Page 46 of My Brother's Best Men
Which is why I blame the next words that come out of my mouth purely on the alcohol.
“You want to get out of here? Head back up? To bed?” Her eyes search mine and I reiterate, “You can have the bed.”
“Benny—”
“Not negotiable,” I say, the command in my voice evident.
Sophie tenses in my grasp. I also don’t miss the gasp that escapes her throat.
“Just sayyes, sir,” I whisper, my voice dark and full of heat that would rival the climate here. “Sayyes, Benny.”
My words aren’t my own. I feel like we’re talking about heading back, but…we’re talking about something else altogether…something dangerous.
“Yes, Benny,” she says softly. “Take me home.”
I grasp her hand as I lead her through the patio and she stumbles as she grabs her heels from the couch on the way.
Neither of us say a word as I lead us through the restaurant, heading toward the elevators. And when Sophie stumbles leaving the elevator on our floor, I don’t think twice about scooping her up into my arms, the movement making her squeal.
She feels good in my arms. Too good.
She feels perfect. Her arms slide around my neck and I feel her fingers pulling at my collar, slipping beneath it. Somewhere in the back of my brain I wonder if I’ll remember this moment tomorrow.
Sophie Martin, in my arms, where she belongs.
I hope I do.
I fumble with my key card to get us in and once I’m inside, I carefully set her down on the bed. She drops her shoes on the floor, staring up at me, and for a moment, I’m frozen in time as we stare at one another, the gap between us getting smaller with each breath.
And then she breathes a heavy sigh.
“I used to fantasize about this moment so much,” she whispers.
I furrow my eyebrows, not understanding what she means. What moment? Me rescuing her after one too many shots and making sure she gets to bed okay?
“What moment?” I ask, sinking onto the bed next to her. She scoots into my space, biting her lip, and once again my attention is drawn to my damn cock.
“You whisking me away to—” She swallows harshly, and her cheeks flush scarlet.
“Whisking you away to what?” I ask, grabbing my cock to adjust myself. The touch doesn’t do much to help matters as she breathes heavier.
“Do you have to pee?” she asks, and I nearly get whiplash from her words.
And then I realize she’s watching me. Her gaze is locked on my hand that’s currently holding my damn bulge, and I’m acutely aware of how hard I actually am.
I could easily tell her yes. Pretend it’s nothing. Tuck her into the covers, tell her goodnight and that would be the end of it. But I can’t lie to Sophie. Not now. Not ever, so I do the thing I should not do. I tell her the truth.
“Nope. Just hard as a fucking rock.”
This is it. She’s either going to slap me—like I deserve—or she’s going to brush it off. At least, that’s what I expect her to do, but instead she settles her hand on my thigh, dangerously close to where my hand is.
She licks her lips before she speaks. “I thought drinking had the opposite effect when it came to getting hard.”
I smirk at her as her fingers trace my thigh through my dress pants, and instinctively I shift toward her, letting go of my cock. It strains hard against the inside of my pants, and Iknowshe can see the huge tent I’m pitching. For her.
It’s always for her.
Every time I think of Sophie—when I let myself think of her—I come hard and fast, which is why I’ve learned to prolong the experience.
