The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Totally,” I whisper, my eyes trained on her mouth.

  With one hand, she grips my cheek and lowers her lips to mine where she presses the softest kiss across my mouth, barely touching, just a whisper of a touch before pulling away. I’m about to complain when she straddles my lap and rests her hands on my chest.

  “Tell me something else.”

  Fuck. Yes. Liking this new seating arrangement.

  “You want more?”

  “So much more.” She settles herself so she’s completely resting on top of my hardening cock.

  A little caught off guard, I clear my throat and try to think of something else, anything to get her to stay put.

  “I love Roark like a brother, but Rath? He’s the other half of me. It’s like he owns a piece of me and if something ever happens to him, I’ll feel the missing part deep in my bone marrow.”

  Her eyes become hazy as she leans forward again. “Your friendship is one I’ve always been jealous of. I’ve seen you two together”—she runs her fingers to the back of my neck—“your interactions, the way you deeply care for each other. I always wished for a friendship as deep as yours, or even a little piece of you like you’ve given Rath.” God, this girl. And I thought I knew her. But this was more than I expected, yet still not enough.

  “Babe”—I grip her hips—“you have so much of me, I don’t even know if you can handle it.”

  But I want to give you more. Everything.

  “I want to try.” She threads her fingers through my hair and closes the distance between us. This time her kiss is a little more urgent—a little rough—like she’s trying to get as close to me as possible. And instead of a brief whisper across my lips, she plants her mouth firmly against mine and tangles her hands in my hair, sending a bolt of arousal straight to my cock.

  I run my hands up her shirt just as she pulls away again.

  Christ.

  I breathe heavily and stare at her rose-colored lips, slick and beautiful. I want them again. It’s all I can focus on and want. But when I reach up for more, I’m sorely refused as she presses her hand to my chest.

  “I need another confession.”

  “Fuck.” I rest my head against the couch and look toward the ceiling. “Uh . . . I once gave a starving cat my last piece of sandwich.” I pull her in close, meld my mouth with hers, as my hands drive down her back to her pants where I slip them past the hemline. God, I love her ass.

  But before I can give her a good squeeze, she’s pulling away again.

  This is goddamn torture.

  My cock is hard as a rock, pressing uncomfortably into my zipper.

  My nipples are like glass, practically cutting my sweater open.

  My legs are numb with need.

  And my head is dizzy with lust.

  “That was not a satisfactory confession.”

  “When did a scale of satisfaction come into the picture? I thought it was confession, kiss. Confession, kiss.”

  “A scale came into place the minute your hands traveled down my pants.”

  I smile wickedly. “Well, you’re the one who sat on my lap and enticed me.”

  “I was just getting into better kissing position.”

  “I’m not going to complain about that.” I go to kiss her again when she stops me, her palm to my face. Talking through her hand, I say, “This isn’t really conducive to the mood I’m trying to set.”

  Chuckling, she says, “There shall be no more kissing until I get a satisfactory confession. Remember, I’m trying to add layers here.”

  I groan in frustration, unsure of what else to say since all the blood in my body has rushed to my groin, leaving me listless and unable to focus at reaching into my inner goddess and pulling out every sensitive thought I’ve ever had.

  But nothing comes to mind.

  “Ehh . . .”

  She twirls her finger through my hair. “You have to have something else in there to tell me.” She leans forward and nibbles at my ear before speaking softly. “Any stories where you wept yourself to sleep.”

  “Uh . . .”

  She rocks on my hips.

  “Maybe you’re some secret vigilante who spends his free time opening doors for old ladies.” Her lips work their way down my neck.

  “I mean, I open doors,” I sigh. The press of my cock into my jeans is now painful.

  “Or was there a time where you cried yourself to sleep over watching a soldier coming home to his family?” She bites down on the juncture of my neck and shoulder, her soft hair skimming over my heated skin.

  Fuuuuuck. I grip her ass tightly, cupping her cheeks, my composure about to snap.

  “I’ve gotten choked up a few times.”

  She lifts her head and brings her lips to mine where she nips at my mouth, enticing me to a point that I fear I might do something stupid like flip her on her back and drive my cock inside her without warning.

  Never in a million years would I have ever pegged Julia Westin as a goddamn tease and yet, here she is, on my lap, barely pressing her lips against mine, undulating her hips against my hard-as-fuck erection, tempting me but never giving in.

  She’s a vixen.

  Fuck, do I want her.

  “Tell me a story, Bram, give me a brief insight into your soul.”

  I grind my teeth together the minute she pulls away again. There is no way I can go through another round of this torture and make it through unscathed. It’s why I reach into my box of secrets and give her the one thing I have left, the one thing I’ve been trying to avoid bringing up.

  “Senior year in college,” I breathe out, gathering her attention. “That night.”

  “What night?” Her teasing ways seems to simmer as she listens intently to my story.

  “The night I almost killed that guy with my fists.”

  “Oh,” she answers.

  One syllable. One simple reaction that holds a heavy weight in two letters. We’ve never really spoken of that night, just swept it under the rug, but there is one thing she doesn’t know about, something I swore I’d never tell her. Never . . . never confess. But it’s a part of my soul she needs to see.

  I stare her in the eyes as I speak. “That night, I had this weird feeling. One that made every hair on my body stand at attention. Something told me to not drink that night, to be on full alert. This might sound cheesy, but I feel like some cosmic force was pulling our souls together. I felt this immediate pain in my chest when I was walking through campus, and a minute later, that’s when I found you struggling with the dickhead. I saw red. Nothing could have stopped me. Nothing but the sound of your relieved voice.”

  “It’s like . . . you knew something was going to happen to me.”

  I slowly nod. “I can’t tell you how grateful I was that I was there. And after I got you back to your dorm, I stood outside for at least an hour, staring at your window, hoping to whoever wanted to listen that you would be okay. That you wouldn’t be scarred. I paced back and forth, raking my hand through my hair, hating myself for not getting there quicker, but also frustrated with the arrogance of that fuckhead, thinking he could force himself on any girl he wanted.” And he’d tried to take what was mine. Who was mine. I take a deep breath. “I was so angry, so frustrated and confused about my feelings for Rath’s little sister that I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in my bed, sick to my stomach, and so goddamn angry that I ended up punching three holes in my wall and spraining my wrist.”

  “Wait, that’s how you sprained your wrist? Rath said it was because you were drunk and fell down the stairs.”

  “Because he didn’t want you to know the real reason. He came into my room after the third strike and stopped me. He took me to the hospital, and it wasn’t until we were in the exam room that he spoke up and asked me what was going on. I didn’t want to tell him what happened but then again, every lie I threw his way he didn’t believe. So I ended up telling him the truth, begging and pleading with him to not say anything until
you came to him.”

  She lifts up, realization running quickly through her eyes. “He acted surprised and angry that next morning, as if he didn’t know.”

  “He held his word. He told me that night I would forever be his brother, someone he would lay down his life for. And it was that night I realized, despite never having had siblings, I would always have someone on my side, someone to rely on. It was the night I found out what true brotherhood was all about.” The night I finally had an inkling of what it was like to feel complete. Yet later, I also realized I wouldn’t fully be me until I also had Julia’s heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  JULIA

  I blink a few times, still trying to comprehend everything Bram just told me.

  I should be angry, I should be furious with Bram for telling Rath before I had a chance, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to muster one ounce of anger.

  “Jules.” He tugs on my hand. “Hey, are you mad?”

  I can’t answer him. I’m still in disbelief. When I asked him to confess something to me, I never thought it was going to be that. I never thought I would find out the real reason he sprained his wrist, or the real reason I caught Rath the next day with spackle in his hand and a worried look on his face.

  “Jules, I’m sorry. I know I told you I wouldn’t tell him but—”

  I silence him with my finger to his mouth. His eyes widen as my eyes lock with his. Fear falls over his pupils, a tension pours over his muscles, causing his thighs to turn into stone beneath me.

  I lift off his lap and his protest rests on his lips as I pull him up with me. Hand in hand, I walk him to my bedroom where I quietly shut the door and turn to him. Confusion and hope mars his face as I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up and over my head.

  He stands there, stunned, taking in my torso, his eyes focusing in on my black bralette with his fists clenched at his side.

  I take a step forward, and then another until my hands land on his sweater. He sucks in a forceful breath when I slip my hands under the hem and ride my fingers up his bare torso.

  In a serious tone, I say, “I know I said I wanted to take this slow, but I don’t think I can, not after what you just told me. I need to connect with you on a different level. I need to feel you and have that beautiful heart of yours touch me in a way so uniquely you.”

  The teasing lilt to his voice is nowhere to be seen when he says, “I meant everything I said.”

  “I know, it’s why I need to feel your skin on mine.” I pull his shirt over his head, exposing the stone wall of his chest. Thick pecs, taught nipples, sculpted shoulders, and a deathly abdomen, which has me feeling weak in the knees.

  My fingers explore his skin, delighting in the feel of his strong chest under my touch and the way he stands so still, occasionally taking in a deep breath when my fingers graze over his nipples.

  Given his personality and how he’s very much a man who likes to take charge, I’m surprised how long he’s giving me the upper hand, letting me explore.

  I skim down his stomach where I unbuckle his belt and jeans. There is an obvious bulge between his legs and my mouth waters, wanting to see just how hard he is for me. From the short amount of time I spent on his lap, I’m going to assume he’s aching to be freed at this point. But I don’t unzip his jeans yet.

  Instead, I take off my pants, exposing my long legs in a black thong. He sighs and brings his hands to my waist where he grips me tightly, his touch falling under the waistband of my thong. His fingers press into my backside, gripping tightly as if he’s afraid if he blinks, I’ll disappear.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He swallows hard. “It almost doesn’t feel real.”

  And there’s his sensitive side again, a side of him I never knew was there. He’s always been Bram—the guy who consistently jokes around. But this other side of him—as if he’s in awe—it’s moving me in unexpected ways, like I want nothing more than to bury myself next to him and never let go.

  I loop my hands around his neck and whisper, “It’s real, Bram.”

  He lowers his mouth to mine and claims me the only way he knows how to—with passion. Strength. He’s taking back control with the sole purpose of pleasing me, pleasuring me . . . adoring me. Gently, he opens his mouth to me, pressing into me with his tongue, searching out a deeper connection. I submit, falling into his embrace, opening wider and matching his thrusts as our hands wander over each other’s heated body.

  Addictive electricity bounces between us, our connection palpable, promising of pleasure to come, not that I had any doubt in my mind it would be anything but great with Bram.

  His hands glide up my back to my bralette where he undoes the clasp. He doesn’t push the fabric down right away. Instead, he moves his hands to my ribcage where he settles his palms right below my breasts. He continues his pursuit to relish my body with his mouth. That’s when I take the time to skim my hands down his body, enjoying every contour and bulge of his muscles, his skin taut and smooth. Pure masculinity radiates off him in the way he pushes forward into my embrace and the way he spans his hands across my body, trying to touch every inch his large hand will allow.

  His kisses are heady, well executed, intoxicating.

  His touch is soothing, enticing, like a bolt of lightning shooting straight down my spine into a pool of desire.

  And his scent—all male, all-consuming.

  His thumbs swipe the underside of my breasts and inch their way up, causing me to catch my breath as his tongue dives deeper into my mouth. A moan escapes me, his thumbs move higher to my nipples where he swipes once, twice, three times.

  My muscles clench.

  My arousal heightens.

  And my desire to push him to the bed takes over me as my hands connect with his chest and attempt to tell him exactly what I want.

  Thankfully he’s listening.

  He spins me around so the backs of my legs hit the bed where he gently lowers me down, disconnecting our mouths for a brief second as he pushes his pants down along with his boxer briefs.

  At eye level, I get an impressive view of his erection, straining and bobbing at his waist. Before I can get a good stroke in or even a decent look, he pushes me onto the bed, shucks my bra to the side, and feasts on my exposed breasts.

  His cock lies heavily on my leg, his body heated, and his mouth hot and wet on my nipples.

  Sucking.

  Nibbling.

  Pinching.

  He laves at my breasts, never letting up but turning my muscles into liquid, the juncture between my legs throbbing incessantly, begging for his touch. Just a caress, something to alleviate the pressure that’s building inside me, in the pit of my stomach, thrumming to my arousal.

  “God,” I moan, gripping his hair, moving my chest beneath him, encouraging him to move lower, but he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he stays put, sucking and squeezing my breasts. “Bram,” I groan, “Please.”

  “Forty-five minutes,” he says between sucks.

  And then it hits me, our conversation we had about foreplay. He believes forty-five minutes is a proper amount of time to play with a woman’s body. I don’t know how long it’s been, but there is no way I can take on this kind of pleasure for forty-five minutes.

  “No,” I say breathless, “please don’t make me wait that long.”

  “Forty-five minutes, Jules.” That’s all he says as he goes back to sucking on my breasts.

  Christ. There is no way I’ll make it.

  I want him, inside me, now.

  Moving my hands down between us, I find the tip of his cock and rub my thumb over the head. He jerks in response, pulling his head up for a deep breath.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You’re not the only one who gets to touch,” I answer breathlessly, stroking my thumb over his tip again.

  He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, his chest muscles flexing above me, a light sheen of sweat perspiring on his sk
in. Playing off the pleasure etched on his face, I move my hand down his shaft and back up again where I press my thumb against the underside of his cock.

  “Fuck,” he breathes harshly.

  I skim my hand down again, his eyes focusing on the way I pump him, his hips moving with my stroke.

  “I want you inside me, Bram. I need you inside me.”

  His expression wavers, his indecision between foreplay and finally claiming me clear in his eyes. To give him a little more encouragement, I lift my head and kiss along his chest until I take his nipple in my mouth. He shoots up off the bed. He rakes his hand through his hair and mutters something right before reaching for my thong and pulling it down my legs.

  In one swift movement, he bends between my legs and presses his mouth to my center. My hands fall to the bedding where I grip the comforter tightly, my chest lifting, my mouth falling open. There is no easing into it, no slow perusal. He dives his tongue right against my clit, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue strong and relentless as he strokes me with skill, sending me into a fit of pleasure in seconds.

  “Oh Bram, oh God.”

  My legs tighten, my stomach coils, my toes curl, and a feral cry rips from me as I come on Bram’s tongue, my orgasm setting my entire body on fire.

  I can faintly feel him stroke me a few more times before I hear the rustle of his jeans and then the telltale sound of a condom wrapper. Barely able to lift my head, I glance up just as Bram takes both my legs and spreads them up and wide.

  “Hold your legs, Jules.”

  I do as he says, slightly self-conscious but also turned on. I’ve never done anything like this before with a man, so the new—almost too vulnerable—position has me willing and ready all over again.

  Bram positions himself over me, grips his cock, and slowly runs the head over my slick entrance before fully inserting himself.

  “Fuck,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut as he places a hand on my stomach. “You’re so perfect, Jules, so goddamn perfect.”

  I want to tell him how epically wonderful he feels inside me, how he stretches me and fills me like he’s been meant to be with me my whole life, but words escape me as he pumps into me.