Page 31 of Falling For My Ex's Older Brother

"I have given this job everything I have. Every day. And I know you've noticed because you're not a man who misses things. But you won't say it. Becausesaying it would make me a person and not a resource, and that would require something from you that you've apparently decided you can't afford." I stop. I breathe. The next words come out quieter and hit harder.

"The Drake men have a remarkable lack of human decency."

The room goes absolutely still. I watch it land. I watch his jaw set. Something behind his eyes shifts — not anger exactly, but something more layered than anger, something that moves through him and changes the quality of his stillness entirely.

"What did you just say?" His voice is low. Quiet.

"You heard me."

He looks at me for a long moment. Something working behind his expression that I can't fully read.

"You want to talk about decency." It isn't a question.

"You've been walking around here for three weeks carrying something you won't say out loud and taking it out on a risk assessment at 10:00 at night." He moves around the desk. Not fast but deliberate.

"You think I haven't noticed?"

I hold my ground. My heart is slamming.

"This isn't about—"

“—It's about something," he says. He stops in front of me. Close. Closer than the desk ever allowed. I can feel the heat coming off him. His eyes are on mine and they are not the controlled, contained eyes of my boss at the end of a workday. They are the eyes of a man who has run out of the thing he's been using to keep himself in check.

"Say what you actually mean, Sutton."

The air between us is electric. My chest is rising and falling too fast. I should take a step back. I don't.

"I don't know what you want from me," I say. My voice comes out lower than I intend.

"Yes you do," he says.

He reaches up. His hand comes to my face — his palm warm against my jaw, his thumb at the edge of my cheekbone, tilting my face up to his. His eyes drop to my mouth for one suspended second. Then he pulls me in.

His lips crash against mine. The kiss is nothing like I've experienced before. It's fierce. Possessive. A sharp inhale of need, like he's been starving for days and finally gets to taste again. I moan softly, my arms sliding up around his neck, pulling him closer as I melt into it. He presses his body against mine, and I feel his broad shoulders. I grip at his shirt, rubbing my hands up and down his chest, but I can feel the muscles underneath the fabric.

His hands slide down my sides and grip beneath my thighs, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me — hoisting me up onto the edge of the desk. My legs spread open and wrap around him instinctively. My back arches, my breath sharp against his mouth. The feel of him between my legs, the hardness of his bulge pressing against the center of me — it's all too much — and not enough.

His kiss deepens as his fingertips graze my skin — cool, deliberate — as he lifts my dress, sliding it higher and higher until the fabric bunches around my hips. A rush of air kisses the bare skin between my thighs. His touch isslow, teasing, his fingers squeezing into the flesh with such purpose.

I let out a shallow breath, dizzy from both adrenaline and frustration. Then his mouth finds mine again. Then he pulls back, his blue eyes filled with hunger. Without a word, his fingers continue to drag slowly up the inside of my thigh until they reach the edge of my panties. He presses against me, rubbing through the thin lace, and I gasp — because I'm already soaked. He must feel it too. His eyes lock on mine as his fingers pause. Then, with one calculated move, he slides the lace to the side and runs his finger through the wetness slicking my folds.

"You're soaked," he growls. His voice is low. Almost feral.

His finger teases the length of me once, twice, then he pushes inside — just one finger at first, but the stretch is maddening. I gasp as he adds a second, the thickness of both curling, probing, reaching. I throw my head back, my hips arching forward, my body giving itself over to the feel of him.

"Oh… god…"

He grips my panties with both hands and yanks them down, his movements rough. The lace slides off my ankles and lands in a soft heap on the floor. Then his head is between my legs. Before I can even catch my breath, I feel his face press against my heat, his nose dragging through my arousal, his stubble scraping just enough to make my thighs twitch. Then his tongue flicks across my clit. I nearly cry out.

His hands grip me harder, keeping my legs open andstill as he sucks my clit into his mouth and rolls it with his tongue. His fingers thrust back into me, curling, twisting, moving in rhythm as he feasts like a man starved. I reach down, my hands flying to his hair, fisting it as my hips begin to rock forward into his face.

I lay back on the desk, the cool wood against my spine grounding me while the rest of me floats. I feel his tongue replace his fingers, plunging deep into me. He groans as he tongue-fucks my pussy, his grip moving to the base of my ass, pulling me tighter against his mouth.

The sensation builds fast. His lips find my clit again and suck harder. His fingers thrust deep, curling upward, hitting that spot that makes my entire body contract. A wave crashes through me, relentless and hot, as my thighs tremble and I orgasm all over his face.

My legs fall open wider, uncontrollable now. He slides his tongue deep again, my juices coating his lips, his chin, and his mouth as he laps up every drop. He's insatiable. The wet sounds echo in the silence of the office, vulgar and hypnotic, as I try to catch my breath and process the moment.

But before any of that, I hear him unbuckle his belt. The clink of metal. The swift hiss of his zipper. I barely have time to look up before he's standing between my legs again. He pulls down his pants and his briefs in one motion and I gasp at the size of his long, thick cock — hard, glistening in the office light.