Chapter 7 #2
“I long to make love with you.” She shifts her gaze to my brother. “And you.”
Logan rises and pulls Josie up with him. “Thank the lord.”
He takes her mouth like he’s been holding himself back for days. She rises onto her toes without hesitation, fingers sliding into his hair, answering him instead of receiving him. It’s the way she leans into him that does it for me—not shy, not uncertain. Hungry.
While he kisses her, I shrug out of my jacket and let it fall over the chair. My tie follows. I don’t rush. I don’t need to. This moment has been building since she walked through our door.
The bed waits behind me. I pull back the covers and smooth the sheets with one palm, grounding myself in the simple motion. Control. Patience.
Josie standing there in Logan’s arms—lush, flushed, eyes dark with want—thinking she isn’t enough.
The idea almost makes me laugh.
Logan devours her mouth. Meanwhile, I shrug out of my dress shirt.
I can’t believe what women worry about. Josie is gorgeous and perfect. And I can’t wait to show her just how desirable we think she is.
Logan breaks the kiss first; I know he doesn’t want to, but he’s generous like that. He presses one last slow kiss to her mouth, then turns her gently by the hips toward me. He gives me a challenging look over her shoulder and steps back just enough to give us space.
She sways slightly when his hands leave her.
I step forward and catch her.
Her gaze lifts to mine. There’s no hesitation in it. Only heat. And something softer. Trust.
I slide my hand up her arm, slow, mapping the line from wrist to shoulder. Her skin is warm under my palm, soft and alive. Goosebumps rise in my wake. She inhales, chest lifting.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” I murmur, meaning more than just her mouth.
For now, I settle for that.
I cup her jaw and bring my lips to hers.
I press my mouth to hers and let it linger, feeling the shape of her bottom lip, the give of it under mine. She exhales into me, and I take that breath, deepening the kiss by degrees.
She melts like wax near flame—softening, opening. Her fingers slide up my chest, over my shoulders, gripping. She meets my tongue with hers, a slow, deliberate glide that turns into something more playful. We trade pressure. Trade rhythm. Neither surrendering, both giving.
Her mouth is hot and wet and addictive. There’s a faint hint of mint on her tongue, something clean and fresh that shouldn’t be this intoxicating but somehow is. Beneath it, she tastes like herself—warm and female and impossible to forget.
I pull her closer until our bodies align. Her breasts press against my chest. Her hips shift forward instinctively, and the contact makes my breath roughen.
She smells like spring—clean skin, something floral from her shampoo, and underneath it the subtle scent of arousal that makes my pulse spike.
I don’t let the kiss turn frantic.
I keep it slow. Deep. Intentional.
When I finally ease back, I don’t go far. My lips brush hers once more before I drag them along the corner of her mouth and down her jaw. My hands move over her arms, stroking slowly, thumbs sweeping back and forth as if I’m memorizing the feel of her.
She’s breathless.
So am I.
Her eyes open slowly, pupils wide, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from our kiss. She looks undone.
I slide one hand into her hair, fingers spreading at the base of her skull. “Josie?”
“Hmm?” Her gaze steadies on mine.
There’s still heat there, but I need to reassure both her and us.
“We stop if you want to stop,” I tell her. “At any second. You don’t owe us this. You don’t owe us anything.”
Logan’s chest brushes her back, his hands settling lightly at her hips, showing her we’re both on the same page, but she needs to be there too.
She watches me for a long beat. I see the calculation flicker like it’s an ingrained habit. Years of measuring what’s expected. What’s required.
Then her mouth curves.
It starts small. Unsure.
And then it deepens. Slow. Intentional. Her pupils widen until the green of her eyes darkens, almost swallowing the color.
“Thank you for the reminder,” she says softly. “It means the world to me.” Her hand slides down my chest, fingers grazing muscle, tracing patterns without hurry. “I really, really want you.”
I hear more than see Logan's exhalation of relief. And a smile tugs at my lips. My brother has always been the less patient of the two of us.
“In that case,” he brushes the shell of her ear with his mouth, “you’re wearing too many clothes.”
Her laugh is breathy and low.
We move together like a synchronized dance we’ve perfected over the years. Logan’s fingers hook under the hem of her top from behind while I lift the fabric from the front. The cotton slides slowly over her stomach, revealing skin inch by inch. Pale. Warm. Alive.
I trail my fingertips along the newly exposed stretch of her waist as the shirt rises higher. I feel the slight tremor under my touch.
She lifts her arms, surrendering the fabric as we reveal nicely rounded breasts in a simple black bra.
Logan tosses the shirt aside.
For a second, we just look.
The curve of her breasts beneath the black fabric. The faint lines at her hips. The softness of her belly when she inhales.
“Beautiful.” Logan’s mouth finds the side of her neck while I step closer, letting my knuckles skim lightly down the center of her chest, following the edge of her bra.
Against the bra, twin peaks strain.