Claimed Series

Filthy Brother

“Whoa, dude, calm down,” the guy says back, pulling a face as he looks between me and Lacey.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” I snarl, having no qualms about punching this asshole if he doesn’t leave her alone in the next two fucking seconds.

The dude mutters something under his breath, sneers at Lacey, then stalks off to the bar. When he’s out of sight, I turn back to Lacey, focusing all my attention on her again.

I know she’s as sober as I am, but her pupils are blown wide, consuming the beautiful blue. Her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed. She’s staring at me with an expression I’ve only ever dreamt of.

“Are you okay, Lace?” I ask, stepping close to her so she can hear me over the music and the crowd. I don’t want to have to shout at her just so she can understand what I’m saying.

She nods, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. I watch the move with interest, my cock hardening further. Christ.

“I think so,” she murmurs back, taking a step closer to me so that we’re almost touching. “I just…um…I feel a little flushed.”

I blink at her, scrambling for some self-control. But fuck when she’s looking at me like that, I can’t find a single thread of control. She’s been wearing it down for months.

Her hand comes up to rest on my chest, and I break.

One hand around her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck, I drag Lacey against me and kiss her the way I’ve been dying to for months. The first taste of her, sweet and sultry, makes me groan against her mouth.

Lacey kisses me back without any hesitation, her hand fisting my shirt against my chest. Her lips part as she makes an addictive little whimpering sound that goes straight to my cock, and when she flicks her tongue against mine, I feel as though she’s set me on fire.

I hope the asshole that tried to hit on her is watching. I hope everyone in this fucking place is watching. I’m staking my claim, announcing it to both us and the world: this girl is mine.

I need more. I need all of her. Hell, I’m so out of my mind with lust from our kiss that I’m seconds away from fucking her right here in the middle of the dance floor.

“More,” Lacey whines when I pull away from the kiss. Her eyes are glassy with lust, her breaths coming in heavy pants that make her breasts bounce, her lips swollen and wet from kisses.

“Yes,” I agree, voice husky. “More.”

She clings to me as I wrap my arm around her waist and rush us off the dance floor, away from the crowd. I want to throw her over my shoulder and sprint the fuck away from here, but she’s wearing a dress and I refuse to let a single person in this place get a glimpse at her perfect ass.

I make a beeline straight for the bathrooms. Without checking if anyone else is in line waiting, I yank open the door, thankful that the bathrooms here are single-stall rooms. I slam it behind us, locking it without letting go of her, and then finally gather her up into my arms fully, lifting her so she sits on the edge of the counter next to the sink.

I claim another burning hot kiss, both of us moaning against each other, months and months of tension finally unraveling between us. My hands cup her thighs, pushing up the hem of her skirt to feel her skin, warm and so fucking soft, against me.

“Fuck, Lace, fuck,” I pant against her lips, unable to find the right words for what I feel right now. “God, baby, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Lacey moans and shuffles a little so she can part her thighs, making her skirt ride up even more to expose the purple lace panties she has on underneath.

“I need you,” she says, echoing my own thoughts. Lacey’s breath shudders as it leaves her lips, my hands sliding higher. My thumb grazes the wet fabric of her pants, and feeling just how hot and ready she is for me makes my eyes threaten to roll back in my head. “Did you mean it?” she asks, quieter and more uncertain than before.

I pause, catching the insecurity in her voice. “Mean what, baby?” I ask softly, one hand coming up to cup her chin and direct her to look at me again. Touching her sends sparks through me, followed by waves of relief. I’m fairly sure I’m dreaming if not for the fact none of the filthy dreams I’ve had about this girl come close to the real thing. Nothing could prepare me for the softness of her skin, the smell of her perfume and the flush of her cheeks, and the way her thighs shake when I let my thumb coast over the damp patch on her underwear again.

“When you told that guy that I was your girl,” she whispers, as though bracing for me to deny it and tell her I don’t want her after all.

As if I could ever lie to her.