My Fiancé Chose My Brother, So I Chose My Brother's Best Friend novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Sam

Estelle gives a stranger a false name and the night she wanted, and wakes to find his phone lit with her brother's calls: the stranger is Hugh's best friend.

He didn't touch me in the elevator.

He stood against the far wall with his bag over his shoulder and watched the numbers climb.

I stood against the other wall in forty thousand dollars of ivory silk and watched him.

"You can change your mind," he said at the sixth floor.

"I won't."

"Then stop looking at me like that until we're inside."

"Like what?"

"Like you're deciding where to start."

The doors opened on eleven.

His room was at the end of the hall.

He swiped the key and held the door, and I walked in ahead of him and dropped my veil on the floor.

He set the bag down.

I turned around and took him by the front of his jacket.

"Don't ask my name," I said. "Don't ask about the dress. Tonight I'm not anybody."

"All right." His voice was lower than it had been at the bar. "What do I call you?"

"Sam."

"Sam," he said, and let it stand.

"What's yours?"

"Rhys."

I kissed him.

He kissed me back slowly at first, one hand at my jaw, and then I bit his lip and the slowness went out of him.

He backed me against the door.

His mouth found my neck and his hand went to the line of buttons down my spine.

"Forty-two of them," he said against my skin.

"I know. Hurry."

"Not a chance."

He undid them one at a time, and each one he opened he kissed.

By the twentieth my knees were shaking.

By the thirtieth I told him to rip it, and he said no, it looked expensive, and I laughed for the first time all day.

The silk slid off my shoulders and pooled on the carpet.

He looked at me in the lamp light, in the white lace I'd picked out for another man.

"God," he said quietly.

"Don't be polite."

"I wasn't being polite."

He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me to the bed.

He took his time anyway.

He pulled my underwear down with his teeth and put his mouth on my pussy, and I fisted both hands in the sheet and said his name, the only name I had.

He licked slow, then fast when I begged, and his thumb pressed against my clit until I came with my back arched and my heels digging into his shoulders.

He didn't stop.

He kept going through it, rough and patient, until I came again and swore at the ceiling.

"Rhys. Get up here."

He climbed up my body and I pushed him onto his back and straddled him.

I pulled his shirt open.

I got his belt undone and took his cock in my hand, thick and hot and already wet at the tip.

He let his head fall back.

"Sam," he said, a warning.

I sank down on him in one long slide and we both stopped breathing.

He filled me completely.

I rocked once and he swore and gripped my hips hard enough to bruise.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

I rode him slowly, then not slowly, with his hands steering me and his eyes on my face the entire time.

He sat up and held me against his chest and thrust up into me until I was gasping into his shoulder.

"That's it," he said. "Take it. All of it."

"Harder."

He rolled us over, pinned my wrists above my head and fucked me into the mattress until the headboard hit the wall.

I came around his cock and he groaned and followed me, buried deep, shaking.

We lay there afterward in the wreck of the sheets.

He didn't say anything clever.

His heart was pounding against my ribs.

Before dawn he woke me and we did it again, quieter, his hand in my hair and my leg over his hip, and that time I almost told him who I was.

I fell asleep instead.

Grey light came through the curtains when I woke.

He was asleep on his stomach with one arm across the pillow where my head had been.

I eased out from under it and found my slip on the floor.

His phone was charging on the nightstand, and it was lit up.

It had been lit up for a while.

Fifty-three missed calls.

I didn't mean to read the screen.

The top message said: Merc, where the hell are you? Pick up. Estelle's wedding blew up and I need you here.

Under it was the lock screen photo, two young men at a graduation with their arms around each other.

One of them was my brother Hugh.

The other one was asleep in the bed behind me.

I knew the nickname, I had heard it for ten years, and I had never once pictured the man.

Merc.

Rhys Mercer.

Hugh's best friend.

The mattress creaked.

"Sam?" Rhys said, with his eyes still closed.

Then his phone buzzed again in my hand, and the screen said HUGH.

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