Page 55 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

She bites her lip so hard I think it might bleed. Her whole body tenses, vibrating like a string stretched too tight. I slow the rhythm, easing off the pressure, letting her hover there. Her hips rock forward to chase the sensation.

I grin and fuck her harder. I move my thumb down to circle her clit, giving her exactly what she needs without letting her fall over the cliff too fast.

Every time I drag my fingers out, her body pulls me back in.

The slick heat of her coats my fingers, slicking every thrust. I bite back a groan and keep moving, working her until she’s trembling.

Her thighs tighten around my wrist. Her breath comes in short, frantic bursts. I lean in again. “Let go,” I whisper.

She does.

It starts with a full-body tremble. Then she lets out a strangled breath. Her pussy clenches down on my fingers in pulsing waves, soaking them completely as she comes. She’s silent, but her face gives her away.

How are they not seeing this?

Her eyes are half rolled back. Her neck and chest are flushed with the effort of staying quiet while her entire body falls apart from the inside out.

I could stop now, but I’m not letting her off that easy. I drag every last aftershock out of her. I want her to feel this the rest of the day. I want her pussy aching, and her mind completely fried.

When I finally remove my hand, she shudders and exhales through her nose. I wipe my fingers on her inner thigh, then reach for the waffles like nothing happened.

I tear a waffle in half, and eat it. Then I bring the other hand to my mouth. There’s still a little bit of her slickness coating my fingers. If any of the others looked over now, there's no way they'd miss it.

I meet her eyes and watch her pupils dilate as I slide one finger between my lips. She watches as I suck the taste of her off my skin. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then jerks away just as fast. I keep my expression blank, but I don’t stop until every last trace of her is gone.

“Still think he fucks you better?” I murmur quietly.

Her cheeks flush deep red. Her eyes go wide for half a second before she looks down at her plate.

Jude reaches for the water pitcher and changes the topic of conversation to an upcoming tech conference. No one seems to be the wiser about the fact that Lola just came for me.

Chapter 16

Lola

I’m standing behind the front desk with my fourth energy drink of the day and an inbox that just rolled over to 1001 unread messages. That’s not even an exaggeration. The red bubble mocks me from the corner of my screen, a full four digits of proof that I am absolutely, undeniably failing. Again.

You’d think that I’d take the time to clear everything out. But you would be very, very wrong.

I answer the ones that scream at me—client emails, ones with subject lines like “URGENT” or “Invoice Past Due”, or anything from my landlord. The rest? They just…sit there. Multiplying. Gathering like dust under the couch.

If only that were the only problem I’m facing.

My reformer has a new squeak I don’t know how to fix, the air conditioner won’t stop dripping from one of the vents, and one of my clients passive-aggressively asked if I was “short-staffed or just scaling back.” I smiled and told her we were “in a transitional period.” Which I guess is technically true. If “transitional” means hanging by a thread, chugging coffee, and energy drinks between emotional breakdowns.

I am so completely over it.

So, when Harper texts:You owe me tequila and a full download.I don’t even hesitate. I send back one word—yes.

I don’t even bother changing out of my workout clothes. I shut down the front lights, lock the door behind me, and leave my car parked out front. No way am I risking a parking ticket that I don’t have the funds to pay for. Uber it is.

The driver doesn’t even look up when I slide into the backseat, just mumbles something and taps through the app. I don’t need small talk anyway. The silence gives me time to make myself look somewhat presentable. I pull out my compact to see what I’m working with. Not much, apparently.

I swipe on a coat of lipstick, then take down my ponytail, finger-fluffing the creases out while spritzing dry shampoo into the roots. I’ll take the smell of fake florals over the scent of stale sweat that’s been clinging to me all day. I give myself another look in the mirror. Good enough.

Not like I’m trying to catch me a man. I’ve already got…three of those. Sort of.

Harper’s already there when I arrive, waving from the back corner where she snagged us a booth. She’s got two margaritas waiting and a look that saysspill it or I will extract it by force. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her.