Page 8 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
Ethan plants his feet, looking like he’d rather undergo a root canal.
“Tonight you must dance,” Harper insists, grabbing Ethan’s hand. “Come on. Everyone to the floor.”
She pulls us into the crush of bodies. The DJ has switched to something slow and stripped, a beat that grinds against my bones. We get separated in the crowd immediately. Harper spins away to dance with a college friend, ditching us in the middle of the chaos.
Leaving us with Tessa.
The moment she’s gone, the atmosphere changes. The politeness evaporates. I step closer, invading Tessa’s space. I can’t help myself. The impulse wins.
“Red. Bold choice,” I grin, letting my gaze do a slow, deliberate sweep of her body.
She shifts her weight, looking everywhere but at me. “It was the only clean thing I had.”
It’s such a bad lie I almost laugh.
“Is that so?” Ethan’s voice is a low rumble. He takes a step closer. “Because I seem to recall there was a safer option.”
Tessa swallows hard. She looks trapped. “I like to live dangerously.”
“Clearly,” Asher murmurs, his eyes fixed on the spaghetti strap on her shoulder like he wants to snap it with his teeth.
The floor is packed. A wall of people presses in on us, forcing the circle to collapse. I feel a body bump into me, and I stumble forward, my chest brushing against Tessa’s shoulder. Her scent hits me instantly; it’s intoxicating.
“Sorry,” she gasps, trying to step back.
But there’s nowhere to go. She bumps into Asher.
Asher’s hands come up automatically, gripping her bare waist to steady her. His fingers splay over her dress, his skin stark against the crimson. He holds her there and doesn’t let go, his thumbs pressing into the curve of her hip bone.
Tessa goes still, her breath stuttering. She looks up at him, her lips parted. Asher stares down at her. The code is gone. The firewalls are gone. He is only looking at her mouth.
“Too crowded in here,” he murmurs. It sounds like an excuse to keep his hands on her skin.
“Yeah,” Tessa breathes.
The floor is a mess of flailing limbs. A guy stumbles into her side, reeking of gin and slopping a dark drink down the back of his own sleeve. He’s uncoordinated, a second away from bowling her over.
Ethan moves.
It’s instinct. Violent, protective instinct. He steps in, placing himself between Tessa and the crowd, effectively caging her against us. He puts a hand on the small of her back—skin on skin—and pulls her backward, flush against his chest.
There’s nowhere for her to go. Her back hits the solid wall of Ethan’s suit, while Asher stands immovable in front, his handsstill anchored to her hips. I’m close enough to feel the heat coming off all of them. We’re a single, sweating knot of silk and suit jackets and tension.
Tessa gasps, her hands landing on his chest to steady herself. She’s staring up at him, her eyes wide.
Ethan is looking down at her, his face a mask of dark intensity. His hand is large, hot, and possessive on her lower back. He isn’t dancing. He’s claiming space. He’s daring anyone else to touch her.
“You really are trouble,” Ethan murmurs, his mouth inches from her ear. “Wearing this.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually show,” she whispers.
“We’re everywhere,” I say, leaning in close on her other side. I brush a strand of hair off her shoulder, my knuckles grazing the pulse in her throat. It’s hammering. “You can’t hide from us, Tess.”
She jerks. A visible tremor ripples through the silk.
For a second, the music fades. It’s just us. The heat of her body, the scent of her skin, the way she looks at us—terrified and desperate and wanting.
“Okay, break it up!” Harper’s voice cuts through the haze.
