10. Serena
Serena
This is wrong.
Holy fuck, this is so fucking wrong.
I’m kissing my boyfriend’s brother. My ex-boyfriend’s brother. Alex’s brother.
His much older brother. Who is also my boss. My employer.
The man who sent a card to my house and left a dress in this room, and who is currently balling the fabric of said dress in his fists, a desperate tug of desire so potent it shoots straight through me and to the hot, wet place between my legs.
“Ser-ena,” Travis rasps, his hands traveling down my sides, gripping the fabric, pausing on my hips, then sliding around to cup my ass. I’m two people at once—both lost in this, moving against him, touching him and gasping at the feel of his hands on me. “Serena.”
And also standing outside myself, commenting on the absolute fuckery of this situation.
I’m going to fuck Alex’s brother. And not only am I going to, but I’m… so turned on. My body never—never—felt like this when I was with Alex. With anyone. Under Travis’s hands, I feel feral, like I’m drowning, like I can’t possibly get my body close enough to his.
This is why people write songs about this. This must be why people cheat on their partners, this feeling like I need Travis to pin me down, take me apart, be on me and inside me at the same time. This is why attraction causes bad decisions.
And this is my boyfriend’s brother.
My ex-boyfriend. Fuckwad, I hear Lillie say, but I don’t want to hear what else she might have to say about this moment, so I slam that part of my mind shut.
Instead of thinking, I bury my face in the crook of Travis’s neck as he lifts me up, moves me over to the desk, sets me down and stands between my legs.
When I breathe deeply, I get a hit of his cologne, warm and spicy. Dark, lush, like the back of a hand over my cheek. If I ever get the chance, I’m going through his things until I find the bottle, so I can steal it and administer it to myself like a drug.
“You knew exactly what you were doing down there.” Travis’s lips are on me, his voice vibrating through my body as he shoves the hem of my dress up my thighs with one hand, the other pulling at the neckline.
I gasp when he gets the neckline down and wastes no time in lowering his head, pushing me back against the wall and taking a nipple in his mouth. Air sucks out of me in a stuttering breath, my chest convulsing, eyes closing.
“What was I doing?” I manage, voice surprisingly steady for the absolute tsunami of emotion inside me. I bury my hands in Travis’s hair and ride the motion of his head as he sucks and licks, holds the sensitive part of my nipple between his teeth and looks up at me with those dark, dark eyes.
“Teasing me,” he says, nudging his face into the spot between my breasts. The words trail over my skin as he moves to the other breast. “All night, you wanted me to look at you, didn’t you, Serena?”
I’m nodding, and letting out a gasping cry when he sucks my breast into his mouth, running the flat of his tongue over my nipple. It’s so much sensation, too much, and I squirm, but Travis holds me still with his hands on my waist, pinning me to the desk.
Fuck.
“I did,” I admit, lavishing in the agony and euphoria of being under him, feeling the pleasure and having nowhere to run. The running. The chase. It made me so wet, which is fucked up. I know that, but don’t have time to think about it. “That’s why I…”
“That’s why you were flirting with him,” Travis growls, raising his head and meeting my gaze as he slides a hand up the inside of my thigh, moving my panties to the side and sliding a finger between my folds. “Are you going to do that every time, Serena? Make me jealous?”
My hips buck against him, my body snapping at the sensation. I’m a bundle of want, every nerve in my body eager for his touch, desperate for more.
Lowering his mouth down by my ear, Travis says, voice low and dangerous, “It worked, Serena. You got my attention. But then you ran.”
I’m in a rhythm now, writhing against his knuckle on my clit, gasping, only half my brain able to catch onto the words he murmurs into my ear. After a moment, I manage, “I liked being chased. By you.”
That seems to send Travis over some sort of edge, because he lets out a warped, strangled noise. I’m already fumbling with his pants, and I quickly get them undone. Wrapping a hand around his length, I gasp into his mouth.
My therapist would definitely call what I’m doing reckless. A reaction to the trauma of what Alex did to me. But I’m in my body right now, and I’m recognizing that I’ve wanted Travis since the first time I saw him at Onyx. I’m just doing what my body desperately needs…
So, instead of thinking about how wrong this is or how I shouldn’t be doing this or what my therapist or roommates might say, I just do what I do best—enjoy the moment, deal with the consequences later.
That must be what Travis is thinking, too. Or maybe he’s not thinking about it at all.
It doesn’t matter.
The only thing that matters is the way he thrusts into my hand, his cock sliding against my fingers.
I tighten my hand, increase my pace. He curls his fingers, thrusts deeper and harder inside me.
For a few heartbeats, we’re in a race to see who can get the other closer, harder, wetter. More desperate.
I smile when Travis pulls his fingers out of me, muttering, “Fuck this.” He pulls his cock free from my hand, yanks my hips to the edge of the desk, and lines himself up at my entrance.
“I’m on birth control.” I might be reckless, but I’m not a masochist. “And clean.”
“Me too, and I’ve had a vasectomy,” Travis states, and I don’t have time to unpack that, because he’s sliding inside me, and my body is adjusting to take him, and I go completely, totally silent.
The pleasure is a sunburst in the center of my brain, a flash that spreads through my body like the plume before an atomic bomb. I clutch tightly to him as he buries himself fully, his hands tight on my hips, his breathing hot and fast against my neck.
It feels like yes, yes, yes, which is too simple and too plain, but still the only word I can manage, the chorus rolling through my mind.
“You’re so tight,” he manages, after a moment, before withdrawing, thrusting again. In all my fantasies, every time I’ve been in bed touching myself, I’ve never imagined a man saying that to me.
I feel myself clench around him in response, desire surging through me. It’s the thought of what it feels like for him, how good it feels for him, that steals my breath. How much I like the praise.
Travis’s fingers dig into my hips. He lets his head fall against my shoulder and rocks into me, the movement underpinned by the slightest tremble of desperation.
The desk tilts, knocking against the wall, and I think for a moment that we should move to the bed, but then Travis is fucking me hard, and the desk is rocking against the wall, and I realize I’m actually really into it.
This is his hotel. Who gives a fuck if someone hears us?
This is Travis’s hotel.
My body tingles with a strange exhilaration, a sense of power. A transfer of his authority to me. Travis Oakley is fucking me in this hotel room, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
Seeing the place our bodies connect makes me moan, which makes Travis fuck me harder.
He increases his pace, keeps one hand anchored on my hip while skimming the other up my side, over the slinky fabric and to my breast, which he palms, before sliding his hand up my chest and to my throat.
My eyes fly to his as he thrusts into me, and I see the blind hunger there. I also see the question.
When I nod, he settles his hand over my neck, and my pulse jumps under the pad of his thumb. A reaction to how I’ve just relinquished control.
Holding my gaze, Travis swipes his finger under my jaw and holds me like that, touch featherlight over my neck, a complete opposite from every other place he touches me.
The desk knocks against the wall, clattering the artwork on either side of us.
He fucks me with my pulse under his finger, his lips lowering to my jaw, until I come so hard and fully around him that I can’t see anything but that incredible sunburst, turning supernova.
“Are you from the city?”
I blink at Travis as I stumble back from the bathroom, eyes trying to adjust to the low light of the room. He’s in the bed, reclined casually in nothing but his boxers, one arm up over his head. Even in the dim light, I can see that his eyes are unfocused, his pupils blown out.
His gaze sweeps over me, taking me in, and I feel like a doe standing in the beam of his headlights. Just minutes before, this dress felt like too much clothing—now it’s like I’m covering myself with a hand towel. My legs are unsteady, my body still thrumming from the afterglow of the orgasm.
The best orgasm of my life.
I know it’s fucked up to compare brothers, to hold them up side by side like that, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself from thinking about the fact that in the entire time we were together, Alex never once made me feel like that.
Ravished.
“Uh,” I finally manage when I get far enough into the room to start looking for my underwear. It’s hard for me to search and think at the same time. “No, New Jersey.”
Travis makes a noise low in his throat and I lift my head up, raising an eyebrow at him, “Don’t tell me you’re that pretentious.”
He makes a face that’s surprisingly open, surprisingly boyish. “No. Just surprised.”
“Why? I don’t seem like I’m from Jersey?”
“No. You don’t. Are your parents from there? Did you move after school?”
As always, my chest locks up tight at the mention of my parents. At the daunting thought of explaining to this man who just had his dick buried inside me that I mostly grew up without a mom or dad. That I am, in some fundamental way, inherently unlovable.
My therapist would call that the story I’m telling myself. Logically, I know that kids in the system aren’t there because people don’t love them, and I would never assign that label to any of them.
But still. I can’t shake the feeling that it applies to me.
“You’re asking a lot of questions,” I say, pausing the search for my underwear. Perching on the edge of the mattress, I cross my arms—not missing the way his gaze dips to my chest—and study him. “What about you? Are you from the city?”
It dawns on me that despite the fact that I readily hooked up with this man, I don’t really know that much about him. A quick Google search supplies his family lineage and his mother’s name, but I know very little about his life.
And, based on what I’ve seen of him so far, I expect him to shut this line of questioning down. To shake his head and rise up out of the bed, wishing me a good night, making sure to throw something in about this staying casual.
He might even make it clear that he’s had his fill and we won’t be doing anything like this again.
A flush of dread rushes through me as my mind whirs, jumping from one thought to the next so quickly that trying to slow it is like chasing a runaway train.
What if Travis was just waiting to fire me? What if this was some sort of revenge fuck? Would Alex do something like that? Would Travis?
Honestly, I wouldn’t even be that upset about it. Which probably says something about me, but I’m too scatterbrained to really examine it at the moment.
“That depends on who you ask.”
Travis’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and my eyes fly to his as my mind tries to process what he just said. Before I can ask about it, he goes on.
“I grew up in Manhattan,” he explains, “but my Mom is from Korea.”
It occurs to me that, from my internet research, I was vaguely aware of that fact. But it’s different for him to tell me. When he tells me, it feels like he’s admitting something. Sharing. It’s more intimate than me finding out from the internet.
“Did she go back? To Korea?”
Travis shakes his head. We’re sitting what feels like miles apart on the bed. My legs twitch to rise, to cross over to him and tuck myself into the soft space between his shoulder and his neck, but is that what this is?
A minute ago, I was waiting for him to leave, or even to gently imply that I should go. But now he’s chatting sleepily with me, like it was always the plan for us to spend the night in this room together.
Was this always Travis’s plan?
I want to spend the night here, with him. Want to find more ways our bodies fit together, sexual or not. That should scare me, especially with how recently I got out of the relationship with Alex, but it doesn’t. A problem for a future me.
“Did you pack pajamas?” Travis asks, his eyes darting over to the small duffel I brought with me this morning. I glance at it, too, knowing that if I open it, I’m staying.
“Yeah,” I admit, cheeks flushing.
Travis nods, “You should put them on. Or, better yet, wear nothing. Just get out of that dress, Serena.”
My name on his tongue is like a spell.
It’s unlike me to follow orders, but this time I do. Maybe it’s how tired I am, or maybe it’s just that I don’t want this moment between us to end.
So, with Travis’s gaze on me, I cross to my bag, take out my toiletries, and start changing into my pajamas.
“She visits Korea a lot,” Travis says, his voice soft, his answer like a reward for doing what he said.
I glance up at him quickly while pulling on my pajama shorts, but his eyes are somewhere over my shoulder.
“Likes to see my aunties over there. I try to make the trip once a year. But she lives in the city year-round. We have dinner together every Sunday.”
My heart squeezes. What I wouldn’t give to have a mom. Someone to have dinner with. A standing date. I imagine Travis gets to have his childhood favorites, a dish that tastes good simply because his mother made it.
“Does she—” I stop when Travis holds up a hand.
“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head, eyes glinting. I twist my hair into a clip and hold his gaze. “It’s your turn to answer questions.”
I brush my teeth and wash my face, and when I return, Travis has pulled the duvet back, patting for me to climb in with him.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register yet again that this is a bad idea. Sleeping with Alex’s brother is one thing, but cuddling with him? Talking to him about our childhoods, dreams, future plans?
That’s so fucking dangerous.
And maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise to me that, of course, I do it anyway.