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Breckin stops, leaning back while his brother chuckles. “I think we need to feed her first, give her a minute to think it over.”
“Good call,” his brother echoes, “I’m famished, too. Whatcha making?”
“Surf and Turf.” He nods toward the forgotten food on the counter.
“Sounds perfect.”
I blink, my mind still reeling. The moment stops as they both break away from me.
“Are you going to change?” Breckin asks his brother as he washes his hands for probably the tenth time this evening.
He sniffs his flannel, then turns toward their temporary room. “Yeah, I probably should, ‘sides, my ass is still wet from the drive home, and I’m pretty sure there’s some sand up in there that’s never coming out.”
“Oh, Brendan,” Breckin calls out as he grabs a platter and fills it with our dinner, “what happened to all of our toilet paper, again? That’s the second time we’ve run out in one week.”
Brendan laughs as I tense beside them, “Funny story. It all ended up in my toolbox.”
Breckin’s eyebrows raise. “Are you out at work?”
“Nope.” He rips his flannel shirt off and tosses it on the floor, revealing a back full of panty melting muscles. “You can ask our little girl there how that happened.” He looks over his shoulder and winks at me. “Nice play, by the way, Prude.”
Before I can answer, he yanks his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. I stand there, staring open-mouthed at his perfect, round ass and toned thighs. He’s a work of art, his body as sculpted and perfect as his brother’s. My own legs decide not to work. I lean against the counter, trying to force myself to breathe. As he disappears through the doorway, I blink and realize my mouth is still open. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I turn back to the fully clothed brother.
“I . . . Um, I was just returning the favor.”
He shakes his head, grabbing the platter and a pair of tongs before heading toward the back door with a smirk on his face. “For the record, I told him not to.”
“For the record,” Brendan calls out from somewhere in the dining room, “I’m a grown-ass man, and I do what I want.”
“TPing the neighbor’s house is not how agrown-ass manbehaves.”
“Hey,” he reappears, wearing a pair of dark jeans and pale-green T-shirt and smelling like he should be on a magazine cover for sex, “she’s here, isn’t she?”
Breckin simply shakes his head and heads out back to the deck.
Leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, Brendan glides his gaze over every inch of my body, taking his time as his eyes roam from my head, down my sweater and shorts, to my toes, before gliding back up to my face. My body heats. My chest constricts as though all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room from that single look.
Standing up, he stalks toward me. All six feet, heavily muscled inch of him. I swallow, wishing I could breathe as he places one hand on either side of the counter, effectively trapping me once more. “What’s the matter, Little Girl?” That devious grin spreads across his lips once more, “No words this time?” When I don’t answer, he chuckles, dropping his eyes down the length of my body once again. “Damn, you are a sight, Prude. Not gonna lie, I didn’t think I’d find you in my house this soon.”
“I –” I start to tell him I didn’t come over for him, but his lips cover mine, halting all traces of our brief conversation. Words fail. They’re too easily misunderstood. Too easy to hurt. But this, the emotion in his lips doesn’t lie. He bites my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before easing the burn with more kisses.
Like he’s my oxygen, I open for him, tangling my fingers in his messy hair as I pull him closer. We swallow each other’s groans as he eases between my legs. I’m panting, my body on fire, but I can’t get enough of him.
When we do finally break, I glance over to find Breckin standing a few feet away. Arms crossed over his chest, he watches us.
“I . . . We were . . .” I stutter for what to say. I was just making out with him, and then he caught me kissing his brother. My hands fall to my sides, my shoulders sagging with them. I’m a horrible person.
“Hey,” he smiles, closing the distance between us and patting his brother on the shoulder, “don’t stop because of me.”
“You’re not . . .” My words choke in my throat.
“I already told you, this is what we want.”
“You want . . .”
“You,” they state in unison.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Together?”
