Filed To Story: Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow
“A what?”
“You know. Marry a rich guy, make sure he’s in love enough to skip the prenup or sign a generous one. She’s been married five times.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I agree.”
I smirk. “You didn’t think to join the family business? Or is that what you’re doing right now? Trying to get me to fall in love and skip a prenup?”
“Fuck you, Knox.”
I grin as I move toward her, hand reaching for her face, thumb brushing her cheek. Her eyes go soft again, her body leaning into the touch.
“Oh, Bunny. I will fuck you, that’s for sure. I’ll take you so hard, you’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.”
She shudders beneath my hand, eyes going dark with need.
“Please,” she whispers.
“Please what, angel?”
“Take me.”
Behind me, I hear the noise again-the tiniest shift, the catch of breath, maybe even the brush of a knee against wood-but I don’t acknowledge it.
I could.
I could walk over there right now, rip that door off its hinges, and end whatever pitiful illusion Finn’s clinging to. But I don’t. Not yet.
Because I’m letting that darker part of me rise-the one I keep caged beneath charm and control, the one forged in heat and blood and loss. The part that doesn’t believe in mercy.
Right now, that part wants to mark what’s mine.
Right now, that part wants Finn to see it happen.
Let him sit there in the dark and listen to the sounds she makes for me. Let him realize he lost before he even stepped onto the battlefield.
She’s not his. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.
Let him cry about it. Let him spiral. Let him crumble beneath the weight of that truth.
But most of all?
Let him know that this space-this woman, this life-is mine now.
And there’s no room in it for both of us.
I unfasten my pants, letting them drop to the floor. Her eyes follow the movement. She’s watching me like I’m something holy. When I slide off my boxers, her gaze travels upward, lingering on the length of me, right where I’m already hard for her. Her stare only makes it worse.
And then I do something I haven’t done in a long time-not in front of anyone.
I reach for the hem of my shirt.
Pull it over my head in one swift motion.
Expose all of it.
For a beat, I just stand there. Her eyes widen, dragging slowly over the tattoos carved across my chest, my ribs, my arms.
Her mouth parts. “That’s a lot of tattoos.”
On The Other Side Of The Door “Do you hate them?”
“No. I just… wish I could touch them.
No.
She can’t.
The tattoos-they look good. That’s the point. Years of careful planning, hours under the needle, making sure they were beautifully arranged, each one flowing into the next. I spent a fortune making them look like art.
But they’re not just ink.
They’re cover-ups.
Because if she touches them-really touches them-she’ll feel what’s underneath. The scars. The ones that don’t sit flush with the skin. The ones the artists had to work around, blend into shadows, hide beneath shading and lines.
And I can’t have that.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Because those scars… they come with stories. Stories I’ll never tell.
“Get on your feet,” I say. “I want to kiss you.”
??/p>
My Good Girl
She rises.
I smile as I reach for the back of her neck and pull her toward me. The second our mouths meet, it’s a fucking detonation,
My lips move over hers with slow intent, and then I’m consuming her-biting, tasting, owning. Her mouth parts, and the groan that slips from her throat rattles straight through me. I kiss her deeper, harder, until there’s no air between us, no space for doubt or fear. Just this heat, this ache, this unrelenting pull.
She tries to raise her arms-twice. I feel the twitch in her shoulders, the lift of her elbows. But each time, the metal of the cuffs catches her wrists, holding her back. And fuck, the sound she makes-a whimper dipped in frustration and need- makes my cock twitch.
She’s so eager. So ready. So mine.
When I finally pull away, we’re both breathing like we’ve sprinted into each other at full force. Her lips are red, kiss-bruised, and her eyes-those eyes-look up at me lustfully.
“I want to touch you,” she whispers, breathless.
And I almost let her. Almost.
“You will soon, Bunny,” I say against her lips. “I’ll let you do anything to me when you’re ready.”
“Ready? In what way?”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I hoist her up by the hips. She gasps as I carry her to the closet.
“We’re about to find out how strong your grandmother’s gift really is.”
She laughs, eyes sparkling. “I feel like you’re teaching me a lot of bad things, Knox. I’ve never gone outside the office for lunch. And I’ve never spent over the designated hour.”
I press her back against the closet. My left arm braces her waist, pinning her in place as my right hand begins to explore, sliding down her body.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask.
“Don’t. Please.”
“Do you want to be a good girl? Or my good girl?”
“Yours. I want to be your good girl.”
I can feel the heat radiating from her core, and it’s intoxicating. I press my fingers against her clit, rubbing gently. She moans, her hips moving in time with my touch, seeking more friction, more pressure.
I oblige, my fingers moving faster, more insistently. I can feel her getting wetter, her body responding to my touch, her breath coming in quick gasps.
I love the feel of her swollen clit.
“Fuck, Knox,” she whispers, her voice breathless. “That feels so good.”
I slip one finger inside her, then another, pumping them in and out of her, teasing her, tormenting her. She moans, her body clenching around my fingers, her inner muscles rippling with each thrust.