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But all I can say is, “I need you.”
Phoebe’s breath hitches as my hand travels down her waist. I pause, but she grabs me and presses hard against me.
“Take me,” she whispers.
Her words—and that boldness—thunder through my core.
We connected about two years ago after I picked up a copy of The Duke and I on Elijah’s desk and started reading it. A semi-regular text chain started for us all to discuss the book, but Elijah eventually told us to take our chat to a private text message.
And we never looked back.
I love reading, but I’ve read more books in the last two years than I even thought I could. Book after book after book has been discussed as I got to know her. Her preference for wallflower leading ladies came as a surprise. She’s as bold as her hair and always so sure of herself.
Getting to know her through text built up this unexpected emotional connection. It’s something I really need when falling in love with someone and something I’ve struggled to find. But here she is.
I need her to know that.
“Phoebe, I mean it. I need all of you.”
She bites her lower lip, her gray eyes dancing in the yellow light from the lampposts threatening to give away our location.
“I know exactly what you mean, Benjamin Steel.”
My name on her tongue is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
My lips crash against hers as I run my finger along the hem of her short dress. Just this morning, I was complaining my brother and Felicity had chosen such a hot day for their wedding—as if they knew that when planning. But now? Holy shit. I’m so thankful Clover Creek is seeing its hottest spring ever.
Phoebe’s dress is so short, I barely need to navigate any fabric before my hand is grazing against her panties. She moans into my mouth, grinding herself against me as I slip my fingers past the elastic and against her hot, slick skin.
Bracing myself with one hand against the tree, I kiss her deeply as I press a finger inside. She takes me so willingly, drawing me into her tight center. I’m rock hard as she pulsates around my finger.
Her hands scramble to my waist, tugging my belt loose and unbuttoning my pants clumsily as her knees buckle.
“Here,” I murmur against her lips. “I’ve got it.”
I slide my finger so slowly out of her she’s squirming as if fighting the urge to sink back onto me.
I have something better than my damn finger, though.
Freeing my aching cock, I grasp her waist and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.
She reaches between us, her hands impossibly cool in this heat, a relief against my skin as she grasps the length of me. I groan and pull her closer to me.
“Let’s try something.”
I spin her around until she’s facing the tree. Gripping onto her hips, I tug her ass up and palm her milky skin.
“Let me grab a condom.” I reluctantly let go of her and pat my pockets before my pants fall to my ankles.
My stomach drops when I come up empty. Too late, I remember my wallet lying on the end table at my parents’ house where me and the rest of the wedding party got ready this morning. “I don’t have any protection.”
“I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” She’s panting, a wild mess of desire.
I hesitate for the briefest second. Not because I don’t trust her, but because the wealth my brothers and I have accrued has made us targets once or twice.
But this is Phoebe.
My best friend’s little sister.
