Page 125 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
I turn her around. She gasps as I take her by the waist and whirl her to face the mirror above the sink. Her hands fly to the marble counter. I step in behind her, close enough that she feels all of me against her back.
Her eyes meet mine in the reflection.
“Watch,” I say.
Her throat moves as she swallows. “What?”
“Your face.”
I slide both hands up her body, over her ribs, to her breasts. The red dress is expensive, structured, made to keep her elegant. I hate it suddenly. I want it off her. Torn if necessary.
Instead, I pull the neckline down just enough to bare her tits.
Her breath breaks.
In the mirror, I watch her watch herself. The shock in her eyes. The flush on her cheeks. The hard peaks of her nipples in the cool air. I cup both breasts in my hands, squeezing slowly, thumbs dragging over her nipples. Her lips part around a sound she tries to swallow.
“Don’t go quiet,” I say.
Her eyes flick to mine in the mirror. “Someone could hear.”
“Then they will learn to leave.”
I lower my mouth to her neck again, kissing and biting as my hands work her breasts. She trembles against me, but she doesn’t move away. Her hips press back into me, just once, almost helplessly. It sends heat straight through my blood.
I release one breast and slide my hand down her stomach, over the silk, toward the slit in her dress. Her thighs tense.
“Say stop,” I tell her.
She grips the edge of the sink harder. Her eyes stay on mine. “No.”
That single word is enough.
I push my hand under the dress. Her skin is hot, smooth, her thigh tight under my palm. I move higher, slowly now, because I want to watch every second of her losing control.
She tries to close her legs. I put my knee between them and push them apart.
Her breath comes fast.
I find the edge of her underwear. Silk. Already damp.
My jaw tightens. “You’re soaked,” I say.
She closes her eyes.
I stop moving. “Open them.”
Her lashes lift slowly. I hold her gaze in the mirror as I slip my fingers beneath the fabric and touch her directly. She shudders so hard her elbows almost bend.
I catch her with one arm around her waist, holding her upright against me, while my fingers slide through all that wet heat. “Look at you,” I say against her ear.
Her face twists with embarrassment and pleasure. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
My fingers find her clit, and she gasps. I rub slowly at first, circling the swollen little point until her hips start moving despite her grip on the sink. Her body is honest even when her mouth is stubborn. Every stroke makes her wetter. Every small sound she gives me makes my cock throb harder against her ass.
“You’re not the meek deer I thought you were,” I murmur.
