I Should Never Have Slept With My Best Friend's Brother

Chapter Five: Crossing the Line

~Nadia~

"Exactly what I said." I kept my voice steady. "She met someone she's been talking to for months. She's an adult. She's fine."

Cole stood up slowly from the chair.

He never rushed. That was the thing about him. He moved like someone who had never once needed to hurry because the world had always arranged itself around his schedule. He set his glass down on the table, unhurried, and crossed the room until there were roughly four feet between us.

"You let her go alone," he said. "In a city she barely knows."

"She's twenty-five. Not a child."

"At night."

"It was six in the evening, Cole."

"And you couldn't go with her?" Something underneath his controlled voice was pulling tighter with every exchange. "You couldn't make sure she was safe before coming back here?"

The heat that lit up in my chest was immediate and familiar.

"She's your sister, not mine," I said. "And she didn't want me there."

He took one step closer. "You always have an answer."

"Someone in this room has to."

His jaw tightened. His eyes dropped to my mouth for exactly half a second — brief, almost nothing — then came back up to mine. I felt it anyway. Felt it in places I had absolutely no business feeling anything.

"She follows you into everything," he said, quieter now. "Whatever you walk into, she walks into right behind you. And when it falls apart—"

"Don't." My voice came out sharp and clean. "Don't rewrite the story to make me the reason for things that were never my fault. Sienna is the most important person in my life and I would never—"

"You don't actually know what you'd never do."

I took one step forward before my brain could stop my body.

We were close now. Too close. Close enough that I could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell with controlled, deliberate breathing.

"I know exactly who I am," I said. "Same way I know exactly who you are."

Something moved behind his eyes.

Then his hand wrapped around my throat.

Not hard. Not rough. But firm enough and warm enough and certain enough that every nerve ending I had snapped awake at once like a current had passed through them. He walked me backward slowly until the cool glass of the window met my spine.

My breath caught audibly. I hated that it did.

His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse point and I knew — I absolutely knew — that he could feel exactly how fast my heart was going. The bastard knew precisely what he was doing and the small shift at the corner of his mouth confirmed it.

"Do you," he murmured. His voice had dropped to something low and rough that I felt more in my chest than heard with my ears.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

I didn't.

His mouth came down on mine.

Everything collapsed. Three years of sharp words and carefully maintained distance and telling myself the way he looked at me meant nothing — all of it folded instantly, like it had never been standing in the first place. He kissed me the way I should have expected, controlled and deliberate at first, like a decision being made. Then something inside him came loose and it turned deep and rough and consuming, his hand tightening in my hair, his body pressing mine harder into the glass behind me.

I kissed him back.

God help me, I kissed him back like I'd been saving it.

He groaned low against my mouth when I did and the sound travelled straight down my spine and settled somewhere that made thinking very difficult.

He spun me around so I was facing the window, Barcelona glittering below us in complete indifference to what was happening on the other side of the glass. His hands slid under my shirt, warm and rough and certain against my bare stomach, and I stopped forming sentences entirely.

He pulled my shirt over my head. Cool air rushed against my skin. His chest pressed hot against my back, still fully dressed, the contrast of it making everything worse in the best possible way.

His lips dragged along my shoulder, my neck, the sensitive place beneath my ear, and my eyes fell shut.

"This is what you wanted," he said against my skin. Not a question. A statement delivered with quiet, infuriating certainty.

"Shut up," I breathed.

I felt him almost smile.

His fingers found my waistband and he took his time — deliberately, maddeningly slow — until his hand moved between my thighs and a sound left my throat that I had zero control over.

"f**k," he said roughly against my neck. "Already."

"Don't—" I started.

"So wet for me," he muttered, his fingers working in slow devastating circles. "How long, Nadia? How long have you wanted this?"

"I hate you," I managed.

"I know." He pressed his mouth to the side of my jaw. "How long?"

I didn't answer.

He pulled his hand away entirely.

I nearly turned around and hit him.

The sound of his belt followed. Then foil tearing. Then he was pressing against me — thick and hot and exactly where I needed him — and every remaining thought I had dissolved completely.

He pushed inside slowly, like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to feel every inch of it, and the sound that came out of me was completely beyond my control.

"f**k," I breathed.

"Yeah," he said, low and rough in my ear. "That's what I thought."

His pace started deep and measured, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks I'd find tomorrow. The glass fogged faintly in front of my face. My palms pressed flat against it for something to hold onto.

Then he shifted his angle and hit somewhere that made my entire body jolt forward.

"Right there," I said. The words were out before I could stop them.

He did it again. On purpose. Watching my reaction with that same controlled attention he gave everything.

Then he slowed down just enough to be absolutely cruel.

"Say it," he said against my ear, his voice fraying at the edges now, control wearing thin. "Tell me what you want. Say it properly."

My fingers scraped against the glass.

"Cole." His name came out half warning and half something else that I didn't want to name.

"That's not it."

His hand came around to the front, fingers finding exactly the right place at exactly the right pressure, and the combination — him deep inside me, his fingers working perfectly, his mouth on my neck — made my vision go soft at the edges.

"Please," I said. The word tasted like surrender and I didn't care even slightly. "Please don't stop. Please."

Something broke open in him.

The slow measured pace was gone. His hips drove forward hard and urgent, his breathing rough and uneven against my shoulder, his grip tightening on me like he was trying to keep hold of something. I came apart completely — shaking, breathless, a sound tearing from my throat that bounced off the window glass as the o****m rolled through me in waves that didn't stop.

He followed seconds later with a low broken groan against the back of my neck, his whole body shuddering once, hard, before going still.

Silence.

Barcelona carried on glittering below us like nothing had happened at all.

Neither of us moved for a long moment. His forehead rested between my shoulder blades. His breathing was ragged. Mine was worse.

Then reality walked quietly back in.

He straightened. Stepped back. The cool air rushed into the space where his body had been and I grabbed my shirt from the floor, pulling it on with hands that weren't entirely steady. I didn't look at him. I heard the quiet sounds of him putting himself back together behind me and I stared at the city below and tried to locate a single thought that made sense.

When I finally turned around he was watching me.

His expression was almost unreadable. Almost. There was something in the set of his jaw, something in the way his black eyes moved across my face, that wasn't fully closed off. Something that looked uncomfortably close to wanting more.

He picked his jacket up. Walked to the hallway. Stopped at the edge of the light without turning around.

"Nadia."

I looked at him. Said nothing.

Three full seconds of silence.

"This isn't finished," he said quietly.

He disappeared down the hall.

I stood completely still at the window, pressing two fingers against my lips, the city lights blurring slightly in front of me.

Then my phone lit up on the table.

Sienna's name on the screen.

On my way back now. Nadia, I really like him. Like, actually really like him. Can't wait to tell you everything.

I stared at the message until the screen went dark.

My best friend was three minutes away, glowing, wanting to tell me everything about the man she was falling for — and I was standing here with her brother's handprints still burning into my hips and his voice still low in my ear.

This isn't finished.

I closed my eyes.

What had I just done?