Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I grumbled at myself, rolling over and counting backward from five hundred until my mind was bored enough to finally just pass out.
The problem was, I had dreams of him. I woke up still aching.
I climbed out of bed and made my way into the kitchen, ready to make us each some coffee before getting started on breakfast.
Maybe cooking would help focus me. Or at least give me a few minutes of a break from my desire.
The problem was that I made his coffee, then brought it over toward the couch when I saw him stirring.
And my delicate pink blanket had fallen off the side, half-wedged under the back cushions. Leaving him fully on display.
I swear his pants had slipped down lower in his sleep.
And with the early golden light spilling in through the many windows, even the dark material was doing nothing to hide the way his hardness was straining against the material.
I don’t remember putting his mug down, but I must have at some point while my gaze had been raking over him.
I could feel Nico’s gaze on me. And I knew there was no way he didn’t see my desire. I could feel it in my heavy eyelids, in the flush across my cheeks and chest, in my quick, shallow breathing.
Against the material, his cock twitched.
And there was no stopping the little whimper that escaped me in response.
When he spoke, his voice was rough from sleep.
“You can touch me if you want.”
I think I short-circuited.
That was the only explanation for how my hand lifted, reached out, then slid over to cover him through his pants.
Nico’s breath hitched, and his hips bucked slightly against my touch.
Spurred on by his reaction—and my own curiosity—my fingers curled around his thickness and stroked him once. Twice. Three times.
Another little sound escaped me.
This time, it had Nico folding up.
The movement made my hand fall away from his cock, but his hand rose instead, sinking into my hip.
Coaxing, but waiting, giving me the chance to make my own decision.
The second I stepped closer, he was reaching with both his hands, pulling me down until I was straddling him.
There was no hesitation in dropping my hips down on his lap.
Nico’s breath hitched as a soft moan escaped me when his hard length pressed against the barely-there material of my shorts and panties.
His hands slid to my ass, sinking in, using it to rock me against him again.
But I didn’t need the assistance. My own hips were already rocking, rubbing against his hard length.
My head fell back on a moan. And Nico’s face was right there, his lips pressing into my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
I’d just done another delicious little rock against the thick need pressed against me when there was a staccato rapping on the door.
I jerked up hard, losing the feel of him.
Nico’s head pressed forward, resting his face between my breasts for just a second, taking a deep breath.
“That’s Zeno.”
“Your brother?” I gasped, jumping off his lap, my nerves jittery, frazzled. The desire was still a vice grip in my core, aching and unfulfilled. I could still feel the scratch of Nico’s scruff on my neck.
A part of me wanted to say screw it to anyone on the other side of the door, walk back there, strip out of my bottoms, climb on his lap, and let him slip deep inside me. Then ride him until we were both panting, moaning, and climaxing together, not caring about who might be overhearing.
I glanced back just in time to see Nico tucking his hardness upward to discreetly hide his erection in his waistband before climbing off the couch.
Just the sight of that had me practically shaking with need.
“I brought what you asked for,” Zeno called through the door. “And I’m expecting some of that banana bread coffee you mentioned.”
Glad for something to do, I walked back into the kitchen to start another cup as Nico opened the door.
And in walked a guy who, at a base level, looked a lot like his big brother. They were both tall, both fit, both dark-haired, and had amazing bone structure.
But unlike Nico, Zeno’s hair was long. The skin peeking out of his neck, down his arms, and below his knees was all covered in tattoos. He had an eyebrow ring and painted nails. And, inexplicably, he was wearing shorts printed with rubber duckies riding pink flamingo pool floats and a gray shirt with a tie printed down the front. On said tie? Sharks.
He had a large backpack slung over one shoulder and a garment bag over his arm.
He handed the bag to his brother (who was likely glad for something to hide behind) and made a beeline for me.
“I hear you are the keeper of the banana bread coffee,” he said as a greeting.
My lips curved up, charmed despite his terrible timing.