Page 55 of The Wrong Brother

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I ask.

Her gaze lowers as she stirs the empty drink glass before her. Then she lifts her eyes, staring up at me from beneath her lashes.

“Yes,” she replies, though her voice is quite shaky. “It’s what I want.”

At this confirmation, to say that I’m dumbfounded is the least of it. It takes me a while to weigh the pros and cons offollowing through with her request, but in the end, I throw all of it out and speak directly to the woman in front of me.

I take a slow breath, choosing my next words carefully. “If that’s what you want, Jenny…” I pause, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel heavy. “Then you don’t need to get drunk to make me give it to you.”

Her lips part as if she’s about to protest, but no sound comes out. Her hands tighten around the edge of the table, her knuckles white. I can see the war raging inside her, the push and pull of her emotions as she processes what I just said.

Finally, she exhales shakily and nods, her voice barely audible. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

For a moment, the world around us seems to fade. The chatter of the other diners, the clinking of glasses, the soft strains of music from the speakers…it all disappears as I hold her gaze. Her vulnerability is palpable, and it hits me harder than I care to admit.

I let the silence linger for just a moment longer before I nod and signal for the check. The waiter approaches quickly, sensing the tension but wisely saying nothing as he places the bill on the table. I pull out my wallet and pay, sliding the leather folder back toward him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Then, I stand, tapping the table lightly with my knuckles. “Let’s go.”

Jenny hesitates for a split second before rising to her feet. She smooths her dress, avoiding my gaze as we leave the restaurant. But I can feel her beside me, her presence charged with an energy that’s impossible to ignore.

As we step out into the warm afternoon sun, I place a hand lightly on the small of her back, guiding her toward the car. The touch is brief, almost automatic, but it’s enough to send a jolt through me…a reminder of everything that’s waiting for us in just a little while.

I waste no time in getting us back to the hotel, and soon we get on the elevator. There are others amongst us, but still, they might as well have been invisible because she is all I can feel and sense.

The moment the elevator empties out, the tension between us becomes nearly unbearable. I can feel her hesitating, lingering just a little too long, her hand brushing the panel behind her as if delaying the inevitable. Her breathing is shallow, and though her face is turned slightly away, I can see the faint flush creeping along her neck.

Without warning, she steps closer to me, lifting herself onto her tiptoes. Before I can process what’s happening, her lips brush mine in a featherlight kiss, startling me into stillness. It’s fleeting…just the barest hint of her warmth…before she pulls back, her wide, nervous eyes searching mine.

“I…” she begins, her voice barely audible, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

But before she can step away or say something to fill the awkward silence, I react. My hand finds the side of her neck, fingers pressing lightly against her skin, and I pull her closer. There’s a moment where she freezes, caught between hesitation and surrender, but then her body softens against mine as I kiss her back.

It’s deeper this time. My lips claim hers, slow and deliberate, a quiet ignition to the fire building between us. She makes a soft sound, half gasp, half sigh, and it shoots straight through me, unraveling every restraint I’ve tried to maintain.

She responds in kind, her fingers gripping the lapels of my jacket, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us. The taste of her is intoxicating, and I don’t want to stop. I don’t think I could, even if I tried.

By the time we stumble out of the elevator, still locked in each other, everything else fades into the background. Thehallway is quiet, but I barely register it because all I can feel is her…her lips, her hands, her urgency.

At the door to her room, she pauses just long enough to fumble with the keycard. My lips trail down her neck as she presses it to the reader, and the soft sound she makes nearly undoes me. The door clicks open, and we’re inside before it even swings fully shut.

She pushes me back against the door, her hands already sliding under my shirt, exploring the planes of my chest. The sheer hunger in her touch surprises me, leaving me breathless.

“Jenny,” I manage, my voice rough as I try to catch my breath. “Wait…are you sure?—”

“I’m sure,” she cuts me off, her voice firm yet trembling with emotion. “Zack… I’ve been thinking about this. About you. I can’t stop.”

Her confession leaves me speechless, a quiet thunder that roars through my chest. Before I can respond, she moves closer, her lips finding mine again with a desperation that ignites every nerve in my body. Her hands press against my chest, pushing the leather jacket off my shoulders as she kisses me with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation.

Her lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, down the column of my neck, leaving a scorching path in their wake. I stand frozen, caught between the sheer force of her desire and my own unraveling restraint. When she pulls back just enough to grip the hem of my shirt, her eyes meet mine, blazing with something I can’t quite name.

“Jenny,” I whisper, my voice low and strained, though I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

She doesn’t wait for me to finish. Her hands slide under my shirt, her fingers tracing over the planes of my abdomen, and then she lifts it higher. I help her, yanking the shirt over my head and tossing it aside, only to feel her lips return to my skininstantly. The cool air brushes against my bare skin, but I barely notice. All I feel is her…the heat of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the sheer intensity of her focus as she devours me like I’m the only thing that matters.

She kisses her way down my chest, her mouth pressing against every inch she can reach. When her hands smooth over my arms, her lips follow, leaving soft, urgent kisses along my biceps, my forearms. It’s reverent and ravenous all at once, and it makes my head spin.

“Jenny,” I say again, my voice rougher this time as I grab her wrists, trying to still her for just a moment. I’m looking for an explanation, on why she is so ravenous, and she understands. I feel the same way too, but it stuns me that the hunger is mutual.

---