Page 31 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

“Oh, come on, like you didn’t look.” I grin. “Next time, maybe knock?”

She mutters a string of curses, colorful ones, too, as she storms down the hall and slams her bedroom door like it personally offended her.

I exhale a ragged laugh, still flushed, still half-hard, still picturing the way her eyes locked on my cock for just a second too long.

Worth. Every. Damn. Second.

The apartment goes quiet, except for the sound of pacing. Muffled, frantic pacing from behind her bedroom door.

She’s spiraling. I can feel it.

Probably shouting into a pillow. Probably pretending she didn’t just stare at me like I was dessert with a side of sin.

And I know what I saw.

That glance? That wasn’t shock. That was want. Hunger, even if she’ll never admit it.

Sophie Henderson, PR ice queen, no-nonsense power skirt, looked at me like she wanted to devour me and slap me at the same time.

I drag a hand through my hair, still pulsing with leftover adrenaline.

Fuck, I live for this.

She can fake outrage all she wants, but her breath caught. Her pupils blew wide. And she hasn’t come back out since.

She looked and liked what she saw.

Just like she did that night all those years ago. Before we crossed the line. Before she decided I was a mistake.

She wants to believe she’s in control. That she can file me under “dangerous detour” and walk away clean.

But she can’t.

Because the thing about Sophie is, when she wants something, really wants it, she burns for it.

And I plan to watch her burn. Maybe even light the match myself.

The apartment is quiet tonight. But not the peaceful kind of quiet. It’s the kind that settles in your bones and makes your thoughts louder than they should be. The kind that makes every breath feel like it carries weight.

I walk past her door once. Then again. Slower the second time.

By the third, I stop.

Something about standing here, outside her room, her world, makes my chest tight, like I’m about to cross a line I’ve been toeing since the day I moved in.

Should I knock?

Say something?

Apologize?

But what would I even say?

Sorry I made you want me again? Sorry I caught you looking?

Sorry I still think about that night…and every fucking second since?

My jaw clenches.

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