Page 37 of My Brother's Best Men
“I’ll call the front desk,” he says. “Maybe there was a mix-up. I mean, there was a lot going on when we checked in, so…”
I nod. “Right, good idea,” I say as he pulls out his phone. I steal a glance at him as he stares down at it, no doubt searching for the number to the front desk. Sunlight pours through the windows, lighting up his large, dark figure. He’s dressed head to toe in black. A black, tight-fitted T-shirt that shows off his biceps and tattoos, black jeans, and black boots. His brown hair catches the light, illuminating strands of copper in his otherwise dark hair.
He was always dark and mysterious, maybe even a little bitter. But now…
Now he looks like something straight out of a romance novel, in the best way. He’s hot as hell and I can’t stopstaringat him.
He looks up, catching me, and I know I should look away, but I can’t. Instead, I watch as he lifts the phone to his ear.
“Hey, this is Benjamin Anderson in room 4022,” he says. “I think there’s been a mistake, I booked a double bed which was standard in the hotel block for the Martin-Little wedding this weekend and there’s only one bed. Looks like a King.”
He paces back and forth and I finally remember how to move my legs, so I head for the bed to sit down. The bed itself is soft and plush and feels too good to resist, and I fall back easily as Benny “uh-huhs” in the background, each one getting progressively louder and dare I say, angrier?
“Are you serious right now?” he bites out, and I push myself up on my elbows, my eyebrows furrowing as I stare at him.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He looks to me, holding the phone with his palm as he says, “They’re booked. Can’t swap rooms. Best they can do is a cot.”
A cot? Seriously?
He must sense my disdain, or my expression is more telling than it should be, because he says into the phone, “No, that’s fine. Just send it up. Yeah, thanks, we’ll be here.”
I groan as I fall back onto the bed, covering my eyes with my hands. A moment later, I feel the mattress sink, dipping from his weight as his leg brushes against mine.
“Did I step on a crack or something? This has been the worst week ever,” I complain.
I stare up at the ceiling, because I can’t look at Benny right now. I can feel the heaviness of his leg pressed against mine, and I know if I look up at him—looking down at me—I’ll be tempted to fall back into old fantasies that will not help matters right now.
So I don’t look at him. I continue to look at the ceiling like the lines in the paint will have the answers I seek. Spoiler alert, they doesn’t.
“It’s fine. You can have the bed, I’ll take the cot,” he says, and his voice is strangely soft.
“No…” I say, pushing myself up, failing to resist the urge. “No, it’s your hotel room, you should have the bed.” I look at him, noting the almost soft expression on his face.
“Yeah, but…” He runs a tattooed hand through his hair sheepishly.
Whatever he was going to say, I think he forgot, because he doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, letting that sapphire gaze fall to my lips, and shifts his body against mine like a hot fire.
“Not negotiable,” he says, his voice now stronger. Bolder. More stern and commanding.
Something inside me switches on, like I’ve been in the dark and suddenly my world is full of light. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds one long, thick, tattooed finger to my lips and everything stops.
His gaze falls to where the pad of his finger touches my lips, and instinctively, I lick my lips, or rather the edge of his finger. He tastes salty and sweaty, and my insides tighten with a desire I’ve never felt before, even in all the times I’ve touched myself to the thought of this man.
This man who fed my sexual awakening and has brought me more orgasms than he’ll ever know, who is sitting next to me on this bed. Who will be five feet away on acot.
“I said, not negotiable. You will do as I say, and you will not argue,” he says. “Now zip it, and get some sleep.”
I open my mouth and his finger travels to my chin, his hand grasping it gently, forcing me to look at him.
“I know you want to listen, Sophie. You want to obey so fucking bad,” he whispers, and I think it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes off of him, unable to move.
Before I can answer, before I can throw away my last functioning brain cell, there’s a knock on the door. The spell between us disappears like the tide, as if it never existed at all.
I say nothing as Benny gets up, the bed springing back to its soft form, the air somehow colder now that he’s stepped away. I fall back into the bed with ease, close my eyes, and do as he says, because suddenly I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.
The last thing I remember as the door shuts is Benny’s dark, smooth voice whispering in my ear.
