Filed to story: Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow
I can hear Finn’s breathing growing more ragged in the closet, and I can’t help but smile against Sloane’s skin. Let him listen. Let him hear every moan, every gasp, every whispered plea.
I add a third finger, stretching her, filling her, preparing her for what’s to come. She cries out, her body convulsing, her muscles clenching around my fingers.
“Knox,” she whispers, her voice desperate. “Please. I need more.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I withdraw my fingers, bringing them to my lips and sucking them clean, tasting her desire. She watches me, her eyes wide with lust.
“Arms around my neck, Bunny,” I say. “Gotta get you back to the office soon before someone calls the cops.”
She laughs breathlessly and adjusts her cuffed arms, circling them around the back of my head. I grip her thighs and slide into her in one thrust.
She screams.
The closet rattles.
“That’s it, baby,” I groan. “You take it so fucking well.”
Her body tightens around me like a vise, her insides clenching with every pulse, every thrust. I slam into her again and
My Good Girl again, the rhythm of our bodies becoming a primal symphony.
“Oh God, Knox,” she cries out. “It’s so good.”
I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “Your voice is so sweet when you moan, Bunny, I murmur. “So sweet.” “Are you saying it’s ugly the rest of the time?”
I chuckle and slam into her harder. She bucks against me. Her body meets mine thrust for thrust, her breath coming in faster.
“Fuck, Knox,” she moans. “Right there. Please. Don’t stop.”
I can feel her getting closer, her body tensing. I watch her face, taking in every expression, every sound, every shuddering breath.
“Who owns this body, Sloane?” I demand. “Who owns this perfect, beautiful body?”
“You,” she whispers. “You, Knox.”
“Say it again.” I slam into her harder, deeper, faster. “Say my fucking name.”
“You, Knox,” she cries out. “You own me. You own this.”
Soon enough, I feel her body seizing up with the force of her orgasm. Her walls clamp down on me. I keep pounding into her, my hips moving like a piston, my body slamming against hers, my cock filling her, stretching her, claiming her.
“That’s it, Bunny,” I groan, my voice strained with effort and desire. “Come for me. Come all over my cock.”
She screams my name as her entire body trembles. She tries to squirm away from the intensity, but I hold her firm.
“Sloane, look at me.”
Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine. Those eyes are glazed with desire, with need. And it’s fucking beautiful.
“I want to cum inside you,” I groan. “I want to fill you up.”
She doesn’t even pause to think. “Do it, Knox. Please. I need it. I need you.”
My fingers find her clit, moving in time with my thrusts. I want her to come undone again. I want to feel her squeezing when I fill her up.
And then it happens. Her back arches. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent scream. And I let go. I groan deep in my throat, my body tensing, my cock pulsing, spilling my seed inside her.
Her name is a whisper on my lips, her scent in my lungs, her body wrapped around mine tightly. And in this moment, in this perfect, beautiful, intense moment, I know that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
When she collapses against me, boneless and glowing, I carry her to the bed, still inside her. I sit on the edge of the bed, her body resting on my lap, her head on my shoulder, her breath slow and steady in my ear.
My hand rubs circles on her back, soothing her, calming her. “You did good, Bunny,” I say. “So fucking good.” is you
She groans. “What you mean is you almost killed me.”
“That was just me trying to make love.”
She laughs, a soft, beautiful sound that fills the room, fills my heart, fills my soul. “I gotta get back,” she murmurs, her voice reluctant. “Uncuff me.”
Even though it pains me to, I shift her off me, my cock slipping out of her. Then I head toward where I left my pants and pull the key from the pocket. Soon enough, the cuffs are free and discarded on the bed.
She rolls off the bed and stands. “Five minutes,” she calls over her shoulder, running to the bathroom.
I wait until I hear the water running, until I know she won’t hear what I’m about to do next.
Then I grab my shirt and boxers, throwing them on.
I walk to the closet and open the door, my eyes meeting Finn’s. His face is red. His hands are clenched.
“Get out,” I say, my voice low.
He steps forward, his body trembling, his eyes wild, until we’re nose to nose. “I’ll kill you, Knox,” he whispers. “You better watch your back.”
“Listen carefully, you dipshit. If I find you around Sloane again, I will kill you.”
He glares.
“Now. Get. Out.”
Military Bugs
***
~~SLOANE~~
***
I run out of the bathroom with a towel clinging to my skin, heart hammering as I check the time on my phone. Shit. I’ve been away from the office way too long.
Way, way too long.
Sooner or later, Harper-the supervisor who pretends she’s chill but tracks every second of your workday like a bloodhound -will start pinging me about the CypherGuard project.
And I don’t have the energy for Harper right now. Or for that endless spreadsheet mapping out endpoint vulnerabilities we’ re supposed to isolate before end-of-quarter audits. We’re only halfway through code-flagging, and I’ve already missed two checkpoints. If I’m not careful, they’ll reassign it. And I’ve worked too damn hard to get trusted with something this sensitive.
I fumble into my room, drying off as I go, heart still racing from more than just time stress.
I know my problem. It’s that tattooed man currently inside my house.
Everything reminds me of him these past few days, reminds me of the feeling of having him inside me.
I’d look at the restroom sinks in my office and remember being bent over one in Asheville.
The hard press of a chair back against my spine brings back the way he pinned me to a wall.
Even the gentle thrum of the office printer makes me think of the low, satisfied sounds he makes when I moan into his mouth.
I hate how easy it is to get lost in it-how I crave the ache he leaves inside me. How it follows me everywhere. From my bedroom, I spot him in the living room.
He’s moving. Not in a relaxed, casual way like before. He’s scanning. Checking corners. Lifting pillows.
“Is something wrong?” I call out, already pulling out fresh undies from my drawer.
“Not exactly,” he answers, eyes fixed on my bookshelf now.
I yank on underwear and a bra. And then I pull the rest of my clothes back on. My hands are fast, practiced.
“At least tell me you’re not checking for bugs,” I say, half-joking as I zip my pants.
He turns, and for a split second, his face does something strange-like I just caught him in a lie. But soon enough, his brows lift, realization dawning.
“Oh. Bugs, as in bedbugs?”
“What else would I be talking about? Military bugs?” I laugh, expecting him to join me.
He doesn’t. I eye his serious face suspiciously before moving over to the mirror to fix my face.