"That's not brotherly, Alena."
"It is to him. Trust me. If he wanted more, he'd have done something by now."
We both went quiet. Because we both knew I was lying to myself.
I shifted on his lap. Not just getting comfortable—a deliberate roll of my hips. Testing.
I want him. God, I want him. Let me see if he'll finally react.
I adjust again, feeling him beneath me. Hard. Thick. Right where I need him.
His hands shoot to my thighs—high, gripping hard enough to bruise. Stopping me.
"Alena."
The warning in his voice makes my pulse spike. Shit. Think fast.
I freeze, suddenly unsure. Then I force a smile, too bright. "That's normal for us, right?"
His eyes are dark, jaw tight.
"I know your dick," I continue, laughing like my heart isn't hammering. "I've shaved your balls several times, remember?"
His grip doesn't loosen.
"And you know my body," I push on, desperate now. "How many times have you slid your hands to my pussy when we sleep? How many times have you cupped my tits? Several. Oh, come on, Drogo, you're overreacting."
I grab his wrist before I can think better of it.
"See?"
I guide his hand between my thighs, press his palm against my clit through the lace.
His face goes deadly serious. Not angry. Not aroused. Something harder. Something I can't read.
"All good!" I say, voice too bright. I grab his other hand, slide it under the hoodie, press it against my breast. "See? It doesn't mean anything."
He stares at me. Studies me. His hands don't move—one cupping my breast, thumb brushing my nipple, the other pressed between my legs where I'm wet and aching for him.
I can't tell if he's pissed or if he's finally seeing me.
Then he moves.
Both hands slide to my ass—firm, commanding. He grips me hard, and before I can process what's happening, he guides me. Slow. Deliberate.
He drags my pussy along his dick.
The friction hits like lightning—lace against sweatpants, his cock thick and hard beneath me. I gasp, hands flying tohis forearms. Muscled. Big. Thick. Veins prominent under my palms.
He does it again. Rocks my hips forward, grinding me against him with controlled precision.
My breath catches. My thighs tremble.
Then he stops.
Holds me still.
And smiles.
