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My brother is best friends with two of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life. My crush on Xander has never really been a secret, but I’ve always managed to keep my thoughts on Quentin to myself. Because where Xander has always been a favorite of everyone in my family, only my brother has ever been a fan of Quentin. Mostly thanks to a family feud between Quentin’s family, the Undergroves, and mine, the Westfields, that dates back to a collision on a football field two decades ago that abruptly ended my father’s playing career.
Madness? Yeah, I think that fits if you’re pursuing Xander.”
“Madness.” I laugh.
“So you’ll help?” she asks as she stands there watching me. “I’ll help.” I agree, knowing full well I’m dooming myself because any taste of this girl just leaves me wanting more.
“The two scenarios where I feel like I’ve made a fucking difference in this world are when I hit one of my guys in the end zone and when I watch a woman come for me.”
But Madison Westfield is in my head and under my skin.
“I like the way you kiss,” she whispers. “I like the way you feel. The way you breathe when I touch you… you’re gorgeous, Madison.”
This girl is like a riptide, pulling me under with every confession she makes.
But I need to be careful with her. Pace this out and make sure none of it is rushed because the last thing I want is for her to regret it. Regret me. Because fuck if I don’t suddenly care about how she feels about me.
But all I can think about is Quentin. Quentin’s eyes. His hands. His tattoos. The way he smiles at me. How he sees me in a way no one really has. How he treats me like an equal and not some half-pint sidekick of my brother’s.
“Don’t worry about not being sexy. Everything you do is sexy. You yell at me about the Regency era, it’s sexy. You stomp up this ladder pissed at me, it’s sexy. You eat ice cream and it’s fucking sexy. I promise you’re good.”
“Fuck...” I groan. It’s too good. Too perfect and I’m not going to last long like this. “Fuck me. Yes. You’re so perfect, just like that. Use your tongue, right there. Oh fuck.”
And when you were asking what I liked… you were also busy telling me all the things you like.” “Oh yeah?” I raise a brow. “Yes. You like it when I run my nails over your skin. You like hearing me tell you how good you are. I’d joke that last part is about your ego, but I think you just haven’t heard it enough to really believe it.” “Hearing it from you makes it feel real.” I confess. “Because it is. We are. I think.” Somehow her hand is through my chest, wrapped around my heart and I belong to her with just those few words. I’m gone. I’m hers.
His lips crash down on mine a moment later—the kind of kiss he’s withheld from me before now. One that feels like he’s worshipping me and devouring me in equal measure, and I want all of it. All of him.
“You taste so good. I could have you like this every night and it would never be enough. I don’t think you realize how perfect you are.”
“I want you more than I can ever remember wanting anything in my life.”
“I won’t break you. Don’t break me?” My heart pounds in my chest at the idea this man thinks I have any ability to make him feel anything that strongly and I nod. “Deal.”
I’m not sure if it’s possible to feel your own heart shatter, but if it is—I am.
