Page 91 of Finance Bros

“So?” he presses.

“Of course I liked it. Big dick, tight hole.”

He laughs softly. “Fuck you.”

“Still wanna spend the night?” I ask.

“Yes. Jesus. Why do you keep acting like I’m gonna change my mind?”

I lift my eyebrows.

“Don’t answer that,” he says. With a groan, he winces as he moves closer to slide his leg between mine. We’re both still naked, so the effect of this particular comfy snuggle is exponentially different. I can feel a nipple, his cock, the hairs on his leg. And I can see his entire face. I sweep some of the stuck hair off his forehead. The love I didn’t allow myself to feel while I was fucking him hits me squarely in the chest.Shit.

It’s more potent than the orgasm, and it totally fucks me up. “Are you okay?” I ask.

He smiles faintly. “Yeah. I’m perfect. Fuck me anytime.”

That coaxes a smile from me, which only broadens his. It’s so stupid. Both of us. Here. Now. Smiling like idiots at each other when neither of us has a clue what the fuck we’re doing.

Just because I fucked him, doesn’t mean I have to say it, but it’s right there, wanting out worse than it’s ever wanted out. But I’m not on drugs, and I amnotan idiot. Not for him. Not anymore.

But while I’ve got him, I go ahead and kiss him.

For the secondnight in a row, I don’t sleep. Whereas the night before last, I got a few stretches of forty-five minutes or so—last night, with Mal wrapped around me, I got nothing. I can account for every minute.

Every breath he took that landed on my neck—every shift ofhis body against mine. Every erection that lived and died from either his presence or a memory of what we did.

Over his long stretch of uninterrupted sleep, he’s sacrificed exactly zero inches between us. For every body part that moved away from me, another one got closer. Now, as dawn is breaking outside the window, he’s practically smothering me. His surprisingly flexible leg is hitched around my waist, while the straight one is lined up flush with mine. His chest is resting on my chest, and his head is right next to mine. His breaths blow through my ear—loud like a thunderstorm.

I’m hot, and I’ve been sweating since he fell asleep. We’re still on top of the covers—still naked. The arm of mine he’s more or less trapping is wrapped around his waist, allowing him to stay on top of me, slightly lifted from the bed. My free arm and hand can’t decide what to do. There’s been a lot of rubbing my eyes and face. But I’ve done some touching too. Him for the most part, and occasionally, when I have access to it, my cock.

I haven’t jerked off, but I’ve humored my erections to an extent. Drawing them out, enjoying the warm, tingling sensation of arousal without getting myself to the point of needing release. Mostly, though, I’ve been stroking him. Long, light strokes not meant to rouse him but to remember him.

He’s either a deeper sleeper than he used to be, or sex knocks him out.

When my alarm goes off, he clenches around me. The hug he gives me is suffocating. I reach out to silence my phone on the nightstand and wrap my free arm around him, too.

He moves on top, and fuck me, but I help him get there. He starts kissing my neck without so much as a good morning. I slide my hands down his sides, settling on his hips. This time, my legs are spread to accommodate him. My latest erection rubs against his, and he makes the most of that position by rocking his body back and forth.

It’s…amazing. I don’t want him to stop. The only thing that would be better would be if I were inside him again. I want to feelthatagain. The way his body seemed to draw me in and reward me for how deep I could get by keeping that outer constriction—like fucking through a glory hole. A hole that was a bit too small to fit comfortably inside but the tight hold it had on me was fucking everything, and his heat engulfing me—fuck.

I’ve been up all night like I’m trying to prepare a diary entry for it, but the truth of the whole thing is, it was the best sex I’ve ever had—in a physical sense.

The rest—the implications and the emotional turmoil—I was only able to push away for the length of time I was inside him. The rest of the night has been a wrestling match between the deepening of my sense of entitlement when it comes to my former stepbrother and the lived experience of losing his affection—and worse.

I’ve slept with the enemy—my tormentor in every possible way. The line between love and hate is practically invisible. In any given moment—all night—I’ve found myself on both sides infinite times.

But never once did I want to push him away. And I’m not about to now, either. I’m much more likely to take both our cocks in hand and give us both something to fuck. Together.

“Want you,” he whispers.

“Shower,” I say.

“Mm…no. Now. Here.”

“You’re injured.”

“I’m tough.”

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