Page 32 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

No.

Sophie Henderson isn’t the kind of girl you apologize to for wanting. She’s the kind you earn. The kind who doesn’t flinch when you push but pushes back harder.

I like that about her.

Hell, maybe I need it.

She doesn't need apologies. She needs honesty. Realness. Fire.

And I’m all of those things.

But maybe what scares me most is how she sees through it. Throughme.

She calls me reckless, cocky, impossible. But when she looks at me, really looks at me, it’s like she sees something worth saving. That’s what fucks me up the most.

She’s not wrong.

The tension between us is not just lust. It’s a dare. Unspoken but undeniable.

Every glance. Every argument. And every time she lays down a rule, it feels less like a boundary and more like a challenge, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll cross it.

It’s all a game she’s daring me to lose.

But I’ve never played to lose.

So, I turn away from her door and head to mine dragging a hand through my hair, the air thick behind me, her scent still lingering somewhere in the hall.

She has no idea what I’m willing to do to break her rules.

And this?

This is just the beginning.

I crawl into bed, still hard, still thinking about her.

The sheets are cool against my skin.

Her scent lingers in the hallway, but it’s her voice echoing in my head that keeps my pulse ticking too fast.

I stare at the ceiling, heart pounding, cock aching, every breath heavy with restraint.

She thinks this game between us is manageable, containable.

She has no idea she’s already lost control.

And if I have it my way, next time she won’t be the one walking away.

I stare up at the ceiling, the room dim and silent, but my mind isn’t.

Her voice. Her gasp. That look in her eyes before she ran.

She’s trying to fight it. Pretend this tension between us doesn’t exist.

But I’ve seen what’s under that armor. I’ve heard how she sounds when she falls apart.

And in a few days, we’re stepping out together. In public.

In front of cameras, investors, Bratva eyes. Every last vulture waiting to feast.

---