wrong places, and the weight of his silence only amplifies my doubts.

His eyes darken as they rake over me, lingering on every curve, every inch of bare skin. His gaze pauses at my breasts,his lips parting slightly as if he’s momentarily lost himself. The intensity in his expression steals my breath, and my body responds without thought…my back arching slightly, my chest rising as if silently offering myself to him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, the word rough and guttural, sending a shiver down my spine. His hand reaches out, cupping one breast, his thumb brushing over the lace that barely conceals my hardened nipple. The friction makes me gasp, my head tipping back as the heat pools low in my belly.

I’m trembling, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his attention. My panties…thankfully a matching blush pink…feel soaked against my skin. They cling to me, the evidence of my arousal undeniable, and I’m both mortified and exhilarated. I only wore these because of the shoot earlier today and knew that at some point or the other I would be in my underwear. I couldn’t have imagined this was where the day would bring me to.

Otherwise, I would’ve been in something far less alluring…boxers, maybe, or the plain cotton granny panties I usually wear. The thought makes my cheeks flush even deeper, a tangle of embarrassment and gratitude swirling within me.

Zack’s fingers trail down my sides, his touch reverent yet possessive, as if he’s memorizing every curve, every freckle, every inch of me. His other hand slips behind me, deftly unhooking my bra. The straps slide down my shoulders, and the garment falls away, leaving me completely bare from the waist up.

I glance up at him, my hazel eyes wide and searching, the anticipation and tension thrumming through me like a live wire. His gaze devours me, his eyes locked on my breasts, full and heavy with each shaky breath I take. My nipples tighten under his scrutiny, the cool air heightening my sensitivity, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice low and rough, laced with awe. The words hit me like a bolt of lightning, scattering my insecurities and leaving only the raw heat of his approval. His hands slide up, cupping both breasts as his thumbs brush over my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but a soft whimper escapes anyway, my head falling back as his touch ignites something primal in me. My body leans into his hands of its own accord, desperate for more, the ache between my legs growing unbearable.

I can feel the wetness pooling against my panties, and I know he must see it, the way they cling to me, the darkened fabric betraying just how much I want this. He groans softly, his hands sliding lower, skimming over the curve of my waist and hips before settling on the hem of my panties.

He hooks his hands into the waistband, and he pulls them down slowly, his eyes locked onto mine. The fabric slides over my thighs, then my calves, and finally pools at my feet. I shiver as the cool air brushes against my bare skin, every nerve alight with a mix of anticipation and embarrassment.

When his gaze drops to my exposed sex, my breath catches. I feel completely bare under his eyes, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart pound erratically. No one has ever seen me like this, and the intensity of his stare leaves me trembling. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, and the raw hunger in his expression sends a jolt straight through me.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low, more of a growl than a statement. He reaches out, and the moment his fingers slide against my folds, I gasp, my body jolting at the sensation.

“Zack,” I whisper, the sound more a plea than a word.

“You’re so fucking wet, Jenny,” he mutters, his fingers trailing through the slickness, teasing me, testing me. “It’s all forme, isn’t it?” His eyes flick up to meet mine, and the intensity in his gaze is enough to steal the air from my lungs.

I can only nod, my hands clutching the edge of the bed for support as his fingers begin to explore me in earnest. His thumb brushes over my clit, slow and deliberate, and my hips buck involuntarily at the surge of pleasure that shoots through me.

“You’re so sensitive,” he says, his tone laced with something between awe and possession. “You’re perfect.”

My thighs tremble as he continues, his touch relentless yet achingly precise. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and when his finger slips inside me, I freeze. The stretch is new, unfamiliar, and it stings just enough to make my body tense.

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