Page 112 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers

I hold Nora’s hand and carefully lead her through the kitchen. She doesn’t say a word as we pass it, or the couch. The couch where I can still see her and Rush. I push the image aside and head down the hall, toward my bedroom, my heart in my throat.

She could very well tell me no. Say she doesn’t want this and then turn around, but something tells me she won’t. Something tells me I can trust her.

But still, I need to give her the option. I don’t know what the future holds for Nora and me, but something tells me I may never get the chance again to embrace this, so I should take it.

I stop at my door and turn to her.

“If you want to change your mind,” she says softly. “I understand.”

She takes my face in her hands, her bright sapphire gaze holding mine. And I think I’ve never been so sure in all my life of anything.

So I lean in and kiss her. “No,” I whisper. “I want this, Nora. I want you.” I kiss her again, softly as I open the door.

“I wantyou,” I tell her, needing her to understand the depth of those words.

I lead her into my room, and she follows without question. The varied Lego builds cast eerie shadows on the wall, and I’m suddenly strangely aware of all my anime memorabilia and builds and hockey merch.

My bedroom looks like a damn teenager’s, while I know Rush and Freddie have swanky, cool rooms that they would not be embarrassed to bring a girl into.

Like I am right now.

She must sense my embarrassment, because she kisses me softly, the feel of her lips driving out the momentary voice in my head. I guide us to my bed, every step feeling heavier than the last until we’re both sitting on the edge. I look at her amidst the low light of my room, taking in her red waves, her bright blue eyes. Her rosy cheeks.

I’ve always felt this connection to Nora, ever since Brett introduced her to us. I didn’t understand it then, and I’m not sure I understand it now, but I know one thing for sure. I understand that what I feel for Nora is something I don’t want to fight anymore.

So I lean in and kiss her with all that I have. She responds in tandem, falling back into my bed. I break away for a moment to steal a glance at her, and I tell her, “If I screw up, just tell me, okay?”

She reaches for my jaw, her fingers softly tracing lines there. When her blue eyes glisten, I see the truth in them.

“You won’t,” she says. “Because you’re perfect, just the way you are, Tommy.”

Her words give me the confidence I never knew I needed. I kiss her again, positioning myself on top of her. Her legs come up on both my sides, boxing me in. She reaches her arms around me and holds me closer. My hands travel down her sides, committing the feel of her curves to memory until I find the waistband of her leggings. I grip them, gently tugging, knowing exactly what I want to do first.

I want to taste her.

I pull down her leggings as she lets me, and when I see her lacy underwear I have to fight the urge to moan. This…this is so much better in person, just as I knew it would be.

There’s a brief pause as I take in the sight of her for a moment, as I watch her stomach rise and fall with her breath. I trail my fingers over her stomach, over the sides of her hips, pulling the straps of her panties between my fingers.

I gently pull them down, freeing the soft smattering of red hair from their cage, and take a moment to just look and feel. Her coarse hair, her soft skin, her wet folds.

I suck in a breath because I know exactly what that means, and it gives me a sense of borrowed confidence. I look up at her frombetween her legs, at her fiery hair and rosy cheeks, her parted lips and I think this…

There is nothing better than this feeling. I’ve never felt so powerful in my damn life, on or off the field.

I slide my fingers through her lips first, feeling until I find her entrance. When I do, I slowly slide a finger in, and she lets out a moan, so I take that to be a good thing. I press in a little further, feeling the warmth, the wetness, and the texture of her insides.

It’s a weird feeling, but judging by the wetness blooming at my cockhead in my pants, I’d say it’s not a bad one. I absentmindedly adjust myself, because right now this isn’t about me. It’s about discovering what makes Nora Brighton tick. What excites her.

And that is what turns me on even more than the idea of fucking her.

I want to discover all her patterns and rhythms, want to build her from the ground up.

“You can add another,” she says carefully. “Two is good.”

I do as she asks, adding another finger and slowly building a rhythm. She sighs in relief.

Then I carefully flick my tongue out to lick her clit—which Zack told me is like the button that throws a woman into overdrive—just to see if what he says is true. I pull it between my teeth and lick.