Page 27

Brad

Once again, I’m the one left carrying a drunk Gabriella to bed. I walk the long corridor towards Gabriella’s room she was meant to be sharing with Ali but since she’s off bumping uglies with Harry, and I’m the only one who knows after catching Ali leaving Harry’s office earlier this week after they had a lunchtime hook up, I’m left looking after Gabriella, which normally I wouldn’t mind, but after our unexpected sleepover last week my mind’s fucked.

She’s all I think about, well, her and the girl from the club. They intertwine in my head and plague my thoughts. I rag Jack and Harry for simping over their women, and yet here I am, about to board the simp train and join them. It concerns me how freely Gabriella wanders in and out of my mind, and I seem powerless to stop it.

We reach the bedroom door, and Gabriella stirs in my arms.

“Ugh, where am I?” she mumbles, her head slumped against my chest.

“I’m taking you to bed,” I say, swiping the keycard in the door and pushing the door open with my foot. I hurry in before the door has a chance to swing back and hit us, and hit the light panel with my elbow, lighting the large room with a yellow glow.

I walk over to the edge of the large oak bed and carefully lay Gabriella down. As soon as her back hits the sheets, her drunk eyes try to focus on me, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Ughh, Brad… the room… it’s spinning… make it stop.” She groans, covering her face with her hands.

“I’m a man of many talents, but even I can’t do that,” I say as I take a few steps back, sliding off my jacket and placing it over the back of the chair that sits next to a small round table and then sitting down, taking my phone and wallet out my pocket and dumping them on the table.

I roll the sleeves up on my shirt and undo another button. Gabriella sits up and swings her legs off the bed, sitting up and crossing her legs, drawing my attention to her shoes.

I’m not big on fashion, but there is something about the heels Gabriella wears when she’s out—sexy and feminine—and I wonder what she would look like in just those white satin heels that have bows on the ankle. She stands and starts unhooking the thin straps of her dress, unzipping the side, and letting the fabric fall from her body to the ground.

My eyes widen in surprise. Fuck, she is wasted. She wouldn’t get undressed in front of me if she wasn’t.

“I’m hot,” she declares, kicking her dress to the side. My greedy eyes rake up her body. Years of being a dancer and working as a Pilates instructor have crafted her legs into the sexiest legs I have ever seen. It’s when I reach her waist and take note of her tiny white lace panties that tie at the sides and thematching strapless bra that a surprised groan escapes my lips and my dick twitches.

Fuck. Me

She pulls pins from her hair, placing them on the nightstand as if I’m not in the room, as if she isn’t just standing there looking like every man’s desire wrapped up in a white lace bow.

I clear my throat. “Do you need a hand?” My tone is heated and low.

What the fuck am I saying?

She pulls the last pin from her hair and slumps down on the bed. “No, I’m good,” she says, bringing her foot up as she attempts to unbuckle her strap. Her foot falls twice, and I’m up and out of my seat and on my knees in front of her before she can make a third attempt.

I clutch her ankle in my firm grip and say, “Let me help.” Her heavy eyes look at me and she nods slowly.

I begin unbuckling the dainty strap, slide her foot out, and place it on the ground. I reach the other foot, but she lifts it, pressing the heel into my chest as she lets out a giggle.

“You’re like Prince Charming with the glass slipper.”

I smirk as my hand strokes up the back of her calf, making her inhale sharply. “There’s nothing prince-like or charming about me, baby girl.”

“No?” she questions, an eyebrow raising in curiosity. “What are you then?”

“I’m more like the villain.” I watch in fascination as a grin sweeps across her red lips. “I quite like the villains. I think they are often misunderstood.”

“Is that so?” I say, sliding her foot out of her shoe.

“Uh huh.”

I watch her abs flex as her breathing becomes heavier. Her bronzed skin makes the white of her underwear pop, and I try not to think about how easy it would be to tug at those ribbonson her panties and bury my face between her legs while I devour her.

“I like your hands,” she says, her tone a little flirtatious, and I like it more than I should.

“Do you?” I say, my tone matching hers.

She nods slowly. “Yeah. I don’t know anyone with tattoos except you. It’s hot.”