Page 43 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

To devour them myself.

I pull the blanket over us—one more layer between us and the outside world, making this bed our private fuck fort. Every slow grind of hips, every kiss is a new experience, something I can’t forget. We move deliberately—soft gasps swallowed in kisses, every creak of the mattress met with my hand steadying the frame.

It’s equal parts torture and heaven, trying to keep silent while pleasure edges higher. I want to lose myself in her, and I can’t, or they’ll hear us. I have to be careful, or this magic spell is over.

When she finally trembles in my arms again, her teeth dig gently into my shoulder to stifle a cry, and I swear the sound of her breathing alone could unravel me. Hot pleasure cascades through my spine, my balls, my skin. I follow right after, burying my face in her neck, hands splayed over and gripping her hips to keep us both from shaking the bed.

When it’s done, she curls into me, drowsy and flushed. I stroke her hair, heart thundering far harder than it should. I’ve never let anyone this close—not really. And it terrifies me that she can undo me with a sigh.

She drifts back toward sleep, and I ease away before my thoughts spiral.

You will be shredded when this ends.

I know. And I can’t stop.

I brush a lingering kiss to her temple and tuck the blankets around her before I drag up a loungewear set and leave, duffel bag in hand. The cabin is hushed as I step onto the wraparound deck. A ribbon of sunrise threads through the treetops, lavender and gray. Cool morning air raises goose bumps across my bare arms. I settle onto a wide chaise, reach for my duffel, and draw out my knitting. Skeins of navy-blue wool spill into my lap.

Loops, knits, purls—each motion quiets the tangle in my mind. The repetitive pull of yarn through fingers is steadier than any meditation app. I think about last night’s laughter around the fire, the stories, the way Anya blushed but joked right back. Then the things that happened in bed…I think about this morning—how her breath caught when I whispered her name. And I realize, stark and simple, that I’m falling in love with her.

My stomach tightens. We crafted rules to protect ourselves, but I’ve bulldozed right through them. Any sensible man would pull back. I flex my fingers around the needles.

So why can’t I?

I’ve always been sensible about women. Never let them get too close, never cross lines with them, never…oh, who am I kidding? If I’m honest with myself, the truth is that I have a white knight complex, as Theo likes to call it. When I see a woman with a problem, it’s hard for me not to step up. Doesn’t matter the cost to myself—I’m protective of others, not myself, according to him. I’m sure part if that’s at play here, given her shitty situation with Calvin, but that’s not all of it.

It’s Anya. She’s been the girl of my dreams since that night at the silent auction, when Calvin beat me to her. That asshole.

A floorboard creaks. I look up as Anya steps outside, wrapped in a thick blanket. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, and her cheeks are still lined from the pillowcase. She smiles when she sees what I’m doing.

“Knitting before sunrise?” she teases, padding across the deck. “That’s dedication.”

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “Stress relief,” I admit. “I keep it quiet—my brothers would never let me live it down.”

She settles on the edge of the chaise. “I think it’s endearing,” she says, brushing her fingers along the growing scarf. “Makes you look…human.”

I huff a laugh. “Glad we’re clearing that up. For a moment, I feared you thought I was a monster.” Only half a joke. My size can too easily intimidate people, especially women. Anya doesn’t seem to notice.

She lifts the blanket in invitation. “You’ll be warmer if we share.” The playful glint in her eyes is my undoing. I put the needles and partial scarf into the duffel bag and let her drape me under the blanket. She situates herself sideways across my lap, legs curled beside me. The wool drapes over our shoulders, cocooning us from the brisk air.

“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper, though I’m already wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Is it?” she asks, fingers trailing along the back of my neck. “Because it feels pretty perfect from where I’m sitting.”

I inhale the scent of her hair—lavender, I think, and smoke from last night’s fire.This is too much,some rational shard ofme warns.Stop memorizing her, because you’ll miss her all the more when she’s gone, numb nuts. I tighten my hold anyway.

We lapse into soft conversation—her favorite summers by the ocean, my first winter in Tahiti, how both of us love the way pine forests smell after rain. The sun climbs, spilling honeyed light across the deck. It’s still early enough that Theo and Hunter haven’t emerged from the second bedroom, and I’m grateful for it.

At some point, the conversation dissolves. She tips her chin, meeting my eyes. The hush of the woods is absolute—no traffic, no voices, just distant birdsong. She kisses me with gentle insistence, and I yield entirely. My hand skims along her thigh beneath the blanket, her skin startlingly warm against the morning chill. She presses closer, lips parting in a sigh that curls in my gut like flame.

I break away, resting my forehead against hers. “You’re going to wreck me,” I murmur—half confession, half plea.

Her breath hitches. “Then we’ll be wrecked together.”

That shatters any last restraint. The blanket becomes our makeshift wall against the world as kisses deepen, hands explore, and breath turns ragged. Every cautious rule I set is ash on the wind. All that exists is the two of us—heat and haste, the creak of the chaise, the brisk air biting any exposed skin. Somehow we remain quiet, hushed laughter mingling with soft gasps. She moves with me, unafraid, trusting I will hold her steady.

She will wreck me, and I will beg her for the privilege.

She shifts her panties out of the way before she takes me inside of her again, wincing slightly.