Act Your Age, Eve Brown (The Brown Sisters #3) - Talia Hibbert Page 0,69

the next thousand centuries?”

“You think I’m going to make fun of you,” he said. Thank God his voice was strained enough that the words came out flat and harsh, instead of dripping with inappropriate desire and—and hope. Because Eve was gloriously unselfconscious about sex, and she certainly didn’t give a damn for his opinions—not usually, anyway. Only when it mattered. So why would this matter?

Some people talked about their feelings sneaking up on them, but Jacob’s feelings tended to smack him over the head with a baseball bat. Right now he was seeing stars and fighting a second concussion, because he’d just learned something about himself: he didn’t really want to be Eve’s friend.

No; that was wrong. He did. He definitely did. He wanted to be Eve’s friend, plus . . .

God save him, he should not investigate that plus.

But when she muttered, “I know you’re going to make fun of me,” he felt like a wolf catching sight of soft, sweet prey. Like he couldn’t give up the chase if he’d wanted to.

“And why’s that, Sunshine?” he asked softly, holding himself very, very still, because if he moved, she might look down and notice his massive erection.

“Because you’re too sensible to masturbate,” she said, but as soon as the words were out, she seemed to realize they were ridiculous. She bit her lip and shook her head and started again. “You’re too sensible to masturbate the way I do.”

Dear God, he almost collapsed. His muscles almost gave out, possibly because every last drop of his blood had just reported for duty at his cock. He twisted his fist into the sheets so he couldn’t grab himself to ease that heavy pressure.

“And what way is that?” he asked. Impressive, how there was only a hint of gravelly, I’m so horny I might die filth in his tone.

“With a glittery dildo and fanfiction about Captain America’s tits,” she said.

Jacob made a mental note to double up on chest day once his wrist had healed.

“Look! Look!” She pointed at his face. “You’re freaking out.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re horrified. You wank quietly and efficiently in the shower so all the evidence is washed away, don’t you?”

He swallowed, hard. His hips punched up, just a little, when she said You wank. She was talking about him. She was thinking about him. Had she thought about him? “It’s easier, doing it in the shower.”

“I knew it. And you probably think about, like, disembodied tits or something equally inoffensive and—”

“Have you thought about this a lot? What I think about?” The question was out there before he could stop it.

And her response was just as quick, just as reckless. “Well, yes. But when I think about it, your fantasies aren’t inoffensive at all.”

* * *

Was it possible to stuff words back into your mouth? Eve had asked herself that question several times over the years, but never quite so passionately as she did now.

What the ever-loving fudgesicle had she just said?

Bad enough that she’d forgotten all about the dildo hidden beneath the cushions. Even worse that it had disturbed Jacob deeply enough for his jaw to clench this tightly—so tightly she was genuinely worried he might crack a tooth. But to top it all off, she’d sort of accidentally given him a hint that she desperately fancied him. Him, and his big shoulders, and the way he nudged his glasses up his nose, and that air of calm control he had over everything, and the way that air vanished abruptly whenever he lost his shit.

He was probably going to lose his shit right now. He was probably going to give her the mother of all lectures about appropriate workplace relationships and friendly interactions, and then he might throw several handbooks at her head and lock her in this room and possibly call a priest to cleanse the horniness out of her.

Except he . . . didn’t. Instead, he leaned closer—so close she stopped breathing. She actually held her breath, and the tightness in her chest was mirrored by a sudden, delicious squeeze in her lower belly. Even lower, if she was being honest. She’d been hot and glittering inside since the moment he’d examined her sex toy with such laser focus. When he’d wrapped his long, strong fingers around something she’d orgasmed on just last night, she’d felt her clit swell. He’d tilted his head as he stared at it, questioning her in that steel-and-stone voice, and her breasts had felt heavy. Her pulse throbbed between