That’s all it takes before his restraint snaps and he turns feral. He dips his head, gripping my thighs possessively as he indulges. His tongue flicks across my clit before he releases my thigh to circle my entrance with his fingers. He slides two thick digits knuckle-deep, eliciting a heady moan from me. Curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture, he expertly rubs the precise spot I crave, over and over as I mewl above him.
He increases his pace, and his mouth latches onto my clit, sucking as he continues to stroke me. I rock my hips back and forth, riding his face. I throw one hand behind me, gripping the counter tightly to support myself; the other instinctively tangles in his hair. He inserts a third finger, stretching and filling me more, and I can’t hold off any longer. Throwing my head back, I squeeze my eyes closed, releasing a muffled cry of ecstasy as my release courses through me.
Groaning, Lucas slows his pace, softly moving his fingers inside me as I ride out the wave. Releasing me, we lock eyes,cheeks flushed, our chests rising up and falling with breathless pants.
Lucas delicately presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh before readjusting my soaked thong and smoothing my dress. I run my hands down the soft fabric, ensuring no creases.
“I love seeing you come undone for me, baby,” he says, rising to his full height.
A sudden knock on the door startles us.
“Luc? Mum sent me to check on you. Is everything okay? Have you seen April?”
Oh God. I recognise the gruff voice immediately—James.
Lucas and I exchange a glance, panic flickering in my widened eyes. He shrugs his shoulders, adjusting his jacket, and I mouth, “Shit.”
Swiping the back of his hand over his wet mouth to remove the glistening evidence of my orgasm, he turns towards the door.
“James? Is that you? Give me a second.”
Lucas shoots me a nod before he clears his throat and reaches for the knob, pulling the door open. James pauses in surprise, leaning one arm into the frame as he eyes me, standing sheepishly beside his brother. He’s wearing a band T-shirt under his distressed leather jacket; his sandy blond waves fall perfectly out of place, shorter on the sides and longer on top, giving him a rugged look. He’s donning his usual scuffed, black combat boots. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a black guitar pick, and brings it to his mouth to nibble on as he considers us with an arrogant, knowing smirk.
Was he always this handsome?
I cast my eyes downwards, feeling sheepish under his scrutinizing gaze.
Where Lucas is soft and clean-shaven, James has sharp edges and prominent cheekbones, his jaw dusted with stubble and a dimple in his left cheek. Seeing the two of them standingside by side is striking. Lucas has an imposing presence, but James, just an inch shorter at six four, matches him in intensity.
Yes, Caroline birthed two monsters.
Her poor, poor vagina.
“You couldn’t wait until the party ended?” James asks, his tone dry.
“You couldn’t put on a suit?”
James blows out a breath. “Give me a break, Luc. I came straight from practice. This is what I’m comfortable in. We have that audition coming up and I lost track of time, so I came straight here. Suits areyourthing, not mine.”
“Whatever, the Golden Child does what he wants. Always has.”
Lucas has always referred to James as the Golden Child, and I’ve never understood why. Despite their lack of closeness, they’ve managed to remain relatively amicable, given their differences.
I give him a small, awkward wave. “Hey, James.”
His brows crease slightly. “Hey, April.”
As if drawn to each other, our eyes lock. My breath catches as I take in the vibrant green. His eyes are captivating, almost unreal—flecks of gold encircle his pupils, making them even more mesmerising.
There’s curiosity in his stare, a flicker of amusement too, and just the barest hint of a smile. The air between us crackles, and my pulse quickens.
There’s no denying what just happened between Lucas and me—no pretending we’re innocent. The realisation makes my cheeks burn hotter with the shame of being caught by my fiancé’s younger brother.
After a beat, James awkwardly looks away, his eyes skimming everything but me.
What was that?
Removing the pick from his mouth, he simply says, “Your mascara’s smudged,” before stepping away from the door-frame, turning, and disappearing down the hallway. His words hang in the air, and my mouth pops open, mortified, as I swivel to face the mirror. I do, in fact, look like a panda. I begin swiping madly underneath my eyes, desperate to fix the smudged mascara before rejoining the party.
