Page 19 of My Ex’s Billionaire Brothers (Forbidden Hearts #5)

GAGE

I wake before dawn, my body curved protectively around Anya’s.

Fuck, she’s so soft. Pale gray light seeps through the cabin’s bedroom window, just enough to outline the tumble of her wavy hair on the pillow.

She feels right against me. Warm, and perfectly molded to every plane of my torso.

My palm rests at her waist, fingertips brushing the hem of her sleep shirt.

The steady rise and fall of her breathing is a balm I didn’t know I craved until now.

How could I have known? This situation was never on my radar, not since she got with Calvin. Looking back, it seems obvious that this was a possibility. That we were destined in some cosmic way to fall into each other’s arms.

I hadn’t counted on Theo or Hunter to be in this too, but I’m not mad at it. The three of us share everything else. Why not this? Besides, last night, they worked as more body parts for our greedy girl. She took it all like such a champ that the memory makes me grin. Can’t help it.

Last night was incredible.

Carefully, I press a kiss to the crown of her head.

She stirs, making a faint, sleepy hum that slides straight to my chest. I let my hand wander in slow, coaxing strokes across the curve of her hip.

When she arches and rolls back into me, eyes still closed, a sharp jolt of want buzzes through my veins.

Hunter and Theo lie just a few feet away in the other room. The thin walls won’t hide everything, but I don’t give a fuck. Anya shifts in my arms again, seeking more, and I’m happy to give it to her.

I nudge her hair aside and whisper her name. She answers with a soft “mm-hmm,” eyelids fluttering open. In the dim light, her blue eyes look dusky and trusting. Two pools I could dive into and lose myself willingly.

I trail kisses from her shoulder to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She shivers, a tiny sound escaping her throat. I slide my palm beneath the fabric of her sleep shirt, discovering warm skin that makes my pulse hammer. She bites her lip to suppress a giggle—half ticklish, half turned on.

“We’ll wake them,” she whispers breathlessly.

“Not if we’re quiet,” I murmur back. Not that we need to be. We both know that, but this game is fun, and I want to play.

So does she. A challenge sparks in her gaze. She lets out a hushed, delighted sigh as I coax her onto her back and blanket her with my body.

“I can try to be quiet,” she breathes, “but no promises.”

I nibble her ribs as I pull her shirt over her head. “If you get too loud, I’ll have to stop. You don’t want that, do you?”

She pouts her lower lip out, shaking her head.

“Then be a good girl and peel that shirt the rest of the way off.”

Anya follows orders deliciously, and now, her tits are in my face. I take full advantage of the change in scenery, gently biting and sucking and licking her into a frenzy. She tugs at her panties as much as she can without getting in my way.

But I’m not there yet.

I pin her hands at her sides. “Naughty.”

“I thought—you said—they’re in the way.”

I lock eyes on her so she knows I mean business. “They’re mine to do with as I please. Just like you.”

Her chest rises in a short, complicit breath of permission. When I release her hands, they stay put.

Fuck, she’d make such a good submissive.

But she’s not for keeping.

Ignoring the disappointment in my chest from the second thought, I wrap my fingers into the sides of her panties and oh-so-slowly tug them down her legs, tossing them someplace. It’s odd. My first thought when looking at her naked with only me here is, Bounty .

The woman is a feast for the senses. Ample and curvy in every direction, with lush thighs, a soft belly, and breasts that could make me weep if I stared at them for too long.

Her scent is my new obsession, something lightly floral I can’t name.

Those sweet sighs of hers are the only music I want to hear.

But right now, all I want is a taste.

I part her thighs abruptly and tuck in, wearing them as earmuffs. She squirms a little. “Gage, I?—”

Reluctantly, I look up. “Yes?”

“I should shower first?—”

A husky laugh cuts out of me. “So I can lose the taste of you? Fuck no.” I dive in, tongue first. Sweet. So fucking sweet. I thought I might lose myself in her eyes, but I was wrong. Here is where I’m meant to be for the rest of my life.

Or in this case, the next few days.

Damn that inner voice—full speed ahead. I suckle on her clit, memorizing her taste. Her moans are still loud enough to be heard over her thighs, which means the others might hear her through the wall. They might want to join in.

Not now. Now is just for me.

I peek up. “Bite the pillow if you can’t stay quiet, bad girl.”

She yanks one onto her face, and as much as I hate missing out on seeing her rapture, I don’t object. I want no interruptions from my brothers.

I use two fingers to enter her. Not one, but two, because I know what she needs.

My greedy girl likes to be filled to the brim.

When I hit the spot, her hips jump at my face, seeking more pleasure.

I love this side of her, the wanton, reckless part of Anya she’s always hidden beneath sweater sets and pearls.

The part of her that craves pleasure as much as I crave giving it to her.

Her pussy squeezes on my fingers rhythmically and even the pillow isn’t enough to contain her moans. I’m pretty sure my name is mixed in there, along with half a dozen curses.

I can’t take it any longer. I climb up her luscious body, tossing the pillow aside right before entering her.

Fuck, she’s still coming, and now she’s coming on me.

Few things are as addictive as that. Her bottom lip trembles as she bites it, trying not to cry out.

I bend to her mouth to muffle her sounds.

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 of me 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.

A shard of panic lances me. “Stop—are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She exhales, taking more of my length in a delicious, hot slide. “Just…haven’t had it this much, this often.”

“We will fix that,” I vow, thrusting into her. I curse the men she’s had before for not giving it to her as much as she likes. How dare they not give her what she needs?

I hold her hips and watch as she rides me with the sunlight streaming at the edges of her wavy brown hair. The woman is a goddess of the dawn with a crown of morning. The most astounding thing I have ever seen. Or felt.

When she leans forward, her tits rest against my bare chest, heavy velvet on my skin. I cup her ass, pulling her up and down my length. Her breath shudders as she closes in, cheeks going pink.

“That’s it, baby, do it. Come for me. Make all the noise you want.”

At first, she’s shy, biting her lip. But then something erupts in her, all shyness a mere memory as she cries out my name, startling the birds from the trees.

She milks my cock with her orgasm, bringing me along with her.

She trembles in my arms, head buried in my shoulder, and I cling to her like a drowning man to driftwood.

Afterward, I tuck her beneath my chin, the world slowly sharpening back into focus. Sunlight has risen fully, throwing gold through the trees. She traces lazy circles on my chest.

“I like your terrible idea,” she murmurs, lips brushing my collarbone.

A laugh shakes out of me, rough with relief and impending dread. “Likewise.”

In the silence that follows, reality presses in.

Calvin, the broken SUV, Castle Beach—all waiting.

And beneath that, the truth: I am hopelessly enamored of the woman curled against me, and when this journey ends, my heart may not survive the fallout.

Yet as she snuggles deeper into my embrace, blanket warm around us, I can’t seem to care.