But I can’t fucking avoid her.
She wears coconut body lotion. She clenches her toes when she reads or writes a sex scene.
And she’s agoodwriter.
I bought one of her e-books and stayed up all night reading it. Twice, I buried my face in a pillow to laugh into it.
And I’ve come to the horrifying, stomach-curdling realization that I might actually like Ella Gibson. My brother’s girlfriend. The first woman he fell in love with.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I half creep past Ella’s door and down the stairs, needing coffee and a few hours to absorb this disgusting new development, but I’m not alone.
“You’re up.”
Ella glances over her shoulder at me. She’s in the kitchen in her pajamas, as usual, her hair up in a high ponytail, the strands resting on her shoulder. Fuck, she looks pretty. Fresh faced and still a little sleepy.
My dick twitches.
Stupid fucking dick.
We can’t have her. It’s so beyond wrong that there aren’t words to describe just how wrong it would be. Maybe I just need to jerk off.
Except, I already have. Once last night and then again this morning. The problem is the only thing that gets me off is the one thing I shouldn’t be thinking about: Ella, on her knees, her mouth stuffed with my cock.
There’s something about her mouth that I’m quickly becoming obsessed with.
I stare at it as I lean against the counter. Her thick lips, arched Cupid’s bow, her tongue darting out to lick up some chocolate she’d missed. And her throat—so delicate. The only thing missing from it is my hand,squeezing gently as I feed my dick past those thick, beautiful lips?—
“I wanted to ring my dad and wish him merry Christmas,” she says. “You hungry? I made s’mores.”
I blink for a moment, my gaze darting to the plate. I didn’t tell her about the tradition Asher and I had. Did I? No, I’d remember that. Unless Asher did, but Ella never brought it up, and that’s something she’d mention. The woman never stops talking.
“You made s’mores?”
“Yeah. You had all the ingredients for them, and I had a craving.” She sucks on her bottom lip, then stares up at me. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t like s’mores. I can forgive murder, Gable, but I have my limits.”
“I love s’mores.”
“Good. I’ll make more. More s’mores.” She chuckles at her annoyingly cute joke and takes another bite of her food, and as she unscrews the lid on the chocolate spread, I stare at the dot of marshmallow on her lip.
For a dick-driven moment, I want to lick it off. To slide my tongue across her bottom lip then into her mouth, tasting all the sweetness before dropping to my knees and tasting something even sweeter.
Shit, I’m hard.
Ella doesn’t seem to notice, though, so I reach out and use my thumb to wipe away the marshmallow. She freezes, her eyes lifting to meet mine, a half-made smore balanced in her hand.
Slowly, I bring my thumb to my mouth, sucking off the marshmallow.
What the fuck am I doing?
I know exactly what I’m doing.
And I shouldn’t be fucking doing it.
Asher. Think about Asher. Your brother. Your best friend. The man she loves.
Not you.
