Page 210 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
I wait.
Three seconds later, the dots appear.
Ethan: Yes.
Owen: Both. Wear one, bring the other.
Asher: Red increases heart rate by 12%. Black suggests submission. The variable depends on the desired outcome. Come downstairs.
I smile.
I choose the Red.
I slip it on. The silk feels cool against my skin. I pull a sheer silk robe over it, leaving it open just enough to tease. I leave my hair damp, wild. I dab perfume behind my ears—the scent they love. Jasmine and dark honey.
I walk out of the bedroom. The house is quiet now. The twins are asleep. The nanny is in the guest wing monitoring the cameras.
I walk down the grand staircase. The lights are dimmed.
They’re waiting for me in the library.
It’s a masculine room—dark wood, leather furniture, walls lined with books. A fire is crackling in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows.
Ethan’s in the wingback chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’s changed out of his jeans into dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. Asher’s standing by the fireplace, leaning his arm on the mantel, wearing gray trousers and a fitted black t-shirt hugging his chest. Owen’s sitting on the leather sofa, legs spread, elbows on his knees. He’s watching the door.
When I walk in, three pairs of eyes lock onto me.
The dynamic in the room shifts instantly. The casual posture vanishes, replaced by pure, heavy focus.
“Red,” Ethan says, his voice a low rumble. He sets his glass down. “Good choice.”
“Show us,” Owen says.
I walk into the room. The silk robe flutters as I move, giving them flashes of the crimson lace and the pale skin of my thighs.
I stop in the center of the rug.
“The twins?” I ask.
“They’re out cold,” Asher says, his voice thick with need. “We have the whole night.”
“And what are we going to do with it?” I ask, letting the robe slide off my shoulders. It pools on the floor.
Owen groans, his eyes tracking the lace barely covering my breasts. “God, Tess. You get more beautiful every year. It’s not fair.”
“Come here,” Ethan commands, his tone stripping away any hesitation.
I walk to him. He reaches out, grabs my hips, and drags me tight against his thighs. He looks up at me, his eyes tracking every inch of exposed skin.
“You asked which one guarantees you get laid,” Ethan murmurs, running his hands up my bare thighs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “The answer is anything. Or nothing. You walk into a room, Tessa, and we’re hard.”
“Prove it,” I challenge him.
Asher moves first.
“Tactical approach,” Asher says, coming up behind me.
I feel his chest press against my back. His arms wrap around me, crossing over my chest, his hands cupping my breasts over the red lace. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
