Page 63 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

It’s a demand, and I obey instantly, walking toward him on unsteady legs. His hands land on my hips as I settle onto his lap, body trembling with excitement and need. I’m finally getting something I’ve been wanting so badly.

Ryan said that to me—after the first time we were together. That waiting made it better for him. I can only imagine the same will be true for me, now. With Graham.

His mouth falls to my neck, and his hands slide around my back, pulling me flush to him. I gasp at the suck of his teeth on my pulse and grind down into his lap, which makes him let out a low moan for me, one hand lowering down, squeezing at my ass.

I can already feel him hard, straining against his pants, and his size is evident even with the layers of clothes between us.

We kiss for a long time, almost lazily. Maybe that’s what you’re meant to do in the Italian countryside, with the lemon trees outside and the fresh breeze rustling through the hall. It feels like a dream.

It’s like being back in that tent. My core clenches with wanting. A wanting to make him feel just as good as he makes me feel.

Rising up, I pull at the waistband of his sweats, and he wastes no time in tugging them down until I’m gasping at his straining cock, the sheer size of him. I don’t mean to do it. In fact, I never thought I would be the kind of woman to care that much about size.

Which, I don’t. Or, at least, I try not to.

But that doesn’t stop me from assessing him, from thinking that it might actually be impossible for me to take all of him at once. Travis and Ryan are well-endowed, but Graham is gifted with the kind of length and girth that you giggle at in the sex toy store, wondering who in their right mind could possibly use a dildo like that.

Not only is it big, but it’s geometrically perfect. There’s a single, shining bead of pre-cum at the top, a tell of how much he wants me—as if how hard he is wasn’t enough.

For a second, I find myself admiring him as an artist would admire a sculpture.

I have a ridiculous urge to get my camera, to take pictures, to instruct him to wrap a hand around his cock, to stroke it for me. I can see each shot, the progression, the beautiful function of movement.

“It’s smaller than it looks,” Graham murmurs, breaking me out of my thoughts and pulling me into him, so his cock is trapped between our stomachs. We kiss again, and his mouth skips down to my chest. Roughly, he tugs on my shirt and reveals my breasts, greedily taking one in his hand, the other in his mouth.

When we break apart again, breathing hard, I pull back to look at him.

“Take as much as you can.” Graham chokes when I wrap a hand around him, just to get a better idea. It makes my brain buzz when my fingers just barely overlap. “Go as slow as you need, Serena. That’s why you’re on top.”

He’s thought this through—about how to keep me comfortable.

When I lift up, Graham reaches down and pushes my shorts to the side, hissing when he finds me without panties beneath. I’m wet for him, and he drags a knuckle through it, dropping his head back against the couch with a groan.

“You are something else, girl. Fuck—I want to be inside you. Take me, baby.Please.”

I do what he says, body vibrating with anticipation as I guide him to my entrance. Even his tip stretches me, and it’s so delicious—stinging and pleasure all at once.

Slowly, I lower down, taking him not inch by inch, but millimeter by millimeter. I feel the stretch but also the way hefillsme, like my organs are shifting, making room for him. The thought shouldn’t be so stupidly sexy.

Maybe I’m tired. Maybe it’s just Graham, the intoxication of knowing I get to have him, and I get to have the other men, too.

The thought of Ryan flickers into the scene with us, standing in front of me, his eyes on Graham and me, how Graham is cupping his hands under my ass, how I’m nearly all the way seated.

“That’s right,” Ryan might murmur, his hand working over his stiff length, his blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded, “take his cock, baby.”

I let out a moan and Graham follows, before covering my mouth with his hand, clearly remembering his brother is somewhere upstairs. Fuck—why does it feel so good to have his hand over my mouth?

When I’m fully seated on Graham, adjusted to his length and girth, I experiment with different movements. Rolling my hips, rising up and down, rocking back and forth. Graham likes all of it, based on the way his eyes go dark, based on the way his hands move frantically over me, gripping, tightening, adjusting.

He likes the bouncing most, I can tell, from how his eyes drop to my breasts, pulled free from my shirt and just in front of his face. When he takes a nipple between his teeth, I let out a sound into his palm, and he grunts.

Graham takes his hand off my mouth and cups both under my ass to guide my movement, wanting me to take him faster, harder. I do, mind flying in every direction, delirium setting in.

The Ryan in my head is moving his hand faster, biting his lip, stepping closer. In my mind, while riding Graham, I reach out and take Ryan in my hand, guide him to my lips. I lick around the length of him, pop him into my mouth, and smile around the sound he makes.

Graham starts thrusting up and into me, eager for more, and the movement would push Ryan further into my mouth, down to my throat.

When Graham grabs my hips and pulls me down roughly, bringing us flush, I cry out and fictional Ryan disappears.