Page 99 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“’kay,” she whispers, kissing me again. “Have I told you how much I like being yours? And not just because of the access to the lawyers part. Because of the you part.”

Pure joy radiates through me, threatening to burst out through my skin at her admission. Brenna saying she’s mine is the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. Maybe ever, and it’s something I’m not sure I’ll ever tire of. The confirmation that this is real—for both of us—settles my soul in a way that I didn’t realize I need. A salve to an open wound I was unaware of.

“Keep telling me.” I tug her closer, our bodies flush. Her breath catches, and my cock tightens in my jeans. Fuck, the things she does to me. “And I’ll keep showing you.”

“Showing me how?”

Brenna squeaks as I grab her hips, lifting her and spinning us around. I deposit her on the bar, stepping between her legs to kiss her. We’re at a weird angle to make out, thanks to the height of the bar, but that’s not why I put her up here. I have plans for my girl. Naughty, naughty plans. So I set to work.

Flicking the button on her jeans, I work them open, still kissing her like my life depends on it. She’s returning my efforts, hands holding my head in place as our tongues dance.

“Bren, you have got to start wearing skirts, baby,” I say, catching my breath and tugging her jeans over her hips and taking her panties down with them. I nudge her thighs open enough to expose her glistening pussy, licking my lips as it calls my name. “Preferably without the underwear. Making it also easier for me to do this…”

Lowering my head, I swipe at her clit, not wasting any time. Brenna cries out, hands flying to the back of my head. Her glorious familiar taste fills my mouth, making my dick ache, lust taking over every inch of me. I need more of her. All of her.

Only the next shout I hear isn’t hers. It’s another voice I know almost as well as Brenna’s.

And it’s the last voice I want to hear while my mouth is on her.

“What in the actual fuck?”

28

BRENNA

Faster than a speeding bullet.

In the blink of an eye.

In a heartbeat.

It’s not that these phrases never made sense before. They have. I’ve used them. A lot.

But until this moment, I don’t think I’ve really understood just how fast that split second can be. How one can go from the most extreme, intense pleasure to bone-chilling cold in an instant.

That said, the millisecond between Milo’s tongue flicking my clit and Brandt’s voice ringing out changed everything. Absolutely everything.

I freeze, as does Milo, one of my hands still clutching his head for dear life, the other supporting my weight behind me. I don’t dare open my eyes, knowing exactly what I’m going to find when I do. Because that was not the voice of an older brother who liked what he just walked in on.

Which, to be fair, no sibling wants to bear witness to this. If the roles were reversed, I’m sure I would be grumpy about it as well. Brandt and Bryce are grown-ass people who are free to do what and who they want; I just don’t want to have to see it.

“Get the fuck off of her!”

I don’t have time to think—to act—before Brandt grabs Milo by the collar of his shirt, yanking him backward. The move leaves me exposed, and I scream, both of the guys turning their attention to me.

“Bren,” Milo exclaims, reaching for me, right as Brandt’s eyes go wide, fully registering my nakedness.

Hopping off the bar, I awkwardly pull up my pants, trying to step toward Milo, but Brandt shoves him out of the way. “You’ve apparently already done more than enough.”

“Brandt!”

“Get upstairs!” he demands.

“No!” I shoot back. “You’re not the boss of me!”

I stomp my foot, buttoning my jeans and straightening my shirt. Despite what he might think, this is not a dictatorship, and he does not get to stomp back in here and call the shots.

“I said, get upstairs,” he repeats, this time through gritted teeth.