The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

Good grief, he’s sexy.

My steps falter a little as I move toward him, but all thoughts of hesitation and unwarranted doubt are pushed right out of my head when Jude takes both of my hands into his and guides me onto his lap.

As I straddle his hips, my dress slides higher up my thighs. With a knowing smirk, he takes one long index finger and gently runs it up and down the newly exposed skin of my legs.

“Fuck, this dress should be illegal. It’s driving me crazy,” he whispers, his gaze lingering wantonly on my thighs before traveling up to meet my eyes.

You are driving me crazy, I think to myself.

We are face-to-face, my legs straddling his hips, and his ahem pressed right against me. The evidence is hard and proves that I’m not the only one who is turned on, and when I inhale through my nose, the delicious aroma of his cologne makes my eyes shut momentarily.

With hints of cedar, mint, and lavender filling my head, I feel like I’m in the strangest of fantasy purgatories, bound between the sweetness of heaven and the naughty nature of hell.

He slides his hands into my hair and gently pulls my head back, and a soft moan escapes my lungs when the warmth of his lips hovers right above my throat. “I want to make you come again,” he whispers. “Just like I did all those nights ago. Without removing a single inch of your clothes.”

I can feel his mouth move down my neck, but it never actually touches my skin. Only the fluttering wisp of his warm breath makes real contact. It’s the most intense form of teasing foreplay I’ve ever experienced, and when he places his hands at my lower back and leans my body farther away, those lips of his drift over my chest, then each of my breasts.

My body reacts of its own accord, my nipples hardening even more and my breaths becoming needy pants of air in and out of my lungs.

But Jude never falters. He just keeps on teasing me, playing with me, making me hopeful that soon, that mouth of his will make contact with my skin.

Not to mention that he’s so hard now, I can feel the tip of him against the one spot that aches and throbs the most.

“Touch me,” I beg, and his blue eyes flame with satisfaction and heated desire.

“Not yet, Sophie. Soon.” He thrusts up against me, and a sexy-as-hell groan escapes his lungs. “Fuck, the things I want to do to you.”

Yes, please. Do them. Do me!

My silent wish isn’t his command, though. Instead, he eases my body off his lap until I’m on my feet again.

“Take off your panties,” he orders quietly, rendering me functionless. I can’t move; I can’t speak. All I can do is stand there, my chest heaving with my frantic breaths. “Take off your panties, Sophie. Now,” he repeats. I toy with the hem of my dress with shaky fingers, and he shakes his head. “Don’t lift up your dress. Just slide them down your legs and hand them to me.”

A whimper-filled moan jolts from my throat.

God, he’s killing me.

Jude sits there, looking up at me through hooded, confident eyes until, eventually, I find myself doing as he asked. With two hands, I carefully slide my panties down my legs, and when they reach my ankles, I bend over, pick them up, and hold them out toward him.

Jude grins mischievously and takes the silky black material in one big hand. He gazes down at them for a few seconds, before lifting them toward his face and inhaling deeply.

Everything inside me seizes. A guy sniffing my panties? That shouldn’t be hot…right?

That should probably be weird. Maybe even concerning?

Should be. But it’s not.

In this moment, it is the exact right thing to lead my body into a frenzy. A shiver rolls up my spine, and I have to clench my thighs together just to ease the now intensely pounding ache that’s starting to build from within me. They feel slick against each other, the presence of my excitement unmistakable.

“Your panties are wet,” he says and looks up at me from beneath his lashes. “Downright soaked.”

I nod. Or at least, I think I nod. All conscious function of my body has taken a temporary hiatus.

“You want to come, don’t you?”

This time, I know I nod. And it’s not just once or twice; it’s at least five fucking times.

Jude smirks, slides my panties into his pocket, and crooks one finger toward me. “Come back over here, babe.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Back over to the couch, I let him guide me onto his lap again until my thighs straddle his hips.

Without the barrier of my panties, I can feel how big and thick and hard he is beneath his pants. Sensation and memories alike urge a thrill of pleasure to surge in my bloodstream, and I grip his shoulders tightly as the impulse to rub myself against him becomes too intense to deny.