Loving The Better Brother novel Chapter 5

WILLOW

The bed dipped beneath us as I fell back against it, the room still spinning faintly from the alcohol and from him—from Tristan. His weight settled over me, and his mouth found mine again as if it had always belonged there. I felt the kiss everywhere, not just on my lips. It spread through my chest, down my arms, into places I didn’t have names for yet.

“You smell so good,” he murmured against my mouth. “You always smell so good.”

“Huh?” The word came out breathless, wrapped in haze. Everything felt unreal, like I was floating in the clouds.

He pulled back to look at me. His eyes were darker before he smiled slowly.

“You smell good, too,” I said as a response.

A chuckle escaped his lips, shaking his head. “You’re really… something,” he whispered.

My heart kicked hard in my chest.

“Are you really sober now?”

I swallowed. The room steadied a little. My thoughts aligned. “I am, Tristan.”

Something in his gaze shifted at that—approval, maybe. Or maybe it was his restraint snapping.

“Then don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know how else to look at you,” I admitted.

That was all it took.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, unhurried but certain, like he wasn’t asking permission anymore—but still waiting for me to pull away if I wanted to. I didn’t. My hands fisted in his loosened tie instead, dragging him closer.

His hands moved next—exploring and demanding all at once. He kissed along my jaw, down the curve of my throat. I gasped when his fingers brushed the edge of my sleeve, and he paused just long enough to look up.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

My mouth didn’t move an inch.

One by one, he removed what I was wearing. Each piece felt like a small surrender, the air cool against skin that suddenly felt too exposed. My breath came faster with every second. I wasn’t used to being seen like this.

When I instinctively tried to cover myself, heat flooding my face, he caught my wrists gently and lifted them above my head, pinning them there with his forearm.

“Don’t hide,” he said softly.

“Wait,” I breathed, not because I wanted him to stop, but because everything was happening too intensely.

He stilled immediately, his grip loosening. “Willow.”

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine.

His gaze softened. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “All of you.”

He leaned down again, kissing my neck. My skin was already sensitive there, already marked by the night and by him, and every press of his lips sent heat spiraling through me. I arched without meaning to, a soft sound leaving me before I could stop it.

“That?” he murmured. “Did that feel too good?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My mind betrayed me then, flashing images I didn’t want. I remembered how Marcus used to touch me. He always did so, like it was his obligation rather than a desire. We had gone this far—touches when we were naked, but it had never ever left like this.

Tristan made me feel like I was being unraveled and worshipped at the same time.

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