Page 108 of Claimed By The Other Brother

He throws cash at the driver—way more than the fare—and we stumble out onto the sidewalk, and into the building.

The elevator ride is a blur of hands and mouths. Dax pushes me against the wall, his body pinning me there as he kisses me. I reach between us, finding the hard length of his cock strainingagainst his pants. I stroke him through the fabric, and he hisses against my mouth.

His hand is back under my dress, fingers rubbing my clit in tight circles before he pulls my panties aside again and thrusts two fingers inside me. I cry out, too loud in the enclosed space. He lifts one of my legs, hooking it around his hip for better access, and pounds his fingers into me.

"Dax," I gasp.

"Say it again."

"Dax. Please."

The elevator dings, announcing our arrival. We stumble out into the hallway, his hands still all over me. I fumble with my keys, trying to get the door unlocked while he presses against me from behind.

His cock is rock hard, grinding against my ass. He pulls my hair to the side and kisses the back of my neck, biting gently.

"Open the door," he growls.

My hands are shaking. The key finally slides home, and I turn the lock. The door swings open.

We stumble inside, and Dax kicks it closed with his foot. The slam echoes through my apartment, but I barely register it.

We're on each other like animals.

I throw my keys and purse onto the credenza by the door, the contents scattering, and then Dax spins me around to face him.

I crash my mouth against his, my hands flying around his neck, tangling in his hair. He kisses me back with the samedesperate hunger, his hands groping every inch of my body—my waist, my hips, my ass, my breasts.

I pull at his suit jacket, tugging it down his arms. He shrugs out of it and flings it across the room.

We're moving. Stumbling backward through my apartment, heading toward the living room, toward the couch. My hands find the buttons of his shirt, and I work them frantically, popping them open one by one while he kisses me.

His hands reach behind me, searching for the zipper of my dress. He finds it and slides it down slowly, the sound loud in the charged silence between our ragged breaths.

I get his shirt unbuttoned halfway, exposing his chest, and my hands flatten against his skin. He's warm, solid, all muscle.

He pushes my dress off my shoulders. The fabric pools at my waist, then slides down my hips. I step out of it, kicking it aside, left in nothing but my bra and panties. His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry.

We keep moving. He's pushing me backward, slow deliberate steps, his mouth never leaving mine. I grab his tie, pulling it loose, stretching it over his head. He helps, and I fling it across the room where it lands somewhere in the shadows. I finish unbuttoning his shirt and yank it open, pushing it off his shoulders and tossing it as well.

"Fuck, Scarlett," he groans against my mouth.

My hands drop to his belt. I unbuckle it with trembling fingers while he gropes my bare skin—my stomach, my ribs, my breasts still confinedin my bra. I pull the belt free and toss it aside. Then I'm unbuttoning his pants, yanking down the zipper, my knuckles brushing against the hard length of his cock straining beneath.

He hisses.

We're at the couch now. The back of my legs hit the cushions, and Dax turns us around. He sits down heavily, pulling me between his spread legs.

I stand there, breathing hard, my chest rising and falling. His eyes burn into me. Intense. Possessive. Consuming.

"Come here," he says, his voice rough.

Dax exhales sharply, his gaze roaming over my lace lingerie. He leans forward, his lips brushing against the soft skin just above my navel. A shiver rushes up my spine as his hands travel between my thighs, teasing, exploring.

His mouth trails lower, his forehead pressing lightly against the thin lace of my panties. My fingers weave into his hair as he tilts his head up, his eyes flickering with dark hunger. With deliberate precision, he grips one of my legs, and lifts it on the edge of the sofa as he slides the fabric of my panties aside, his fingers slipping inside of my pussy. He allows my juices to coat his fingers. A gasp escapes me as he strokes slow, then deeper, his touch igniting a fire inside me.

"Dax," I whisper, my grip tightening in his hair. He hums against my skin, his fingers thrusting, stretching, unraveling me.

My legs feel weak beneath me when he suddenlyhooks his fingers into my panties and drags them down my thighs. His command is a low growl against my skin.