Page 110 of Stepbrother Dearest

He seemed…unbothered. His face was blank, like he was completely unaffected by what just happened.

Fuck. This was a bad idea. There was a reason I was always the one in control during sex, but then he’d kissed me and I’d flipped from wanting to hear him beg for more to needing him to take care of me.

Exhaustion slammed into me as the lack of sleep, stress, and the afterglow of mind-bending sex hit at once.

Graham was a good kisser, but it wasn’t his technique that had done me in. It was how he’d been the one to initiate it. How hungry and desperate he’d been. The way he’d sucked on my tongue and the commanding, forceful way he’d owned not only my mouth, but my body.

It was so different from the needy, desperate guy who came apart on my cock. I’d never had a partner who could be both submissive and dominant, and the seamless way Graham slid into the role and took charge was almost as hot as when he surrendered to me.

“I just need a second. Then I’ll get out of your hair.” I closed my eyes and pulled in a slow, cleansing breath as I tried to calm my racing mind.

“Tired?”

“Yeah.” I opened my eyes and faced him. I’d expected him to look angry or impatient. He was smiling.

“You didn’t sleep last night?” He held out his arm. Uncertainty flashed on his handsome face.

Why wasn’t he kicking me out?

Rather than ask questions, I took the offered comfort and rolled into him. He tightened his arm around me and pressed his cheek to the top of my head as I settled against his big, solid body.

He smelled good, like clean sweat and spicy deodorant, but there was something else there. Something that was uniquely him. His skin was smooth, his muscles hard and sculpted, but he was still soft and as comfortable as a pillow.

“No, not much. I think I got about two hours before my alarm went off.”

“No wonder you’re exhausted.” He rubbed my arm soothingly.

“I’m not used to being the little spoon,” I said.

“This isn’t exactly spooning,” he said, his voice light with amusement.

“I suppose not. Little cuddler? Little snugglebug?”

He laughed and held me closer. “Little snugglebug. I like it.”

“Don’t even think about making that my nickname.”

“Too late. It’s happening, little snugglebug.” A pause. “You don’t get held after sex?”

“Not usually,” I said sleepily. “Or ever. Kinda goes with being the top. No one ever thinks to snuggle me or give me cuddles. But this is nice.”

“It is.” He pressed a kiss into my hair.

I stifled a yawn. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You told me I wasn’t your type…”

“Yeah”—he sighed—“that was a lie. You’re pretty much exactly my type.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. Apparently my thing is bossy assholes who put me in my place and can throw me around.”

“What a coincidence, because my type is bratty assholes I can put in their place and throw around.”

“You’re the only one who brings out my bratty side. I hope you know that.”

---