Page 65 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
“You’re angry,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“At your mother.”
“At a lot of people.”
“At me?”
I blink. That catches me off guard. “No,” I say, voice low. “Never at you.” I reach up and brush a piece of hair behind her ear. She shivers. “I’m furious that you’ve been walking around all week like you’re something to be ashamed of. Like you’re a problem we’re all trying not to solve.”
She closes her eyes for a second. I see it in her face—the effort it takes not to break. “Are you sure I’m not?”
“You’re not the problem. You never could be.”
She breathes in again, sharper this time.
“And right now,” I add, stepping closer until my chest brushes hers, “I need something from you.”
She looks up. “How can I help?”
And just like that, I’m done pretending I don’t want her again. I slide my hand down her waist, my palm flat and possessive, and press her back until she’s flush with the edge of my desk.
She lets me. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t question the heat rolling off me in waves.
I palm the edge of her hip and dip my head to her ear. “Turn around.”
She stiffens slightly—but not from fear. From anticipation. “Gavin?—”
“I need this,” I say. “You want to help? Let me have you. Right now.”
Her eyes flare wide. But she doesn’t move yet. I step back just enough for her to move. And she does. She turns slowly, hands coming to rest on the desktop, her fingers splayed across the smooth wood. Her blouse rides up slightly, and I watch the curve of her spine as she breathes.
“You look beautiful like this,” I say, loosening my tie with one hand. “Obedient. Poised.”
Her breath shudders.
I step in behind her and lean over, pressing my chest to her back. I slide my hands up her thighs, slow and deliberate, until I reach the hem of her skirt.
“You want this?” I ask, low and rough.
She nods.
I grip her hair gently and tug her head back just enough to whisper at her neck. “Use your words.”
“Yes,” she says, her voice shaky and raw. “I want it.”
“Good.”
I push her skirt up and let out a low growl at the sight of her—black lace panties, damp already, thighs tense with need.
She gasps when I run my hand between her legs, teasing her through the fabric. Her body presses harder into the desk.
“You’ve been walking around all week trying to keep this in,” I whisper. “Pretending you don’t need anything.”
“I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
I chuckle, dark and amused. “You didn’t cause anything. They picked a fight, and I ended it.” I wonder what she’ll do when I do this.
