She’s wearing a pale peach satin bra that covers all her curves but is still as provocative as fuck. I thumb her nipple through the shiny fabric, loving the way it pebbles almost immediately under my touch. Like I said. So. Fucking. Responsive. “Do you realize how sexy you are?”
“Do you?” She runs her hands over my chest and abs, lingering on the ridges and valleys of the six-pack I’ve worked hard to maintain. “I suppose I should thank Jake for introducing you to the gym.”
Her brother’s name—my best friend’s name—is like a bucket of ice water over my libido, and I pull my hand back.
But Brie’s having none of that. She grabs my hand and replaces it on her breast, covering it with hers to keep it there. “Oh no, you don’t. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown-up.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed, all right.” I can’t help myself. Her satin-covered tit is full and firm under my fingers. A perfect handful, begging to be squeezed. So I do.
She rewards me with a low, husky purr that shoots straight to my already aching groin. “Good. Then you’ll understand that, as a consenting adult, who I choose to sleep with is nobody’s business but my own. Especially not my brother’s.”
“Point taken.” I nuzzle the sweet spot between her breasts again, the temptation of silky smooth satin and equally silky smooth skin too much to fight. “But it would help if we could maybe not talk about him anymore. At least when we’re half-naked. Or completely naked, for that matter.”
“Are you saying you want to get completely naked?” She trembles when I move my mouth to her nipple, gently sucking it through her bra.
I respond without lifting my head, the words vibrating against her like a tuning fork. “I’m not opposed to the idea.”
Without warning, she pushes my head away from her chest and climbs off me. I’m confused and disappointed and more than a little frustrated, but only for a second. Then she treats me to the most erotic strip tease I’ve ever experienced, removing first her pants, then her bra, then her matching peach panties, revealing a neatly landscaped patch of hair above the juncture of her thighs.
When she’s naked, she turns around, giving me a full view of her ripe, round backside, and heads for the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.
“Where are you going?” I croak, frankly surprised that I have any ability left to string words together into a coherent sentence. The way her hips sway when she walks is hypnotizing.
“You tell me.” She stops, popping a hip and looking flirtatiously at me over her shoulder. “Your bed or mine?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brie
ITOCCURSTOME, as I’m standing butt naked in the middle of Connor’s living room, posing like a 50s pinup girl sans the vintage two-piece, that I may have made a critical error in judgment.
I mean, I thought Connor was on board with where this was going. He sure seemed like it a few minutes ago when I was riding his lap. The evidence of his arousal was obvious. And impressive.
But now he’s just sitting there. Staring at me. Unmoving.
I’m hoping it’s because he’s stunned speechless in a good way, and not because he’s repulsed.
I drop the pose and turn to face him.
“You realize there’s no wrong answer here, right?” I tease, trying to hide the fact that with every passing second I’m increasingly conscious of the fact that I’m in my birthday suit and he’s still half dressed. “Sure, your bed’s bigger. But I’m pretty sure mine will work just as well.”
“Mine.”
He stands and stalks toward me, looking like he’s going to go all caveman again and toss me over his shoulder. Except this time nothing is broken and I don’t need rescuing.
“Down, boy.” I say, taking a step back. “I appreciate the romantic gesture, but I’m perfectly capable of making it to your bedroom under my own power.”
His eyes run me over from head to toe, sending a flash of heat to my lady bits. “What if I don’t want to wait that long to hold you?”
Damn. How can a girl say no to that? I sure can’t.
I spread my arms wide in invitation, my self-consciousness a thing of the past. He clearly likes what he sees. And the feeling is entirely mutual, even if I’m not seeing as much as I’d like.
Yet.
“Go for it, Lancelot.”
He does, but this time it’s no rough-and-tumble, over-the-shoulder fireman’s carry. Instead, he lifts me gently, effortlessly, with one arm around my back and the other under my knees, cradling me to his smooth, strong chest.
