Page 48 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
I groan, pulling the sheet up to my chin. “Oh god. Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I never joke about noise complaints.”
He reaches out, his large, warm hand cupping my cheek. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. The playfulness in his eyes dims, replaced by something darker. Something intense.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
“I’m…” I pause. Am I okay? My career is hanging by a thread. My friendship with Harper is currently a lie of omission. And I am naked in the bed of one-third of the Phantom Trio. “I should be freaking out.”
“But?”
“But I’m not.”
“Good.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Because you have nothing to freak out about. I told you. I’ve got you.”
“You have me,” I repeat.
“I do.”
His hand slides down from my cheek to my neck, his thumb resting on the pulse point there. He traces the line of my throat, down to my collarbone, and then lower, slipping beneath the sheet I’m clutching.
His fingers brush my nipple.
My body betrays me instantly, arching into his touch.
“Owen,” I whisper. “We can’t. I have to go. I need to call an Uber.”
“I’ll drive you later,” he murmurs, his eyes tracking the movement of his hand under the fabric. “Right now, I need to check on something.”
“Check on what?”
“My work,” he says. “I need to make sure I did the job thoroughly.”
He yanks the sheet down.
The cool air hits my skin, followed immediately by the heat of his gaze. He looks at me like I’m a feast. He looks at the bruises beginning to form on my hips from his grip. He looks at the bite mark on my neck.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
He moves over me, his body heavy and solid, settling between my legs. I feel him against my thigh. He’s hard. Rock hard.
“Again?” I gasp. “Owen, it’s morning.”
“Morning wood,” he says against my lips. “It’s just the morning effect. Don’t overthink it.”
He kisses me, not like the desperate kiss of last night. This is slow. Deep. Possessive. He tastes of salt and warm morning breath, cut by a sharp hit of mint. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming it, tangling with mine in a rhythm that mimics what he’s about to do to the rest of me.
My hands slide up his chest, gripping his shoulders. His skin is hot.
He breaks the kiss, dragging his open mouth down my jaw, down my throat. He lingers on the bite mark he left, soothing it with his tongue before gently scraping his teeth over it again.
“You taste so good,” he groans, the vibration rumbling against my skin. “Better than the champagne.”
He moves lower. He kisses the slope of my breast, swirling his tongue around the nipple until it hardens into a painful, sensitive peak. Then he takes it into his mouth, sucking hard.
I cry out, my hips bucking up off the mattress.
“Yes?” he asks, glancing up at me, his eyes dark with lust.
