Page 83 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

Something in his tone, in the intensity of his gaze, undoes me. The familiar pull between us—this incredible chemistrythat's been there from our first real kiss—intensifies. His thumb traces my lower lip, and my breath catches.

"I’m not really that hungry. Are you?" he murmurs, leaning in until his mouth hovers just above mine.

"Only for you," I whisper against his lips.

His kiss starts gentle, a soft press of lips that quickly becomes more urgent. My hands find his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath the soft fabric of his T-shirt. He tastes like kombucha and the bell pepper he was just snacking on.

We make it to his bedroom and his king-sized bed awaits us, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. But I don’t give a damn about the view. Not when his mouth is on my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear, and his hands are already working their way under my dress, sliding up my thighs like he’s unwrapping a present.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice low and rough, and I can feel the heat of his breath against my collarbone. His lips move down my body, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My dress hits the floor, and I’m standing there in nothing but my lace panties, my breasts heavy and swollen, my nipples already hard and aching for his mouth.

He sits me on the edge of the mattress and drops to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding up my hips, his thumbs brushing the curve of my belly where our babies are growing. His eyes lock on mine, dark and hungry, and then his mouth is on me, kissing my stomach like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. “I can’t get enough of you,” he murmurs, his lips moving lower, teasing the edge of my panties.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging gently, and he groans, the sound vibrating against my skin. His hands slide around to my ass, squeezing hard, and then he’s pulling mypanties down, letting them fall to the floor. His tongue is on me in an instant, licking a slow, wet stripe up my slit, and I gasp.

“Charlie,” I moan, my voice trembling, and he hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. His tongue flicks over my clit, teasing and torturing me in the best way, and I’m already so close.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough, and then his mouth is on my breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple while his fingers lightly pinch and tease the other. My nipples are so fucking sensitive now that I’m pregnant, every touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I arch into him, moaning his name, and he groans.

“You like that?” he asks, his voice a low growl, and I nod, unable to form words. He switches sides, giving the same attention to my other nipple, and I’m a fucking mess, my hands clawing at his back.

“Charlie, please,” I beg, and he finally pulls back. He strips off his shirt, his muscles rippling under the dim light, and then his pants are gone, his cock springing free, thick and hard and ready for me.

I don’t wait for him to make the next move. I push him onto the bed, climbing on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands grip my waist, guiding me as I sink down onto him, inch by glorious inch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillows as I take him all the way in. I’m so wet, so ready for him, and the stretch is fucking incredible. I start to move, rocking my hips slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside me. But it’s not enough. I need more.

I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest, and start to ride him harder, faster, my breasts bouncing with every thrust. His hands move to my ass, squeezing and guiding me as I fuckhim. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me with every stroke, and I’m so close.

“Charlie,” I moan, my voice breaking, and he sits up, wrapping one arm around my waist while his other hand finds my clit. His fingers circle it, rubbing in tight little circles that send me spiraling over the edge. I come hard, my body shaking, my nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure takes me.

He follows me over the edge with a groan, his hips jerking as he comes, filling me up in the most delicious way. We collapse onto the bed together, a tangled mess of sweat and satisfaction, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and giddy.

“That was…fucking amazing,” I say, and he grins, pulling me closer.

“Youare fucking amazing,” he replies, his voice soft but full of heat. “And you’re mine.”

I don’t argue. Not when he’s right.

We eventually make it back to the kitchen, where Charlie saves the abandoned pasta ingredients and whips up the most amazing dinner. We eat at his dining table, the lights of Seattle spread out before us, discussing everything and nothing—just happy to be together.

Later, as Charlie sleeps beside me, his arm draped possessively across my waist, I stare at the ceiling and let myself fully feel the day's emotional whiplash. The fear at PacWest's announcement. The elation at Seattle Symphony's offer. The lingering doubt about whether I earned it. The certainty in Charlie's eyes when he said he was proud of me.

I don't know what the future holds—how my body will change, how we'll manage twins and careers and this still-new relationship. But for tonight, in this quiet moment with Charlie's steady breathing beside me and the twins safely growing inside me, I feel a sense of peace that I could definitely get used to.

Chapter 26

Charlie

Iarrive fifteen minutes early to Meridian, my father's favorite restaurant. The maître d' recognizes me immediately, escorting me to my father's usual table by the window with its amazing view of Elliott Bay.

I order a sparkling water and check my emails, my knee bouncing under the pristine white tablecloth. These lunches with my father always leave me feeling like I'm back in prep school, waiting outside the headmaster's office for yet another lecture on living up to my potential.

My father texted this morning, a terse "Lunch. Meridian. 12:30." No question mark, no room for negotiation. Just a command I'm expected to follow, CEO of my own company or not. I take a sip of water and try to quiet the voice in my head that's already defending quarterly projections and marketing strategies.

Last night with Tess floats back into my mind—her body against mine, the shared joy of her new position with the Seattle Symphony, the quiet intimacy of dinner afterward.

At precisely 12:30, my father strides through the restaurant doors. Bill Astor moves like a man who's never doubted his place in the world, his tailored suit sitting perfectly on his tallframe, silver hair expertly cut. The staff practically trips over themselves to greet him.

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