Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(60)

“Do that again,” I whisper.

“Ah-ah. You need to take something off first.” His breath is hot on my ear, and he follows the chastising with a nip to my earlobe that has me whimpering in pleasure.

“Shoe,” I say, holding out my foot for him.

He bends and obliges, pulling off my boot. “Cheater,” I whisper when my sock comes off too.

“Just saving us some time when you miss again.”

I line up for my shot, and he lines his erection up with the top of my ass, then dips his head to nibble at the crook of my neck while I fire the dart.

“Bullseye,” I gasp.

“Bullshit,” he says with a chuckle.

“But I hit the board.”

“Barely. Gotta lose something, Ellie. It’s the rules.”

“Fine. You may remove my other shoe.”

God, this is fun.

He obliges again, and this time, he doesn’t let my foot go until he’s kissed a path from my ankle bone to my knee.

“Cheating,” I gasp.

“Well, yeah,” he replies with another smokin’ hot grin.

This is the side of Wyatt I’ve overlooked for years. The fun, playful side. He’s always been obnoxious and buttoned up and stiff, perfect for a military career, but that’s not all there is to him.

I could throw my last dart before he tries to distract me, but what’s the fun in that?

And sure enough, as soon as he’s straightened and behind me, his hands are on me again, this time high on my waist. “Need pointers?” he asks.

“I think you’re already giving me pointers.” I arch into the bulge against my lower back, and his breath hitches.

“I’ve been giving you pointers all day, but you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You gonna throw that last dart?”

“Debating if I want to hit a bullseye and make you lose the shirt.” It’s so freaking right here in his arms.

“Not the boxers?”

“I’m a big fan of anticipation.”

“You’re a big fan of torture.”

“That too.”

He nuzzles my neck again. I toss my last dart, and I don’t even care where it landed, because now I can turn in Wyatt’s arms and kiss him.

I know this might be a mistake, but if I don’t have Wyatt, I’m going to die.

So I’ll either die because the universe is a dick and doesn’t like us together, or I’ll die because I can’t have him.

I’d rather go out happy, thank you very much.

“Want—you,” I whimper into Wyatt’s kiss.

“Never knew—needed you—so bad,” he gasps between kisses as he tugs at the zipper on the back of my dress.

And I get a sudden chill, because this is where it started.

In a basement.

Without thought.

“Ellie?” Wyatt murmurs, his hand stilling.

“Can we really do this?”

“Yes.”

“But should we?”

He threads his fingers through my hair and presses that thick bulge into my belly. “What are you afraid of?”

He asks it like whatever it is, he’s going to leap onto his magical unicorn and ride it into battle and slay my fears. “That we’ll break,” I whisper.

“Or maybe we’ll finally get it right.”

“What if the house burns down?”

I feel his smile against my lips. “The house is not going to burn down.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Neither one of us were in the right headspace for this six months ago. But now? Today? You didn’t look at your ex once during the reception. I wasn’t there for him. I was there for you. Deny it.”

I open my lips to do just that, but I realize he’s right.

I forgot Patrick was even there.

“I just didn’t want you to feel self-conscious.”

He chuckle-snorts, and I giggle, because we both know I wouldn’t stroke his ego.

However, my fingers are trailing down his pecs and abs looking for something else to stroke.

“Do I need to get a bullseye to get this dress off you?” he asks.

“No, you need to pull the fucking zipper down.”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.”

“Look at you, using your manners and everything.” He tugs on the zipper once again, and cool air hits my back.

I push his shirt up, revealing that chest that I could spend days exploring, and my nipples pull so tight I feel it in my clit when he reaches behind himself with one hand to pull the shirt over his head and the rest of the way off.

He brushes my dress off my shoulders, and then I’m standing there, in just my panties, while he whispers my name in sheer reverence.

I step out of the puddle of fabric, and he snags it, tosses it on the pool table, then scoops me into his arms and lays me on it.

I tip my head back and laugh, because my brother would kill me if he knew what we were doing.

Wyatt hooks his thumbs in his boxers and pulls them off in one smooth motion, and all thoughts of anything except him flee my mind. He disappears, ducking beside the table, and I whimper.

“Condom,” he says, returning to crawl onto the pool table with a foil packet in his hand.