“I know you’re awake, baby girl.” His voice is a whisper against the shell of my ear.
My breath hitches, my muscles flexing with surprise. My gaze flies to Gage in front of me, but his chest still moves with deep, even breaths.
“What ar?—”
His hand slides out from underneath our pillow, his palm sealing over my mouth. “We don’t want to wake my brother up, do we?”
Lust unfurls inside me, like some toxic night-blooming flower. It feels wrong in a good way, like at any moment we could get caught.
Or even better—watched.
I shake my head slowly, my hands curling around both of his arms.
He breathes a laugh into my ear. “Good girl.”
His casual praise rewires something in my brain, like taking over executive function. My back arches without my permission, pressing my ass into him.
His fingertips momentarily flex into my skin as he makes this little noise in the back of his throat.
“You have no idea what you do to me, Bells.” He trails the tips of his fingers over my ribs, then lower, until his hand finds the edge of my underwear. Each pass drags my breath out a little thinner, a little tighter, until I’m not sure if I’m shivering or pulsing in time with my heart.
He breathes in, like he’s taking me into his lungs. “Fuck, you smell good,” he says, so low it’s almost a vibration instead of a voice.
He drags the blunt end of his nail along the top, his fingertips barely grazing the skin on my lower abdomen.
I melt into his touch, the wave of desire now licking at my thighs. Anticipation coats my tongue, sweet and heady like warm honey. My hand glides from his forearm to his wrist, urging him on. His breath is hot on my neck, lips finding that spot just beneath my ear—the one that makes my breath hitch.
“I’ve pictured this so many times,” he whispers, “I’m sure this must be a dream.”
My mouth opens to reply, but his palm presses gently against my lips, silencing me.
”Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.” He doesn’t move his hand. Just holds it there, palm flat against my stomach, fingers spread wide, waiting.
I know exactly what’s on the other side of this. I know that if I don’t say anything, we cross something we can’t uncross. My pulse is loud in my ears, loud enough that I’m half-convinced he can feel it through my skin.
I shake my head.
His exhale is slow and controlled, but I feel his fingers curl—just slightly—like he’d been holding something back and just let a fraction of it go. He presses his lips to the curve of my neck, unhurried, and the warmth of it spreads down my throat andinto my chest. His tongue traces a slow line just beneath my ear, so light it barely registers, and yet my whole body pulls taut in response.
This has been years of almost. Years of looking away at the wrong moment, of standing too close and stepping back.
His fingertips trace the edge of my thong with a patience that borders on cruel, mapping that crease where my leg meets my hip like he has all the time in the world. The fabric is almost nothing, and somehow that makes it worse. My hips tilt toward him before I can stop them—a small, involuntary betrayal. He notices. His fingers still for just a second, and I feel the curve of a smile against my shoulder.
Gage’s chest rises and falls inches from my face.
My breath is already coming too fast, too shallow, and Cruz hasn’t even—he’s barely touched me. But I can’t make myself care. I press back into him instead, chasing the pressure, and his fingers flex once against my hip like a warning he has no intention of following through on.
I’ve waited years for him to touch me like this—a craving that has grown claws and dug itself deep into my flesh. He hauls me closer, the line of his body fitting against mine like we were made for this moment. Heat radiates between us, and I can feel every contour of him pressing against me.
“Let’s find out how quiet you can be.” His words curl low in my stomach, a delicious thrill that propels me forward. I rock my ass into him again, a quiet whimper escaping my lips as I feel the hard length of him, thick and demanding against my back.
I fucking want it.
“Yeah, baby girl. I know.”
His fingertips slip beneath the side of my thong, and I inhale sharply, holding the air in my lungs as if it could steady me. He doesn’t tease or prolong the anticipation; he knows what he’sdoing. His fingers trace the line of my pussy, dipping into the wetness already gathering there.
“Already wet for me?” he groans, his approval rolls over me like a slow wave.
