Page 25 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
She sits back a little, folding her arms. “You’ve been kind of distant.”
I exhale. “It’s complicated.”
“Because of Phil?”
“Partly.”
“Because of Gavin or Harrison?”
I shake my head. “Because this—whateverthisis—it’s not something I’m supposed to want.”
Her eyes flicker. “But you do.”
“Do you?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stands, walks around the desk, and leans against the edge—close enough that I can feel her body heat. I look up at her, breathing just a little harder now. Everything’s a little harder now.
She reaches out, lightly touches my jaw. “I shouldn’t want this either,” she says. She tips her face toward me, her lips wet and waiting. “We have unfinished business, don’t we? Friday, you never…”
That’s all it takes.
I rise from my chair slowly, deliberately, until we’re face-to-face—breath to breath. Her hand is still on my jaw, her eyes flicking down to my mouth like she’s daring herself to kiss me first.
But I don’t let her.
I reach out and cup the back of her neck, thumb brushing just behind her ear. She shudders beneath my touch as I kiss her. Harder than I mean to. Deeper than I should. And she opens for me like she’s been waiting since Friday.
She tastes like coffee and something sweet, like a flavored lip balm, and I make a sound low in my throat becausethisis what I’ve been craving. Not just her body, but this pull between us that makes me forget who I am, where I am, and what’s at stake.
She threads her fingers into my hair and presses closer. I slide my hands down her back, over her waist, anchoring her to me as I guide her toward the desk. When her thighs hit the edge, she breaks the kiss long enough to say, breathless, “Lock the door.”
I do it without a word. I turn back to her, and she’s already unbuttoning her blouse.
Fuck.
She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t play coy. Her fingers are sure, her expression hungry. She drops her blouse on the chair, her bra next. And I just stand there, staring, forgetting how to move. “You gonna look all day?” she teases, breathless.
I cross the room in two steps.
My mouth finds her neck, her shoulder, the soft swell of her chest. She arches into me, eyes closed, moaning quietly like she’s trying not to—but failing. Her hands are under my shirt now,nails dragging lightly over my stomach, and I think I might lose my mind.
Clothes hit the floor fast. Careless. Desperate. Her skirt is hiked up, her underwear pushed aside. I lift her onto the desk, and she gasps as the cool surface meets her skin.
“Jack,” she whispers. “Please.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I slide into her, and everything disappears. She’s so goddamn warm. Tight. Perfect. The memory from seven years ago doesn’t do her justice.
Her legs wrap around my waist. Her hands grip my shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life. I move slow at first, savoring every sound, every shiver, every little gasp. And then she starts rocking her hips. Meeting my thrusts. Biting her lip like she’s trying not to say something that’ll break us both.
“Tell me,” I say, voice low. “Say it.”
“You feel amazing.”
“Yeah?”
“So good, Jack—God.”
I pick up the pace, one hand splayed across her lower back to hold her steady. She’s falling apart in my arms, and I’m right behind her. My name leaves her lips over and over, a chant, a prayer, a fucking lifeline. And then she tenses—hips bucking, breath hitching—and I know she’s there. I follow seconds later, burying my face in her neck as I lose it.
