Page 26 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

The memory of it fills me with awe, a sensation so profound it’s almost religious, and I’m not a religious man by any stretch. It reminds me of the rare moments in my life when business and logic fade into the background, and I’m left with raw emotion. It’s something akin to when I’m in domspace, or the rare occasions I take my motorcycle out for a midnight ride in the country. The times I’m free.

Those moments in my life are few and far between.

I inhale slowly, trying to settle my thoughts, but every breath is tinged with the memory of the warmth of her pressed against me. Holding her as she came. It’s strange to admit, I suppose, but it felt like the honor of a lifetime. How did she do that? How has she wormed her way into my brain already?

I roll onto my side, burying my face in the pillow, but it’s useless. My body is far too awake and standing rigidly at attention, replaying those moments again and again.

Stop obsessing, Theo.

Eventually, I give up and swing my feet to the floor. With as little noise as possible, I crawl out of bed and head straight for the bathroom. A cold shower might help, if only to clear my head. The suite’s bathroom is cramped—paint peeling in places, and the mirror above the sink has a small crack at the corner. But it’s all we have at this late hour.

I lock the door behind me, flick on the light, and twist the shower’s knobs. I wait for the water to run cold before stepping in, letting the icy spray drive out the heat lodged in my bones. Shivering under the frigid water, I focus on the mind-numbing chill—anything to force my thoughts away from Anya’s flushed, parted lips, her trembling sighs, and the absolute trust in her eyes.

That might be the worst part. The way she looks at us as if she doesn’t doubt we have everything under control. As if she trusts that we’d never hurt her…

We won’t. But she has no reason to feel that way about us. Had another dom approached her at Sins, would she have given them that same level of trust without cause to do so? Surely, she can’t be that naïve.

A moot point, though. She’s here with us. We’d never let anything happen to her.

Minutes later, I twist the knobs off, goose bumps rippling along my arms. I step out of the shower and dry off quickly, glancing at my reflection in the cloudy mirror. My hair is plastered to my forehead, water dripping down the slope of my nose. I rub the towel around my waist, feeling some of the tension diminish.

All right, that should do it.

No. Not quite. Forgot clean clothes. Shit.

I’ll have to grab my bag out there. But when I open the door, there stands Anya—her stunning blue eyes widening as they take me in, towel slung precariously around my hips, water still rolling off my chest.

My heart skips. I intend to politely excuse myself, but she lifts a finger to her lips, signaling for me to be silent. Then she slips inside before I can speak, closing the door with a soft click behind her. Now it’s just the two of us in this steamy, cramped space. Me in a towel, and her in a long T-shirt.

My pulse rockets. The frosted glass of the bathroom light gives everything a hazy glow. She looks up at me, a silent question in her gaze.

“Anya,” I whisper. Her name feels like an incantation on my tongue.

She doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she presses a palm to my sternum, and her hand skates up my chest.

All the breath leaves me thanks to that simple touch. She lifts onto her toes, curls her fingers around the back of my neck, and pulls me down into a kiss. My pulseerupts. My brain andheart as well. She is fire and sweetness and passion all in one package, and if I have anything to say about it, I’ll take my time unwrapping it.

The shower’s chill is gone the moment we come together, replaced by fire that floods my chest and settles low in my abdomen. Her lips press against mine with a quiet eagerness, and for a moment, all my disciplined composure snaps. I brace one hand against the door to keep my balance, the other finding its way to her waist. The heat radiating from her body is impossible to ignore, and I let out a low groan that reverberates against her mouth.

This closeness torches my restraint and sparks the kindling of my crush. It was long-standing but weak. I’d never fed that particular fire—she was Calvin’s fiancée in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Told myself she was off-limits, a pretty girl my brother did not deserve, but had all the same.

But every stolen glance, every fantasy of what might have been, was a sour balm to my nerves. And no fantasy measured up to this kiss.

It’s like she needs to erase every last barrier between us. The sensation is mind-numbing. Her small sighs, the press of her curves against my bare torso—addictive. My towel is definitely not as secure as it was a moment ago.

All I can think about is the softness of her lips, how they part to let me in. I deepen the kiss, grazing my teeth gently over her lower lip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. She shivers, and I pull her closer, the fabric of her T-shirt bunching under my fingers.

This is what I have needed for so long. To feel her with me here, in this moment. I know it’s just an experiment to her, but it’s everything to me.

We break apart just enough to breathe. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair slightly mussed. She arches against me, guiding me back against the sink. The edge digs into my hip, but the discomfort barely registers. My mouth finds hers again, and she whimpers softly as our lips collide. I taste the faint remnants of toothpaste, and under that, something purelyAnya.

Her hands slip over my shoulders, down my arms, then skim the edge of my towel at my waist. Despite every ounce of logic screaming at me to slow down, I can’t stop from pressing her closer, sliding my palm up to cradle her face. The sensation of her warm skin under my touch sears into my memory.

For one wild second, I think of how the others are just a room away—Gage or Hunter could knock at any moment. But Anya is here, in my arms, so sure in her decision that she came looking for me. The emotional lines I vowed not to cross dissolve, replaced by a deep, ferventwant.

My breath comes ragged as we kiss again, and I realize this is no longer about rational choices. It’s about her willingness, her eagerness to explore. And I, Theo Carver, the model of restraint, am helpless against her.

She shifts her weight, leaning into me, and I let out a low hum of pleasure. A dizzy sense of possibility swirls in my chest. I’ve never been one to embrace spontaneity like this, but right now, in this humid motel bathroom, with her lips traveling down my jaw, I think I might die if I have to stop.