Page 132 of Better When Shared
I managed to push away from the wall on trembling legs, my body still buzzing with arousal, confusion, and a desperate need for more. I tried to think of something witty to say, something that would restore the easy dynamic we'd had before, but my mind was blank, wiped clean by the memory of Brian's mouth on mine, his hand around my throat.
What the fuck was that kiss? And how was I ever supposed to go back to the normal teasing banter I had with Brian after that?
Chapter 8
Brian
The Amalthea
Watching them get ready for dinner was its own kind of torture.
Enzo stood in front of the suite's full-length mirror, buttoning a crisp white shirt that clung to his shoulders in ways that made my mouth water. Every movement sent muscle shifting beneath the fabric, and all I could think about was peeling that shirt off him, running my hands over the warm skin underneath. The memory of his mouth opening for me in that Valencia courtyard played on repeat in my head—the sweet shock of his surrender, the way he'd melted against the stone wall when I'd wrapped my hand around his throat.
My cock had been half-hard for hours now, a constant ache that refused to subside no matter how many times I tried to think about quarterly reports or tax law. Usually, by this point, I'd have opened Grindr or one of the other apps, found someonewilling to meet me in their hotel room or a bathroom stall, anywhere I could fuck away the need that lived under my skin like a fever.
But every time I reached for my phone, my brain conjured images of Enzo's dark eyes going wide with want, or the way Gemma had watched us kiss with that hungry expression that made me wonder what she'd look like as I sank between her legs.
Christ. I was fucked.
Gemma emerged from the walk-in closet wearing a black cocktail dress that should have been illegal. The fabric hugged every curve, the neckline offering enough cleavage to make my hands itch to touch. She moved with that dancer's grace, every step deliberate and elegant. I hoped like hell that she was unaware of how she was destroying my already fragile self-control.
"What do you think?" She smoothed the dress over her hips. "Too much for the ship's main dining room?"
Too much for my sanity, maybe. The wine from earlier had left her cheeks flushed and her movements looser, more sensual than her usual cool precision. When she turned to check her reflection, the dress pulled tight across her ass, and I had to bite back a groan.
"Perfect," I managed, my voice coming out rougher than I'd intended.
Enzo was staring at me in the mirror, his shirt only half-buttoned, like he'd forgotten what he was doing. His gaze kept dropping to my mouth, and I could practically feel the heat of his attention burning across my skin. Every few seconds, his tongue would dart out to wet his lips, and I'd remember the taste of him, the way he'd whimpered when I'd deepened the kiss.
The tension in the suite was thick enough to cut with a knife. We'd been dancing around each other since we'd gotten back from Valencia, making polite conversation to mask whatever we were all feeling, crackling between us like electricity. I couldn’t handle dinner with them. Wasn’t sure I’d survive the night sleeping in the same room.
But not once had I felt the urge to go fuck someone else, which was… interesting.
I imagined what would happen if I ignored my sensible side and pulled them both onto that massive bed. If I stripped Gemma out of that amazing dress and taught Enzo what his pretty mouth was made for. The thought sent blood rushing south so fast it made me dizzy. My cock strained against my pants, demanding attention I couldn't give it, not with them both so fucking close and so off-limits.
My brother’s fiancée and his fucking best friend.
"You're not getting dressed." Gemma’s tone was carefully neutral. "The reservation is in twenty minutes."
I glanced down at my rumpled button-down and khakis, the same clothes I'd worn to Valencia. The fabric felt too tight, too hot, like my skin was trying to crawl out of it. The thought of sitting through a formal dinner, making polite conversation while my body screamed for relief, was unbearable.
"I think I'll stay in tonight. Order room service, get a little rest."
Gemma's expression shifted, disappointment flickering across her features before she could hide it.
"Are you sure?"She stepped closer. The movement brought her perfume with it—something expensive and subtle that made me want to bury my face in her neck. "We could change the reservation, eat somewhere more casual..."
"I'm sure," I said, even though every cell in my body was screaming at me to go with them, to spend the evening watching Gemma laugh over wine and catching Enzo staring at my mouth across the table. "You two have fun. Take pictures."
Enzo finished buttoning his shirt, but his movements were distracted, clumsy. The kiss had changed things between us, shifted some fundamental dynamic that I didn't understand yet.
"Brian. If you want to talk about earlier..." Enzo bit his lip, his eyes darting to the side, and I could imagine what he was thinking about.
"Nothing to talk about," I cut him off, probably too quickly. "Just showing you what attraction looks like between guys. For educational purposes only."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but the alternative—admitting that kissing him had been the most intense kiss I'd had in years—wasn't an option. We were trapped together in this room for seventeen more days, and I knew how it would go if things got deeper.
It could only end with me hurting Enzo. That was in my nature, and I’d come to accept it, come to accept my faults.
