Page 89 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
This is different from the last time. Last time, I stopped. Last time, I calculated the risks. Tonight, I am ignoring the data.
I press my lips to the hollow of her throat. I taste the bitterness of concealer.
Beneath it, the skin is slightly raised. A mark. The logic snaps into place instantly: Ethan.
I kiss her neck anyway, inhaling her scent. It is intoxicating.
“Bedroom,” I rasp.
“Yes,” she breathes.
She leads me down the short hall. Her bedroom is small. A double bed with white sheets. A nightstand stacked with books.
She turns to face me. She reaches for the buttons of her blouse.
“Let me,” I say.
I push her hands away.
I want to see the mechanics of it. I want to uncover her layer by layer.
I undo the buttons, one by one. I peel the silk from her shoulders. I slide the skirt down her hips.
She is wearing simple white cotton underwear.
“Turn around,” I command softly.
She hesitates, then turns.
I look at her back. I trace the line of her spine with my finger. I see the faint yellowing of a bruise on her hip.
“Who did this?” I ask, touching it.
“Ethan,” she whispers. “On the desk.”
A spike of possessiveness hits me. Ethan marked her. He claimed her with force. He used his anger to brand her.
I won’t use force. I will use precision.
I kneel behind her. I kiss the bruise.
“He was rough,” I murmur against her skin.
“Yes.”
“I won’t be rough,” I promise. “I’m going to be thorough.”
I pull her panties down. I run my hands up the backs of her thighs, feeling the muscles tremble. I kiss the back of her knee. Then the inside of her thigh.
“Asher,” she gasps, her knees buckling.
I take her to the bed. “I’ve got you.”
I kneel between her legs.
“Maintain eye contact,” I murmur, my hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider.
She opens her eyes, her chest heaving.
