Chapter 3
POV: Marina
He carried me into his apartment, straight to his bedroom, and laid me on his bed. He peeled my clothes off like I was something sacred—my skirt, my blouse—his attention slow, deliberate, reverent.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. “About you in my bed. About you looking at me the way you do.”
He kissed me again, his tongue claiming mine before his mouth traced my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. His hands unclasped my bra, and then his lips found my nipples, sending sparks through my entire body. I moaned involuntarily, my voice betraying me.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice rough with control. “You have no idea how hard it is not to take what I want from you.”
A shiver tore through me. It had been so long since I’d felt this—since I’d felt anything even close to this.
His hands slide lower, removing my panties with infuriating slowness. When his thumb brushes my clit, pleasure slams into me—too fast, too intense. My hands tangle in his hair, trying to ground myself, but it feels like electricity under my skin.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “I want every sound. Every reaction. You’re mine in this moment, Marina.”
His finger slides inside me, his thumb still working me, his mouth still at my breasts—too many sensations, too much control, and I don’t know where to focus.
“Don’t think,” he orders softly. “Don’t rationalize. I’m in control here. With me, you just feel.”
Something in his tone makes me obey. I stop trying to manage it.
And I break.
The orgasm crashes over me so violently I forget how to breathe. I moan without restraint, without shame, without caring who hears. I’ve never felt so exposed and so free.
He watches me like he’s engraving me into memory.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me see what you’re capable of.”
But he doesn’t stop.
He kisses down my stomach, then his mouth finds me again—slow, relentless. My hands clutch the sheets as another wave builds.
“God, Brennan—”
He chuckles, low and intimate, the sound vibrating through me.
“You’re perfect like this. Open. Honest. Mine.”
His mouth worships me, patient and merciless. His eyes lock with mine, hazel darkened with something like surrender and devotion all at once.
“You taste even better than I imagined.”
He doesn’t stop until a second orgasm rips through me, deeper, stealing the air from my lungs.
I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this again.
When he climbs back up, licking his lips, his gaze is possessive, unreadable, dangerous. He kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue.
“You’re not forgetting this,” he whispers. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
I reach for his clothes, desperate to feel him, but his hands hover over mine.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to rush.”
He guides my hands, controlling the pace, undressing himself like he’s teaching me how to touch him. When he’s bare, his body is all carved muscle and discipline.
His arousal is heavy, undeniable.
I wrap my hand around him and he groans.
He positions himself over me, aligning himself slowly, stretching me inch by inch. My body adjusts, trembles.
He stops.
“You okay?” he asks, brushing my hair back. “If you want me to stop, I will.”
“No,” I whisper, heat flooding my cheeks. “Please don’t stop. It’s just… it’s been a long time.”
Something in his face softens.
“I can go slow,” he murmurs.
And he does.
Slow, controlled, devastating. His eyes never leave mine. He adjusts my hips, lifts my leg, finds an angle that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
“Eyes on me, Marina. I need to see you.”
I obey. I don’t even question why.
“Like that? You like it?”
“Yes—like that—”
The orgasm hits again, harder than anything before. My body tightens around him, and he groans, losing control for the first time.
“God—”
He collapses over me, breathless, tangled with me.
A laugh escapes me, breathless, disbelieving.
“What?” he asks, brushing my hair back.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt something like this.”
He smirks.
“You mean you liked it?”
“I loved it.”
“Give me five minutes,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “We can do it again.”
I laugh, but he’s not joking.
“I mean it.”His eyes were dark, devouring me like he could see through skin and bone.
“I’m not that young anymore,” I joked, laughing breathlessly.
He didn’t smile back.
Brennan’s mouth crashed into mine instead—possessive, claiming, like laughter had no place between us anymore. His hand slid up my body, and I gasped when his fingers brushed my nipples. He didn’t linger. He didn’t tease kindly.
He pulled back just to watch me.
His fingers traced slow, feather-light circles over my stomach, making me squirm, making my skin burn where he wasn’t touching. He stopped right when I needed him most, eyes locked on mine—watching me unravel.
Then he slid a finger inside me.
My mouth fell open at the sudden pleasure, a soft sound tearing from my throat as his thumb brushed my clit again.
“I’d say you’re more than ready for me,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes heavy with hunger.
He pulled me over him, guiding me down until I was straddling his hips.
“Come here. Ride me.”
The command sent heat straight through me.
I felt him hard beneath me, thick and demanding, and my mind actually short-circuited. How could he already be this hard again? As if my body belonged to him now—like he’d flipped a switch.
My wetness slid over him as I adjusted my hips, sinking onto him inch by inch. I braced my hands on his shoulders, breath shuddering as he stretched me, filled me, claimed me.
His hands held my hips, steady, controlling—but he let me move, let me find my rhythm. His gaze on me was reverent, almost worshipful, but there was nothing gentle in the way he watched me.
“Look at yourself,” he murmured. “So good for me. Keep moving. Don’t stop.”
I rolled my hips slowly, feeling pleasure coil again, every movement dragging another gasp from my chest. His fingers dug into my waist, guiding me just a little higher.
Then he took control.
He lifted his hips off the mattress, thrusting into me halfway, meeting my movements with slow, deliberate power.
“Oh my fucking God—” That was all I could say.
“Yes,” he groaned. “That’s it. Come for me again.”
My body betrayed me instantly. The orgasm hit too fast, too intense, ripping through me like a storm. I cried out, fingers clawing at his shoulders as I shattered around him.
He thrust into me twice more, losing his restraint, groaning my name as he followed me over the edge.
I collapsed forward, shaking, breathless.
Brennan adjusted me against his chest, arms around me, his hand stroking my hair like he needed me close. And I had the terrifying thought that I had never felt this safe, this owned, this completely undone.
I shouldn’t have slept there.
I knew that.
But my body didn’t give me a choice.
I fell asleep in his arms.
----
I woke up warm.
A huge, solid body was wrapped around me from behind, his arm draped over my waist, his chest pressed to my back. His breath was warm against my neck, slow and steady, and for a few seconds I felt… safe. Deliciously safe. Like nothing in the world could reach me.
It had been so long since I woke up tangled in someone else’s body, smelling like sex and heat and skin.
Then reality slammed back into me.
Brennan Stokes.
My brother’s younger friend.
This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I started to twist away, ready to escape before he woke up—before I had to face this—when I felt his lips press to my back.
My protest died in my throat.
He kissed lower, slow and unhurried, and a shiver ran through me. My body betrayed me instantly, melting into the mattress. The protest became a moan.
He rolled me onto my back, his body hovering over mine, his hands framing my waist. He kissed my stomach, his breath warm, his touch reverent.
“Brennan—” My voice came out as a plea instead of a warning.
“Good morning to you too,” he murmured.
Then his mouth was on me.
“Oh my God—”