Page 35 of Accidental Baby For My Brother’s Best Friend

“Be patient, little bit,” I murmur, but I’m not patient at all, fumbling with my belt and whipping it off to toss it on the floor.

Gemma’s green eyes are hungry on my face, her pouty bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Locke,” she breathes, and I love the way she does that, how she says my name like she can barely bear to speak but justhasto say it.

“Say it again,” I command, not bothering to take off my clothes or hers, just pulling my cock free from my jeans and boxer briefs and sliding myself against her slick heat, but not inside her. Not yet.

Gemma writhes on the table and I smirk down at her pouty expression. Her cheeks redden as I watch her work her hips against me, but she keeps her mouth closed.

"Should have known you won’t do what's asked of you, little bit. Always pegged you as a brat."

I slide myself against her, working my tip against her bud and she groans throatily.

"Say it," I command again. "Say my name."

Gemma huffs out a breath and then looks me right in the eye and sticks her tongue out at me, not lewdly but like a brat who didn't get her way, and it surprises a laugh out of me.

"All right," I say, amicably enough. "Guess I'll have to make you."

I lean over, nearly doubling myself to suck on the tongue she'd stuck out at me. She moans into my mouth, clawing her fingernails down my back. It stings through my thin t-shirt and I hiss and my hips jut forward, sliding into her after one failed try where I just slide up her slick lips again.

Gemma bites my bottom lip, the little minx, but that stings just as sweet as her nails on my back. I rock into her slowly, gritting my teeth as she pulls away from my mouth to gasp in a breath. I'm holding back, and not because I think I'll hurt her. I'm no slouch in the size department but I'm not huge, either, and Gemma's all but begging me to go rougher and harder.

That's why I can't go rougher and harder, because she wants me to and I want her to say it. I've got this burning need for her to say my name, acknowledge that it's me she wants sliding her across this kitchen table.

Gemma has turned her face away, though, so I lean up and use one of my hands to rip down the plunging neckline of her dress, exposing her breasts. I hear the seam pop, but I don't care, just cup her right breast in my left hand (a perfect handful), squeezing gently before pinching her nipple between my middle finger and thumb.

"Ah!" she cries out, her green eyes shooting to mine, her hips bucking up toward my thrusts.

"You know you want to say it," I croon, smirking, and Gemma glares up at me for only a second before her eyes go unfocused as I roll her nipple between my fingers, more gently this time.

Her mouth opens in a silent moan and she grinds her hips up in a move that has me gasping.

"Please," she begs, finally, and I think about denying her again but she licks her lips, focuses on my face. "Locke."

That's it, folks, I can't hold back anymore, already close to bursting from all the foreplay and the way she'd tasted on my tongue. I snap my hips into her, panting, angling up because of the direction she's grinding against me.

I'm not a super expert in the bedroom, but I know my way around and I pay attention.

Before the Spades, I'd been with Janis, so relationship sex is what I’m used to. I don't do a lot of one-night stands. Usually they turn into flings, at least, simply because I'm not the charmer that Axel or Jackson are, and because, in my opinion, one-night stands simply aren't very fun. I can't know a woman's triggers to orgasm in one night (unless it's some rare marathon session), can't bring them pleasure in the same way that I can if we've hooked up multiple times.

So when Idohave a one (or in this case two) night stand, I'm extra observant, intuitive even. I watch what she does, how she moves, and from there I can discern where she wants me to touch her, how she wants me to move my hips.

I once said something to the guys about why I preferred flings to one-night stands, and Axel told me that was a weirdly logical and scientific way to look at sex. Maybe that's true, but I can't help feeling pride that Gemma is begging formeinstead of him right now, despite how this tour had started.

Besides, if I start thinking about sex with my emotions…I know where that leads, and I'm not about to go through that again.

I focus on Gemma again and try every trick I know to last, but the way her mouth is open, face contorted, I know she's close and it's only a few moments before she calls out my name again, louder, and I spill inside her.

"Never again," Gemma announces as she's tucking those perfect breasts of hers back into her dress and then they fall right back out because the seam is ripped.

I manage to stifle a laugh and I tug off my t-shirt and put it over her head as she sputters.

She glares at me after she puts her arms through the sleeves.

God, she's cute.I blink, not liking where that thought might lead and focus instead on how I can see her nipples through my shirt.

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. Something about a woman wearing my clothes has always done something for me. It's not Gemma specifically. It'snot.

"Never again," I agree, and raise an eyebrow. "After tonight."

Gemma purses her lips as if thinking. "I mean, we didn't even use the bed that we paid for."

"ThatIpaid for," I remark and she narrows her eyes.

"You're talking yourself right out of-"

I cut her off by grabbing her around the waist and throwing her over my shoulder, depositing her on the bed while she lets out a giggle that makes my chest expand.

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