Getting Hotter

He swiped the bottle from her hand and had her flat on her back in the blink of an eye, eliciting a delighted shriek from her pouty lips. He wrapped his fingers around the bottle, turned it upside down, and squeezed. Chocolate sauce trickled out of the opening and onto Kelly’s bare br**sts.

“And you’ll be getting sticky,” he rasped, dipping his head and letting his mouth hover over those delectable double-Ds. The girl was built like a Playboy Bunny, all tits and ass and long golden limbs.

Dylan licked a drop of syrup off the tip of one pearly-pink nipple. “And wet,” he murmured. Another lick. “I think you’ll get pretty wet too.”

With a moan, she grabbed his hand and shoved it between her legs. “Already am,” she said breathlessly.

He trailed his finger along her slick folds, then pushed it into her pu**y. He groaned. Yep, she was wet. Very, very wet. He’d been so damn bored all damn day, but this, right now, totally made up for it. No-strings sex with a cute girl who didn’t mind getting a little kinky? Could anyone say living the dream?

Kelly squealed as he grabbed hold of her thighs and shoved them apart. He swiftly lowered his head and brought his mouth to her core, flicking his tongue over her clit, the taste of chocolate and sex infusing his taste buds.

“Mmmm, tastes good,” he murmured, working her tight channel with two fingers while he latched his mouth on that swollen nub and sucked.

Moaning, Kelly rested her hands on his head to keep him in place. Right. Like he was going anywhere.

“More,” she pleaded, rocking her hips faster.

He fingered her harder and rode out the resulting orgasm, his own arousal heightening at the sexy sounds she made and the way she moaned his name, over and over. When she grew still, a sleepy smile stretching across her face, he reached for the condom on the bedside table and tore open the package.

He’d just rolled the latex onto his erection when his cell phone rang.

“Shit,” he said with a sigh. He grabbed the phone and studied the screen, his irritation transforming into a knot of worry. His brother’s number was flashing on the display. And since it was three in the morning, he couldn’t think of any reason Chris would be calling other than to deliver bad news.

With growing alarm, he signaled to Kelly that he needed to take the call, ignored her disappointed look, and pressed the Talk button.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded in lieu of a greeting.

His brother’s answering laughter brought a rush of relief. Chris wouldn’t be laughing if he was calling with bad news.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Chris replied, confirming Dylan’s thoughts. “In fact, everything is very, very right, little brother!”

Loud music and muffled voices in the background made it difficult to hear what Chris was saying, but the guy was slurring, that was for sure.

“Are you drunk?” Dylan asked warily.

Next to him, Kelly slid off the bed and slipped into the white button-down he’d tossed on the chair. “I’m going to use the loo,” she whispered before darting toward the bathroom on the other side of the master bedroom.

“I might be a little drunk,” Chris admitted. “But a man’s gotta bust out the champagne when the woman he loves agrees to marry him!”

Dylan’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach like a body chained to a cement block. Oh shit. Had he misheard, or had Chris really just said—

“I’m engaged!”

Yep, he’d heard right.

“To…uh, Claire?” he had to ask.

More laughter filled his eardrums. “Of course to Claire! Who the hell else would I propose to?”

Um, anyone other than that bitch?

Dylan kept that nasty little thought to himself. His older brother didn’t have a clue that he despised—absolutely despised—Chris’s latest girlfriend. Fuck. Make that fiancée. Chris was actually marrying the woman. That snooty, judgmental, prissy, materialistic woman.

Lord, he’d hated Claire McKinley from the moment he’d met her. Chris had brought her along on his last business trip to San Diego, and the three of them had gone to Dylan’s favorite diner for lunch. Everything about Claire had rubbed him the wrong way—the self-righteous glint in her brown eyes, how she’d turned her nose up at the menu as if diner food was utterly beneath her, the way she’d tapped those French-manicured nails on the table like she was dying of boredom. By the time lunch was over, he’d felt like strangling her, and the next two visits hadn’t gone any better.

He had no idea what his brother saw in that woman. She was attractive enough, sure, but good looks didn’t make up for the whole being-a-total-bitch part.

Show your future sister-in-law some respect…

He blanched as the thought registered. Oh shit. She would be part of the family now.

“So that’s it? Silence? No congratulations?”

Chris sounded so upset that Dylan gulped down a lump of guilt. “Sorry, I was just in shock.” He injected a note of excitement into his tone. “Congrats, man. I can’t believe my big brother is getting married. When’s the big day?”

“We’re thinking December.”

Relief trickled through him. Eight months away. Hopefully Chris would change his mind long before then.

“So I don’t care if you have to beg or bribe every naval officer on the base—you’re getting leave to attend my wedding,” Chris declared. “Can’t have a wedding without the best man, right?”