Page 121 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“We need to reinforce the bond,” Ethan says, his voice dropping an octave.
He moves behind her, pulling her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her waist, locking her in. “We need to make sure you don’t panic when you walk out that door.”
“I’m not panicking,” she breathlessly lies, her head falling back against Ethan’s shoulder.
“You are,” I say. “Your cortisol levels are elevated. Your heart rate is one hundred and ten. You require stabilization.”
I move to the foot of the bed. I take her ankles in my hands, my thumbs pressing into the pulse points there.
“Let us regulate you,” I say.
She looks at me. Her eyes are dark, blown wide with uncertainty.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Regulate me.”
I lean down. I press a kiss to the inside of her knee. Then another, higher up her thigh.
“Owen,” I say. “Keep her distracted.”
Owen nods. He leans over her, capturing her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. He feeds her breath. He hums against her lips, the vibration traveling down her throat.
Ethan holds her steady, his large hands rubbing soothing circles over her stomach, grounding her against his solid heat.
I settle between her legs. I push her thighs apart and drag my tongue right over her clit.
She gasps, her hips bucking slightly, but Ethan holds her firm.
“Easy,” Ethan murmurs into her ear. “We’ve got you. Just breathe.”
I work slowly. I learn the rhythm of her breathing. I taste the salt on her skin. I listen to the way her breath catches when I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves there.
She climaxes in a slow, melting release. She shudders, crying out my name, then Owen’s, then Ethan’s. She goes limp against Ethan’s chest, her hand tangling in Owen’s hair.
The tension leaves the room. The panic is gone, replaced by a warm, heavy contentment.
She lies amidst the tangle of sheets, her chest heaving, her eyes half-closed and misty.
“Better?” Owen whispers, kissing her nose.
“Much,” she murmurs, a lazy, drugged smile spreading across her face. “I think… I think I can face the day now.”
“Good,” Ethan says. He presses a kiss to her temple and squeezes her one last time before letting go. “Get up. We’re going to be late.”
The transition from lovers to The unit is jarring.
It’s like switching operating systems mid-process. One moment, we’re naked, tangled, and vulnerable. Next, we’re putting on the armor.
Ethan’s the first to transform. He showers quickly, emerging with a towel wrapped around his waist. He finds his suit trousers—wrinkled, but salvageable—and pulls them on. He finds his shirt and straps on his watch. With every item of clothing, the softness disappears. The jaw tightens. The posture straightens. The Commander returns.
Owen is always harder to contain. He’s whistling as he hunts for his socks. He kisses Tessa on the cheek while she’s brushing her teeth. He smacks my ass as I’m pulling on my jeans.
“Focus, Owen,” I say, buttoning my shirt.
“I am focused,” he grins. “I’m focused on how good she looked this morning.”
“Zip it up, Owen,” Ethan orders from the living room. “We’re leaving in five minutes. You need to be in ‘Founder Mode’ by the time we hit the lobby.”
“You’re no fun,” Owen mutters, but he straightens his tie. The playfulness vanishes from his eyes, replaced by the sharp, ruthless focus he usually reserves for hostile boardrooms.
