My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,47
up and peer down at my underwear.
Pink boy shorts.
Okay, they’re not bad.
I jump up off the bed and wiggle my pants haphazardly down my legs. Breathing hard, I bounce back on the bed and settle in again. But before I can contemplate my next move, my phone vibrates with another message. A picture message.
Taken from the chest down, it’s a picture of him, sitting on his couch, with exactly what he said on—a white T-shirt and black boxer briefs.
And yes, there is a bulge.
A big bulge.
Holy. Flapjacking. Shit.
It’s at this exact, inopportune moment that I realize Bruce’s creative cursing has rubbed off on me.
Jesus, Maybe. Do you really want to think about your father right now?
I shake my head, trying to physically force the ridiculous thoughts to fall out, and throw myself backward. I bring the arm with the hand holding my phone up to cover my eyes when it vibrates again.
Milo: Now, it’s your turn.
Fuck. My turn.
Just go with it. You may never get another opportunity at this.
I lift my phone up, snap an angled picture from my chest down and send it before I can back out.
The longest minute of my life passes by before my phone vibrates with a response.
Milo: Monday panties on a Tuesday?
I glance down to see he’s right, I am wearing my days of the week underwear, and they are, in fact, sporting the wrong day. For some reason, the fact that he focused his message on that makes me relax a little. I even laugh as I type out a response.
Me: I like to live dangerously.
Milo: If you really want to live dangerously, touch yourself and tell me how it feels.
Holy. F-bombs.
Time slows down and my brain starts to bleed, and I think I’m really going to pass out this time.
Did Milo Ives just say that to me?
Did Milo Ives Just. Say. That. To. Me?
I swallow hard against the nerves moving up my throat, but at the same time, I do as I’m told. At least, the touching myself part. The ache between my legs all but challenges me not to. Giving him the details, though, that’s probably going to take me a minute.
I work on typing out the words as shakily as I can. How I’m rubbing my clit in tight, round circles and putting pressure on the top each time.
My thumb hovers over the send button for the briefest of seconds, just long enough to take a deep breath, but that’s all it takes for Milo’s message to come in and stop me cold in my tracks.
Milo: And that’s how you sext, kid.
My hand arrests and my adrenaline crashes. I wanted Milo to teach me how to sext, and he taught me, all right.
He taught me so well, I almost believed it was really happening.
Milo
Maybe stands in front of me, completely bare, and my eyes turn hungry. Greedy. Fucking ravenous to take in every inch of her soft, perfectly tanned skin.
God, she’s something. My brain can’t even put together words to describe the sight of her naked, wanton, and waiting for me to make a move.
“Milo,” she whispers, and I don’t miss the way her teeth bite into her bottom lip or the way her thighs tremble as she fidgets underneath my gaze.
“What do you want?” I ask her, but she doesn’t respond.
She just looks at me with those big brown eyes of hers and traps me in the never-ending depths.
“Maybe, what do you want?” I prompt again.
“You.” One word. Three letters. And powerful enough to make my cock harden and twitch beneath my boxer briefs.
I act on instinct, on desire, on fucking need, and I’m on my feet, striding toward her.
We’re in my bedroom.
And before I know it, we’re on my bed, Maybe beneath me and my boxer briefs a distant memory on the floor.
My cock is at her entrance, the tip sliding through her wetness, and I groan at the painfully delicious feel of it.
Fuck, I want her. I’ve been wanting her.
Since the moment I saw her in Bruce & Sons and didn’t even know it was her.
A day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t wondered how this would feel.
How she would look, how she would taste, what she would feel like wrapped around my cock.
“Please,” she begs, and her hips gyrate from side to side. Her movement pushes the tip of my cock inside her, and I come unglued.