Page 11 of My Brother's Teammates

My back arches, and blood pounds in my veins. I’m on fire, burning for the one girl I can’t have and aching for release—for a redheaded goddess with curves that would feel so good in my hands.

Faster and faster I thrust into my fist, and as I shift my other hand to massage my balls, electricity zips down my spine.

I’m thrumming with energy. Filled with a need to release.

Fuck. I don’t know if I can keep my promise.

I want to see Charlie drop to her knees and beg to be fucked.

Used.

Filled.

My fingers tighten around my cock, and I’m so close, so goddamn close.

I imagine her bright blue eyes locking on mine and—shit. A loud repetitive beeping blasts around my room.

What the hell?

Is that the fire alarm?

I don’t think, I just react, jumping out of bed and running to the kitchen where smoke is billowing out of a skillet.

Judging by the smell and the amount of smoke coming from the stove, it’s safe to say the meat inside didn’t make it. I’d love to know if she was trying to intentionally poison Jace, or if she’s just an awful cook. We might have jumped the gun asking her to help with meals.

Despite the smoke burning my eyes and the acrid air coating the inside of my throat, the morning view isn’t terrible.

Charlie stands over the stove in the best leggings I’ve ever seen, flapping a dish towel through the smoke, trying like hell to get it to dissipate.

She must’ve heard my footsteps because she doesn’t turn around, just says, “I forgot to warn you that my cooking isn’t the best. I don’t think anyone wants to eat this bacon.”

As soon as I grunt my response, she whips around, her gaze dropping straight to my very erect dick. Her eyes widen and she gasps as her hands—still holding the towel—fly to cover her mouth. “Holy shit.”

The alarm is still going off, but I’m close enough to hear her muffled words.

“You might want to open a window in here, Red, unless you’re trying to suffocate us,” I smirk, walking over to the stove to make sure all the burners are off and there isn’t an actual fire.

“Your dick.” Charlie runs her hand down her throat and swallows. She seems oblivious to the smoky kitchen and the blaring alarm. “It’s right there. It’s breaking the rule. There’s… There’s…” Her still-wide eyes also say what we’re both thinking—it’s huge and pierced—but she’s too much of a lady to comment.

“You were trying to burn the kitchen down.” I turn toward the patio, but Jace beats me to it, sliding the doors open. As soon as he turns around, he groans and shields his eyes. No wonder this asshole took so long to get out here. He took the time to throw on a pair of gray sweats and a faded Phantoms T-shirt. “Come on, man. You can’t be running around with your dick in your hand.”

The alarm stops halfway through his sentence, but I swear I can still hear it beeping in my ears. If the entire apartment complex wasn’t up before, they are now. Including Harrison.

“It was an emergency. I was in the middle of something.”

Roman runs by me—also in sweats—tossing me a disbelieving look before grabbing another towel and fanning away more smoke. “Yet somehow, the rest of us managed to put on pants.”

“Dammit, Charlotte.” Jace stomps into the kitchen, crowding Charlie against the small white marble island. His arms cage her in, and his face lowers, his nose almost brushing hers.

She immediately freezes, her chest rising with every ragged breath. And Jace? The muscles in his arms and back flex, straining under tension like he’s holding himself back.

Methinks Jace doth protest too much.

He may say he isn’t interested in anything with Charlie, may be the first one to try to push her out the door, but he isn’t as unaffected as he says.

The two of them practically grew up together, but there’s nothing brotherly about how he’s looking at her—how he’s always looked at her—even though he denies it.

I saw it the first time Charlie came over after Harrison and Jace were traded to New Orleans, and I can see it just as clearly now.

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