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With that hand, my fingers slipped between my moist folds, already eliciting a soft moan. My other went to cup my breast, teasing my hardened nipple and squeezing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.
The little squeeze shot like a lightning bolt to my clit, ramping up the throbbing right back to where it’d been when I woke up. The fingers between my folds moved with sure strokes through the velvety wetness, dipping into my pussy on the downstroke and lightly hitting my sensitive button on the way up.
Teasing myself for a while, I pinched my nipples and started to draw lazy circles around my clit, only to stop when the need to tighten them took hold. When I finally couldn’t stand it anymore, my hand started moving faster, stroking myself with purpose as I imagined that it was Brett’s hand between my legs.
And it was Brett’s fingers moving in a frenzy and winding the pressure in my core tighter and tighter. When I closed my eyes, it was Brett that I saw. The way he’d looked at me in that dream, like he wanted to devour and cherish me, all at the same time.
It was that look, the imaginary one where I was driving him insane with need, that finally did me in. Pleasure spread from my center to my extremities as my orgasm ripped through me in waves of bliss so consuming that I had to stifle my moans into my pillow as I rode out the storm. My hips bucked against my hand, and I pressed down harder, my body awash with pleasure like I couldn’t remember it feeling before.
Afterward, I lay there for a few minutes, my body tingling from one of the best self-induced orgasms I’d ever had. Who was I kidding? They’d all been self-induced. The couple of guys that I had fooled around with didn’t know the first thing about pleasuring a woman, not in the way that I knew Brett did.
Even back in high school, his prowess had been the stuff of legends.
Despite the hurt it caused, I couldn’t help but listen when the girls started talking about him in whispered conversations in starkly lit bathrooms. I also hadn’t missed the heated looks his ex-girlfriends shot him while we were out at a bar or having a barbecue in his backyard. Neither had I missed how flushed and starry eyed they were after disappearing with him for a while.
I knew that it annoyed Mark that Brett still invited me to hang out with them from time to time, just like it had annoyed him when we were kids, but Brett had always been kind to me. He often invited me to play with them, though as adults, I regrettably didn’t see enough of him.
Mark and I weren’t that close. Not then, and certainly not now. We were only two years and nine months apart, so we butted heads often. But I loved my brother, and I knew that he loved me, too.
The minute I’d decided to move out of our parents’ house, Mark had insisted that I should move into his apartment with him. He’d always been overprotective and apparently felt that I would safer living with him for the time being.
It had been four years since I’d moved in with him, and whenever I made a squeak about getting my own place, he’d shut me down. Often, he looked to Brett for backup, citing that the city was filled with men that were always looking for a good time and that he didn’t want to see me get hurt.
Whenever I tried to point out that neither Brett nor Mark seemed to have a problem with having a good time when they were on the receiving end of said good time, I got glowered at and told that was exactly why he knew it was better for me to stay safe and away from guys like them.
The chauvinism of his stance pissed me off, but I knew that it came from a good place. Besides, I actually kind of liked living with my brother. For one thing, he cooked a mean breakfast, like the pancakes I was starting to smell wafting in from underneath my bedroom door.
Hopping out of bed, I adjusted my pajama top so that it covered me completely again and found my bottoms hidden in the sheets. I brushed my hair and my teeth in my en suite bathroom and went to face the day.
And Brett, apparently.
As soon as I cracked my bedroom door open, there was a loud knock at the front door, followed by Mark padding down the hall and the sound of their voices making small talk as they headed back to the kitchen.
I stood rooted in my spot, mortified at the memory of what I’d been doing while imagining the owner of that voice only minutes earlier. I was about to duck back into my room, and I briefly considered the viability of hiding out in it for the rest of my life when Mark stuck his head around the corner.
“Oh good, you’re up. I was just coming to wake you. Pancakes are nearly done, so come on. Chop chop.”
My stomach sank as my plan to become a hermit in my own bedroom disappeared like mist under the sun. Dang it.
But I had to suck it up. If I didn’t go to the kitchen, they’d both know that something was up with me. I loved Mark’s pancakes, and it wasn’t exactly a secret. The last thing I needed was either of them prying into why I was skipping out on one of my favorite breakfasts. They’d see straight through me. So, with a deep breath, I womaned up and tried to get over my embarrassment.
When I entered the kitchen, Brett was leaning against the island, looking positively mouthwatering in a light blue henley that accentuated the undertone of his eyes and dark blue jeans that hung off his hips just so.
His head turned when he heard me, and his smoky eyes lit up with amusement as his lips twitched into a smile. “There you are, party girl. How’s the head this morning?”
“Fine,” I said, not quite able to meet his eyes. The same ones that had been staring at me, all hot and bothered, in my dream and had pushed me over the edge soon after.
“Hey.” A small frown marred his perfect features. “You sure you’re okay? I was just joking about the party girl thing.”
I nodded and tried my best to paste a smile onto my face. When in truth, I was cringing on the inside. I was beyond embarrassed by what I’d just done and, more specifically, by who I’d been thinking about while I’d been doing it.
Chapter Three
Brett
Okay, Sophia was acting really weird. It started with the one-word answers and not being able to look me in the eye. Then it was like she was purposefully avoiding coming anywhere near me, to the extent that she ate her pancakes while standing near the door instead of sitting at the kitchen island with us.
“Bet you feel like someone is tapdancing in your stomach,” Mark teased, clearly chalking up Soph’s weirdness to an epic hangover. It might have been the cause, but I had a feeling it wasn’t.
