Page 72 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“I won’t,” I warn her. “I’m not Owen. I’m not nice. If you stay here… if you let me do this… I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
“Good,” she says.
She stands on her tiptoes. She wraps her arms around my neck.
My hands clench at my sides. I am vibrating with the effort not to touch her. It’s a physical pain, like a cramp seizing a muscle.
“Ruin me,” she whispers against my mouth.
I snap.
I crash my mouth down on hers.
The kiss is a collision. It’s weeks of rage and lust and denial exploding all at once. I devour her. I bite her lip, forcing it open, and sweep my tongue inside, claiming her mouth like it’s my territory.
She moans, a desperate, needy sound that vibrates in my chest. She presses closer, grinding her hips against my cock.
I groan, grabbing her ass and lifting her up. She wraps her legs around my waist instantly.
I carry her to the desk. My desk. The black marble slab where I sign million-dollar contracts.
I sweep my arm across the surface. Papers, pens, my laptop—everything goes flying. It crashes to the floor with a satisfying clatter.
I slam her down. The edge of the black marble bites into her bare thighs.
“Ethan,” she gasps, her eyes wide.
“Tell me to stop,” I warn her. “Tell me now, or I’m taking you.”
“Take me.”
I step between her legs, pushing her dress up to her waist. She’s wearing black lace panties.
I rip them.
The sound of ripping fabric is loud in the quiet room. Tessa cries out, half in shock, half in arousal.
“You ripped them,” she breathes.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” I rasp. “I’ll buy you a thousand pairs.”
I unbuckle my belt, shoving my trousers down. I’m hard, painfully hard, pulsing with a need that feels like violence.
I grab a condom from my wallet—I’ve carried it for weeks, like a talisman, hoping for this moment and dreading it at the same time. I sheath myself with shaking hands.
I look at her.
She is sprawled on my desk, her hair fanned out on the black marble, her dress hiked up, her legs spread for me.
She looks like a sacrifice. She looks like a queen.
“Tell me who I am,” I demand.
“Ethan,” she pants.
“Who am I?”
“My boss,” she whispers.
