Page 195 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“Then we’ll visit,” I say. “I’ll run a background check on the town. And I’ll introduce myself to the backhoe. I think we’ll get along.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For being the calm one. Ethan’s a storm—Owen’s just Owen. But you… you’re the anchor.”
“I’m the architect,” I correct her softly. “I build the structures keeping us standing.”
I look at her. She’s wearing one of Owen’s hoodies, three sizes too big, and nothing else. Her legs are bare and smooth.
My gaze drops to the hem of the hoodie.
“Are you wearing undergarments?” I ask.
She bites her lip, a flush rising on her cheeks. “No. Nothing fits right now. My waistband was digging in.”
My lungs seize up. The physical shift hits me fast and hard.
“That saves time,” I say, my voice dropping.
I slide my hands up her thighs, under the warm cotton of the hoodie. Her skin is hot. Soft. I find the curve of her waist, my thumbs brushing the swell of her hips.
“Asher,” she breathes, her head tilting back.
“I need to check your progress,” I murmur, stepping closer until I’m pressed against the counter, trapping her. “I need to see what he did to you.”
“You checked my vitals this morning,” she teases breathlessly.
“Internal inspection,” I clarify.
I kiss her, mapping the shape of her mouth with mine, exploring the heat. I bite her lower lip, applying just enough pressure todrag a soft moan from her throat. She opens for me instantly, her tongue sliding against mine. She tastes like ginger tea.
My hands move higher, finding her bare breasts under the hoodie. They’re noticeably heavier, changed by the pregnancy. It’s fascinating and incredibly erotic.
I roll her nipples between my thumbs. They bead instantly against my palms.
“Sensitive,” I note.
“Too sensitive,” she gasps, arching into my touch. “It hurts. But good hurt.”
“Let’s test that threshold.”
I push the hoodie up, bunching it under her arms. Her skin flushes under my gaze. The faint blue veins beneath her breasts. The newly forming curve of her lower belly.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
I lean down and pull one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard.
She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair, gripping my scalp. “Asher… oh god.”
I work her over, my tongue swirling and teasing, listening to the rapid, desperate hitch of her breathing. I move to the other breast, biting the peak until she squirms.
“Asher, now,” she begs, her hips bucking against my belt. “Don’t make me wait.”
“Where?” I ask, looking up. My glasses slide down my nose. I push them back up.
“Everywhere,” she whines. “Inside.”
I stand up straight. I look her in the eye.
“Spread your legs,” I command softly.
