Page 80 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
Or maybe it’s the hot-as-hell dark and handsome hockey player who showed up on my brother’s doorstep, drenched from head to toe like something out of my wildest dreams.
But I know without a doubt that what I feel—for Freddie—is as real as he is.
It doesn’t make any sense. Up until the other day, I’d never questioned the way he looked at me or his casual conversation. But it’s like ever since he brought me home the other night—ever since hetook careof me—I have felt this magnetism, this desire to uncover all of Freddie Sterling’s secrets.
I just never thought I was one of them.
His body is hard and warm, and his hand on my thigh feels smooth and surprisingly gentle. His lips traverse over my jaw, down my neck. My eyelashes flutter as he whispers in my ear. “If it’s too much, princess, just tell me. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
It’s the way he says the words. With reverence and warmth andcare.
Dare I say love?
I know that’s crazy. I barely know Freddie, but at the same time, I know him so well. But there’s no refuting that this fire between us is unknown and terrifying but also captivating. I want to know what it feels like to be burned byFlash.By the man who takes what he wants on the ice and knows just how to make me melt with the words he says.
“Don’t stop,” I tell him, needing him to understand. His hand slides up my thigh, beneath my sweater. His thumbs hook into the sides of my panties and he plucks the side strap, making it sting against my skin.
“You look so good in these,” he whispers. “So fucking pretty.”
My cheeks heat as he kisses my neck, his thumb sliding over my front where the lace covers my mound of hair. I tense as he massages me through the lace, my thighs tensing as he does so.
“Like a pretty little princess.” His mouth finds mine.
“Freddie…” I breathe his name as my own hands travel over his wet shirt. “You’re still wet,” I say, my voice darker than I’ve ever heard it.
“I can fix that,” he says, leaning back, and I watch as he removes his shirt.
The sight of his hard abs, his broad shoulders…under the low light of the room he looks almost magical. Like a demon in the shadows, here to drag me below.
And maybe he is. Because as I think of Abby’s words—her encouragement totrade upand embrace my burgeoning feelings for these three very different, very attractive, and very intriguing men—I know I’m certainly going straight to hell.
The best way to get over someone is to get underneath someone else.
At least, that’s what Zayne always says, though I’m not sure if I should be taking relationship advice from my dick-hungry co-worker.
I reach out and graze my fingers over Freddie’s chest, letting my nails trace his defined muscles. He sits back on his heels, and I get a good look at him, in his wet pants, shirtless, kneeling before me on my brother’s guest bed.
“Holy shit,” I whisper as my insides flare with heat.
Something about the sight of him like this—hands on his thighs as he kneels, his dark hair in his dark eyes…
“Tell me,” he says carefully. “Tell me what you want, Nora, and Daddy will give it you.”
All I have to do is ask.
The words hit me harder than they should because every time I’ve asked someone for something—Brett included—I’ve always gotten ignored. Because my exes’ pleasure always came first.
And I realize with startling clarity that I’venevercome first. Figuratively or physically.
Freddie leans closer, settling his hand on my hip as I sit up.
His mouth grazes mine. “All you have to do is ask,” he whispers. “Princess.”
I let my hands slide down to his waistband and tug. “You’re going to get the bed all wet,” I whisper shakily. “You should take these off.”
He smirks and does as I ask without question, and I fight the urge to look at him in his underwear. Because I know as soon as I do, there’s no denying what’s happening between us.
As soon as I look, it’ll be real.
