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God…how desperate can I be?
Conrad steps closer, and the air between us crackles with electricity. His scent wraps around me—something woodsy with a hint of spice that threatens to unravel me at the seams.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing smile. “You look so fucking sexy, Brielle.”
His compliment washes over me, and I bask in the warmth of his gaze, feeling wanted, desired. The weight of his stare feels like a tangible touch, skimming over my bare arms, brushing along the hem of the dress that now seems far too short.
I tear my gaze away from Conrad’s piercing eyes, and it lands on Grayson. He lounges against the back of a leather sofa, all casual grace and raw masculinity. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, hinting at the promise of what lies beneath, while the shirt he wears clings to him like a second skin, outlining every ridge and curve of muscle. Heat pools within me as my eyes trace the lines of his form, taking in the sight of him—so effortlessly hot it should be illegal.
“Enjoying the view?” Conrad’s voice ripples with amusement, low and husky by my ear.
A shiver dances down my spine as his arm snakes around my waist, bringing me flush against his chest. The solid wall of his body radiates strength and warmth, grounding me in the reality of the moment. His breath fans over my neck, stirring strands of hair and sending goosebumps racing across my skin.
“Are you ready to get started?” he asks, voice husky, his lips grazing the sensitive spot behind my ear, igniting little sparks that zip straight to my core.
“Ready,” I whisper back, though ready is too tame a word for the storm of desire churning inside me. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat a drumroll of anticipation. I’m not just ready—I’m starving for whatever comes next, hungry for the touch of these two men who can set my world ablaze with a single glance.
I will enjoy this tonight…and then we’ll all pretend as if this never happened.
Conrad’s hand tightens on my waist, possessive and reassuring all at once. I lean back into him, my body instinctively seeking more contact, craving the press of his flesh against mine.
“Good,” he says, and there’s an edge of something primal in his voice that sends another rush of heat flooding through me. “Because we have a lot to explore tonight.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I nod, unable to articulate the whirlwind of thoughts tumbling through my mind. All I know is that I want this—I want them—and that desire is the most powerful force I’ve ever felt.
“Come on now, Conrad.” Grayson stands up, heading straight for the kitchen. “Let’s ease into it. How about some wine? Do you drink, Brielle?”
“I uh?—”
“Give her a glass,” Conrad answers for me.
Usually the idea of someone talking for me would be far from appealing, yet when Conrad does it…it makes my panties wetter.
Grayson smirks. “Coming right up.” He easily moves through the kitchen, taking out three glasses before pulling out a bottle of what looks to be fairly expensive wine.
The cork pops, and the sound is like a starter pistol firing off in my already racing heart. Grayson moves with a grace that belies his robust frame, decanting wine into a glass with a practiced hand. The rich red liquid swirls.
“Here,” he says, offering me a glass, his voice smooth as velvet. “This should help take the edge off.”
I take it, our fingers brushing, sending a jolt up my arm. I watch him pour one for Conrad and then himself, the muscles in his forearms flexing beneath the fabric of his shirt.
“Thanks,” I murmur, bringing the glass to my lips. The wine is soft yet bold on my tongue. I can feel the warmth spreading from my chest, working its magic to loosen my limbs, relax my body.
“Come here.” Grayson’s voice is low, commanding without being forceful. He’s different from Conrad in that way. He makes me feel as if I have a choice.
He reaches out, his hand finding the small of my back, and guides me toward him. His touch is electric, sparking fires in places I didn’t know could burn.
Before I’m fully aware of what’s happening, he’s sitting on the couch and I’m on his lap, straddling him, my dress a pool of silk around us. His thighs are firm under mine, and I’m acutely aware of the strength in his body.
“Comfortable?” he teases, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes my pulse race even faster.
“Very,” I say, though it’s only half-true. Comfort isn’t really what I’m feeling right now.
“Good.” Grayson’s hand rests on my hip, thumb rubbing small circles through the fabric of my dress. It’s a simple touch, but charged with so much promise that my breath hitches.
We talk, or rather, he does, telling me about his day in a way that feels intimate despite the mundane details. The timbre of his voice wraps around me, each word a caress that has my body leaning into him, craving more contact.
“Tell me something,” he says after a while, his gaze locked on mine. “Have you ever done anything reckless? Something that made you feel alive?”
