It’s not only Bronte’s eyes that are lighter, but that his hair is darker. The stubble along his jawline is thicker; there’s a hardness in his cheekbones that makes Bobby’s look like a baby’s ass.
Bobby is a boy.
Bronte is a man who has me on the verge of coming in the middle of a gothic library with my pussy clenching tightly around his fingers.
“I have something I want for Christmas,” Bronte claims softly in my ear, not coming close to penetrating through my lust-filled daze. “Can I tell you what it is?”
I slowly bob my head; words not something I’m capable of at the moment.
“I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock. I want to see you suck me with those honeyed eyes up and waiting for my cum.”
My cunt seizes around his digits, and the bastard smiles victoriously like he had already won what he wanted before I had a minute to verbally answer.
“I knew you were made for me,” he tacks on confidently. “Think about it. I’ll be impatiently waiting for your answer, and you still have two days.”
I want to say yes because seriously fuck Bobby.
God only knows what he did behind my back the whole two years we were together, and I don’t want to know.
I already saw and heard enough.
Bobby doesn’t deserve my empathy or guilt for messing around with his brother. If there were no Jolene, no using me for leverage or for his image, I’d be screaming at the top of my lungs.
But Bronte…as much as I have a hard time digesting it, he makes me feel as though I’m worth something.
Not money.
Not to save face.
Not as a stand-in wife or someone to use.
As his wife.
A wife, he paid a million dollars to her non-profit to gain resources that will make my seniors’ lives easier, better, and more enjoyable.
Someone he just wants to spend time with.
To give him a chance.
The chance he was supposed to have in the first place.
“I’m going to cover your mouth,” Bronte mutters, his deep voice this piercing depth that seeps in my veins and calms me. “Because you’re going to come in about three minutes.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. His large hand wraps around my lips when his head drops, and his own begins lapsing at my neck again.
His pace quickens, and so does his thumb along my clit.
He works me like it’s his favorite thing to do. Something he’s studied and spent time on. Something precious and worthy of having this private, intimate moment with.
My body grows rigid from the buildup of my release that threatens to break free at any moment.
I watch Bronte kiss and gently suck on my neck. How attentive and focused he is on making me break apart for him.
It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever done.
That I’ve ever seen.
An objectively attractive as hell guy is trying his damnedest to make me come, and I’m surrounded by my dream settings.
