Page 57 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

He reaches out, slow enough that I can stop him if I want to, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my cheek, knuckles rough, touch gentle.

My breath stutters.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

His hand is on my cheek, warm, firm, and before I can say anything, before I can even think about the million things I should do, his lips crash into mine.

It’s sudden. Unexpected. And completely overwhelming. His mouth is urgent, like he’s been holding passion in all night and finally can’t wait any longer. The kiss isn’t soft or gentle. It’s fiery and raw. All-consuming.

I freeze, just absorbing the heat of it, but then everything clicks. Every part of me leans into it, into him. I kiss him back, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his jacket. The world tilts, spins, and I forget about everything… everything except this.

My hands slide up under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his back, the way he shifts and groans under my touch. He pulls away just long enough to look at me, his breath ragged, eyes dark with fierceness.

“June…” he murmurs, obviously trying to control himself.

His lips are barely an inch from mine, his words sending a shiver straight through me.

I stumble back, and the edge of his workbench catches the backs of my thighs.

Tools shift everywhere.

A small stack of bike parts skitters to the floor like startled birds. Something metallic, a wrench maybe, clatters once and rolls out of sight.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I twist my fingers into the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of his chest radiating through the fabric.

His breath catches as his hands find the hem of my sweater, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. Slowly, giving me every chance to stop him, he pulls the sweater up and over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

His breath catches. His pupils dilate until only a thin ring of blue remains. He doesn't blink as his gaze follows the edge of material across my skin. The cool air raises goosebumps along my arms. Or maybe it's the intense way he's looking at me.

I bite my lower lip, reach behind my back.

One hook.

Two.

The tension in the fabric releases. I roll my shoulders forward slightly, and the straps slip down, one after the other. The bra drops between us, a whisper of lace against wood. His hands drop lower, tugging at the button of my jeans. I help him, kicking them off clumsily when they catch around my boots.

He eliminates the space between us in a heartbeat, his body pressing against mine. His mouth finds my skin, and a moan escapes my lips. My back arches, thighs clenching, but he doesn't linger. He trails kisses lower, and lower still, until he's positioned between my legs, hands spreading my thighs apart with a possessive touch.

He grips my underwear, causing me to gasp desperately. My legs tremble with desire as he yanks the material down while slipping to his knees.

“Fletcher, please…” I whisper, desperate with need.

He exhales, hot and heavy against my center, and grins, a wicked and devastating smile.

“Is this alright, June? Do you really want this?”

A helpless, needy sound escapes me, humiliation and arousal churning in my stomach.

“Please,” I whisper. “I need you.”

And then his mouth is on me, his touch fierce and hungry. He teases me until I'm shaking, until I can't think, until my fingers claw at his hair just to stop myself from falling apart completely.

His hands grip my thighs hard, holding me still as he devours me. Tongue, teeth, lips… he uses all of it, sending heat crackling down my spine with every movement. And when I start to tremble, teetering on the edge, he doesn’t stop.

He presses deeper, relentless, my body unravels under his touch, and I can feel how much he’s been craving this… me.

“Fletcher, oh my…” I gasp, barely a whisper.