Chapter Two
Sophia
Brett’s mouth was on mine. He was kissing me in a way that told me he no longer saw me as Mark’s annoying little sister, the tag-along baby with a slight lisp that only disappeared when I reached high school.
No. This was a real kiss. The kind a man gave a woman that he wanted more than anything else. His erection pressed hot into my stomach, and he had me caged between his muscular arms. The very same arms that had been haunting my dreams since I was sixteen and saw them wrapped around some cheerleader in my parents’ pool.
Jealously had burnt through my body, an ugly green monster that wanted to rip her out of those arms and feel them around my waist instead.
But I didn’t have to be jealous anymore, because now, I was the one in his arms. I was the one enveloped by his delicious, athletic build. His lips pressed to my neck, and his hand worked its way under the tight leather skirt I’d worn in the hopes of him finally realizing that I wasn’t just Mark’s little sister or his lifelong friend.
And it had worked.
His hand kept working its way up until he was cupping my mound over my drenched panties. He groaned when he felt my wet, aching heat. “Christ, Soph. You’re so fucking wet for me. Why didn’t I see it before?”
“All that matters is that you know now,” I moaned, my hands threading into the thick, espresso-colored strands of his perfectly messy hair that sometimes fell over his eyes when he laughed.
When I tugged at it, his breathing hitched, and when I rolled my hips against his, he let out a low hiss.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
His eyes, gray like smoke with tones of dark blue, almost like a cloud floating in the sky just before dusk, locked on mine as he waited for my answer. The hunger in them begged for me say yes.
So, I gave him what he wanted and nodded once. “Let’s get out of here.”
A slow, sexy grin curled on his full lips, causing one of his cheeks to dent where his dimples sat. Those dimples were going to be the death of me one day. I was sure of it.
As a young boy, the dimples had been cute, hinting at the playful troublemaker that he could be. As a man, they were anything but boyish or cute. They were rugged, manly, and they didn’t come out to play nearly often enough anymore.
The scene changed quickly, and we were in Brett’s bedroom. I’d only been in there once, shortly after he’d bought his new place and was giving me a tour of the house. But each detail of it was perfectly etched into my brain.
I was naked on his king-sized bed, my hands grasping at his smooth, white sheets. Lake Michigan winked at me from beyond his bedroom windows. A full moon hung in the sky, reflected in the small ripples that broke the surface of the lake from the breeze outside.
Brett’s bed had a heavy, dark wooden frame that knocked lightly into wall each time that he thrust into me, his rock-hard length sliding into me over and over with a perfect rhythm that never broke. Tension was already knotting in my lower stomach, and I knew the orgasm he was building inside me would be nothing like the mediocre ones I gave myself every so often.
He was whispering into my ear. Dirty things and sweet things, telling me how good I felt around his cock and how I was the most beautiful girl in the world, just like he had that night back in high school. But this time, he wasn’t drunk.
He told me now that he’d wanted me for as long as I’d wanted him. His words and his body took me higher and higher. The muscles in his back bunched under my palms when he moved, and his thighs quivered when mine started shaking.
When he reached down between us, his fingers found my clit, and I cried out.
Close. So damn close. My neck arched into the pillow, and Brett caught my mouth for another searing hot kiss, owning every part of me.
My sex clamped down on his dick, and then, just when I was about to come, a loud moan escaped.
I started awake at the sound of it.
I blinked wildly against the beams of early morning sunlight that were wreaking havoc on my eyes and causing my head to pound from the aftereffects of the enormous amounts of tequila I’d consumed hours before. The crushing weight of disappointment crashed into me when I realized I was alone.
It was nothing but a dream. A seriously hot dream that left me covered in a fine layer of sweat and with an intense ache between my legs. Groaning into my purple comforter, I took a few deep breaths, willing my body to calm down and my mind to release me from the last vestiges of the dream that it still clung to.
The single stuffed animal that I’d brought with me when I moved out of my parents’ house, a pink elephant named Rosie, silently judged me from the built-in reading nook in my bay window. Brett had won her for me at a fair when we were kids, and I couldn’t bear leaving her behind.
But now I wished that I had.
“Butt out,” I whispered to her, then covered my head with a sheet, hiding away from the inanimate object that was witnessing my moment of weakness.
Weakness or not, however, the dream kept replaying in my mind, and my body begged me for some kind of relief. It wouldn’t be anything near what “dream Brett” had been building and tending to with such care, but I still needed it. Badly.
My hand skated down my side, pushing underneath the elastic waistband of my panties. I must’ve lost my pajama bottoms somewhere during my dream, but I’d find them later. I had much more pressing business to attend to.
With that hand, my fingers slipped between my moist folds, already eliciting a soft moan. My other went to cup my breast, teasing my hardened nipple and squeezing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.
The little squeeze shot like a lightning bolt to my clit, ramping up the throbbing right back to where it’d been when I woke up. The fingers between my folds moved with sure strokes through the velvety wetness, dipping into my pussy on the downstroke and lightly hitting my sensitive button on the way up.
Teasing myself for a while, I pinched my nipples and started to draw lazy circles around my clit, only to stop when the need to tighten them took hold. When I finally couldn’t stand it anymore, my hand started moving faster, stroking myself with purpose as I imagined that it was Brett’s hand between my legs.
And it was Brett’s fingers moving in a frenzy and winding the pressure in my core tighter and tighter. When I closed my eyes, it was Brett that I saw. The way he’d looked at me in that dream, like he wanted to devour and cherish me, all at the same time.
It was that look, the imaginary one where I was driving him insane with need, that finally did me in. Pleasure spread from my center to my extremities as my orgasm ripped through me in waves of bliss so consuming that I had to stifle my moans into my pillow as I rode out the storm. My hips bucked against my hand, and I pressed down harder, my body awash with pleasure like I couldn’t remember it feeling before.
Afterward, I lay there for a few minutes, my body tingling from one of the best self-induced orgasms I’d ever had. Who was I kidding? They’d all been self-induced. The couple of guys that I had fooled around with didn’t know the first thing about pleasuring a woman, not in the way that I knew Brett did.
Even back in high school, his prowess had been the stuff of legends.
Despite the hurt it caused, I couldn’t help but listen when the girls started talking about him in whispered conversations in starkly lit bathrooms. I also hadn’t missed the heated looks his ex-girlfriends shot him while we were out at a bar or having a barbecue in his backyard. Neither had I missed how flushed and starry eyed they were after disappearing with him for a while.
I knew that it annoyed Mark that Brett still invited me to hang out with them from time to time, just like it had annoyed him when we were kids, but Brett had always been kind to me. He often invited me to play with them, though as adults, I regrettably didn’t see enough of him.
Mark and I weren’t that close. Not then, and certainly not now. We were only two years and nine months apart, so we butted heads often. But I loved my brother, and I knew that he loved me, too.
The minute I’d decided to move out of our parents’ house, Mark had insisted that I should move into his apartment with him. He’d always been overprotective and apparently felt that I would safer living with him for the time being.
It had been four years since I’d moved in with him, and whenever I made a squeak about getting my own place, he’d shut me down. Often, he looked to Brett for backup, citing that the city was filled with men that were always looking for a good time and that he didn’t want to see me get hurt.
Whenever I tried to point out that neither Brett nor Mark seemed to have a problem with having a good time when they were on the receiving end of said good time, I got glowered at and told that was exactly why he knew it was better for me to stay safe and away from guys like them.
The chauvinism of his stance pissed me off, but I knew that it came from a good place. Besides, I actually kind of liked living with my brother. For one thing, he cooked a mean breakfast, like the pancakes I was starting to smell wafting in from underneath my bedroom door.
Hopping out of bed, I adjusted my pajama top so that it covered me completely again and found my bottoms hidden in the sheets. I brushed my hair and my teeth in my en suite bathroom and went to face the day.
And Brett, apparently.
As soon as I cracked my bedroom door open, there was a loud knock at the front door, followed by Mark padding down the hall and the sound of their voices making small talk as they headed back to the kitchen.
I stood rooted in my spot, mortified at the memory of what I’d been doing while imagining the owner of that voice only minutes earlier. I was about to duck back into my room, and I briefly considered the viability of hiding out in it for the rest of my life when Mark stuck his head around the corner.
“Oh good, you’re up. I was just coming to wake you. Pancakes are nearly done, so come on. Chop chop.”
My stomach sank as my plan to become a hermit in my own bedroom disappeared like mist under the sun. Dang it.
But I had to suck it up. If I didn’t go to the kitchen, they’d both know that something was up with me. I loved Mark’s pancakes, and it wasn’t exactly a secret. The last thing I needed was either of them prying into why I was skipping out on one of my favorite breakfasts. They’d see straight through me. So, with a deep breath, I womaned up and tried to get over my embarrassment.
When I entered the kitchen, Brett was leaning against the island, looking positively mouthwatering in a light blue henley that accentuated the undertone of his eyes and dark blue jeans that hung off his hips just so.
His head turned when he heard me, and his smoky eyes lit up with amusement as his lips twitched into a smile. “There you are, party girl. How’s the head this morning?”
“Fine,” I said, not quite able to meet his eyes. The same ones that had been staring at me, all hot and bothered, in my dream and had pushed me over the edge soon after.
“Hey.” A small frown marred his perfect features. “You sure you’re okay? I was just joking about the party girl thing.”
I nodded and tried my best to paste a smile onto my face. When in truth, I was cringing on the inside. I was beyond embarrassed by what I’d just done and, more specifically, by who I’d been thinking about while I’d been doing it.