Page 95 of Need You to Choose Me

His lips linger on my ear. “Fine, baby girl. You want to answer it? Answer it.”

My eyes bulge as I glance over my shoulder at him and see that he’s not going to stop. “Are you kidding me? You want me to answer my brother’s phone call while you’re fucking me?”

He nips at my earlobe again and lifts himself onto one arm, moving me to my stomach and dragging my bottom half up so my ass is arched in the air. The same second he enters me again, he reaches over and swipes theANSWERbutton while whispering, “Yes,” in my ear. “That’s exactly what I want.”

I have to bite back the groan as Sebastian says, “Olive? You there?”

“Y-Yep.” I want to glare at Alex who doesn’t stop or slow down. He’s building me closer to the edge and the last thing I want to do is orgasm while my brother listens. I’m arguably the wettest I’ve ever been, and the noise is evident every time Alex’s cock slams back into me. “I should call you b-back though.”

“You okay? You sound weird. I need to talk to you about something.”

Alex buries his face into my back to suppress his low chuckle. He grinds into me, grinding his hips into me and hitting the right spot that has my eyes rolling back until they hurt. My back arches again as I bury my face into the sheets to stop the mewl that tries escaping my lips.

Alex wraps my hair around his fist and pulls until my head lifts from the mattress. “I’m g-good. But now isn’t the best time.”

There’s a pause. “Are you with somebody? You sound strange. Is this like a hostage situation? Do you need to order a pepperoni pizza or whatever the code is?”

Oh good lord.When Alex uses his hips to grind into me, it makes it even harder to keep composure. He’s evil. Pure evil. “I was just—” A sharp breath escapes me when the man behind me starts toying with my clit. Forget evil. He’s Satan. I’m having sex with the devil.

Reasonable words are beyond me at this point, which is why my filter decides that the next word that escapes my mouth makes perfect sense to say to my sibling. “—masturbating.”

“What the fuck? Christ, Olive, next time don’t pick up the phone.” My brother quickly disconnects, but not before I hear him gagging.

Alex lets out a burst of laughter, his movement briefly halting as he drops his forehead to my shoulder and wheezes. “Did you really just tell him that?”

I’ll feel embarrassed about it later, but right now I have one thing on my mind. “I panicked. Shut up and make me come, asshole.”

And he does just that until we’re both falling from the ultimate high, wrapped up in each other’s arms and legs with sweat-coated skin and erratic heartbeats.

Right before he finds his release, he pulls out and empties himself onto my back. “I don’t think you minded based on how tightly you squeezed my dick,” he muses victoriously as he pumps himself empty.

I shoot him a look and flip him off.

He ignores it, grabs a towel to wipe me off, then kisses my cheek, and says, “Get some more sleep. I kept you up late.”

I should tell him that what just happened was messed up, but I can’t. Because it was…hot. And that probably makes me messed up to admit, so I don’t say anything at all.

I’m already groggy, and happily sated, so I barely remember him leaving the room by the time sleep finds me again. But when I wake up an hour later and finally peel myself out of bed and change into clean clothes, I follow the sound of clinking pots and pans until I’m met with a shirtless Alex standing in front of the stove.

“I thought you didn’t have food?” I ask, getting his attention.

Walking over, I examine the plate of waffles sprinkled with cinnamon beside the assortment of fruit, juice and…champagne?

Then I realize what he’s doing.

“I went out and grabbed some groceries while you slept,” he explains nonchalantly, taking the next waffle out of the maker and setting it on the stack I’m staring at. “I even got you real maple syrup. Not the fake kind that you rant about.”

“It tastes like chemicals,” I say slowly.

There are eggs and bacon on other plates, and sausage links in the pan that resemble what he normally orders for breakfast. “You made all my favorites,” I note in awe. “Is this what I’m going to get every weekend that I visit you?”

He grins at me. “I wouldn’t hold your breath. Some of this might not even be edible.”

There’s not one piece of food in front of me that looks burnt or undercooked. “You secretly know how to cook.”

He takes the sausages out of the pan and moves the pan off the burner. “It’s not really a secret. I had to learn how to cook when I lived with my mom. She used to teach me some of her favorites before things got tough. My dad was good in the kitchen too.”

I pull out one of the stools and sit down. “I know how to make, like, three things without totally ruining them.”

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