Page 21 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

“Teasing me,” he says, nudging his face into the spot between my breasts. The words trail over my skin as he moves to the other breast. “All night, youwantedme to look at you, didn’t you, Serena?”

I’m nodding, and letting out a gasping cry when he sucks my breast into his mouth, running the flat of his tongue overmy nipple. It’s so much sensation, too much, and I squirm, but Travis holds me still with his hands on my waist, pinning me to the desk.

Fuck.

“I did,” I admit, lavishing in the agony and euphoria of being under him, feeling the pleasure and having nowhere to run. The running. The chase. It made me so wet, which is fucked up. I know that, but don’t have time to think about it. “That’s why I…”

“That’s why you were flirting withhim,” Travis growls, raising his head and meeting my gaze as he slides a hand up the inside of my thigh, moving my panties to the side and sliding a finger between my folds. “Are you going to do that every time, Serena? Make me jealous?”

My hips buck against him, my body snapping at the sensation. I’m a bundle of want, every nerve in my body eager for his touch, desperate for more.

Lowering his mouth down by my ear, Travis says, voice low and dangerous, “It worked, Serena. You got my attention. But then you ran.”

I’m in a rhythm now, writhing against his knuckle on my clit, gasping, only half my brain able to catch onto the words he murmurs into my ear. After a moment, I manage, “I liked being chased. By you.”

That seems to send Travis over some sort of edge, because he lets out a warped, strangled noise. I’m already fumbling with his pants, and I quickly get them undone. Wrapping a hand around his length, I gasp into his mouth.

My therapist would definitely call what I’m doing reckless. A reaction to the trauma of what Alex did to me. But I’m in my body right now, and I’m recognizing that I’ve wanted Travis since the first time I saw him at Onyx. I’m just doing what my body desperately needs…

So, instead of thinking about how wrong this is or how I shouldn’t be doing this or what my therapist or roommates might say, I just do what I do best—enjoy the moment, deal with the consequences later.

That must be what Travis is thinking, too. Or maybe he’s not thinking about it at all.

It doesn’t matter.

The only thing that matters is the way he thrusts into my hand, his cock sliding against my fingers. I tighten my hand, increase my pace. He curls his fingers, thrusts deeper and harder inside me. For a few heartbeats, we’re in a race to see who can get the other closer, harder, wetter. More desperate.

I smile when Travis pulls his fingers out of me, muttering, “Fuck this.” He pulls his cock free from my hand, yanks my hips to the edge of the desk, and lines himself up at my entrance.

“I’m on birth control.” I might be reckless, but I’m not a masochist. “And clean.”

“Me too, and I’ve had a vasectomy,” Travis states, and I don’t have time to unpack that, because he’s sliding inside me, and my body is adjusting to take him, and I go completely, totally silent.

The pleasure is a sunburst in the center of my brain, a flash that spreads through my body like the plume before an atomic bomb. I clutch tightly to him as he buries himself fully, his hands tight on my hips, his breathing hot and fast against my neck.

It feels likeyes, yes, yes, which is too simple and too plain, but still the only word I can manage, the chorus rolling through my mind.

“You’re so tight,” he manages, after a moment, before withdrawing, thrusting again. In all my fantasies, every time I’ve been in bed touching myself, I’ve never imagined a man saying that to me.

I feel myself clench around him in response, desire surging through me. It’s the thought of what it feels like for him, howgood it feels for him, that steals my breath. How much I like the praise.

Travis’s fingers dig into my hips. He lets his head fall against my shoulder and rocks into me, the movement underpinned by the slightest tremble of desperation.

The desk tilts, knocking against the wall, and I think for a moment that we should move to the bed, but then Travis is fucking me hard, and the desk is rocking against the wall, and I realize I’m actuallyreallyinto it.

This is his hotel. Who gives a fuck if someone hears us?

This is Travis’s hotel.

My body tingles with a strange exhilaration, a sense of power. A transfer of his authority to me. Travis Oakley is fucking me in this hotel room, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

Seeing the place our bodies connect makes me moan, which makes Travis fuck me harder.

He increases his pace, keeps one hand anchored on my hip while skimming the other up my side, over the slinky fabric and to my breast, which he palms, before sliding his hand up my chest and to my throat.

My eyes fly to his as he thrusts into me, and I see the blind hunger there. I also see the question.

When I nod, he settles his hand over my neck, and my pulse jumps under the pad of his thumb. A reaction to how I’ve just relinquished control.