Five Brothers Read Online Penelope Douglas

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, New Adult Tags Authors: Penelope Douglas Advertisement1

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I press the blade harder. “Hands behind your head.”

He pierces me with his stare but does what he’s told.

I could probably escape right now. He might not grab for me. Or try to take away my weapon. A guy like him—good-looking and used to having whoever he wants—probably thinks I’m not worth any more trouble.

I could leave.

But I don’t.

I shift, rolling so slowly over the bulge in his jeans and sliding my hand up his chest.

“On second thought,” I taunt, rising to my knees so the breast poking through my shirt is level with his mouth. “You are built for fun, aren’t you?”

I press myself into his mouth, and he seizes the invitation, nuzzling my collared shirt off my shoulder, baring a breast. He sucks it into his mouth. His hot tongue nibbles and teases so soft, and I grip the back of his neck, holding him to me to make sure he doesn’t stop.

I come down, kissing his mouth and whispering against his lips, “Open your jeans and take it out.”

I roll my hips into him, panting and groaning as he rips at his belt and unfastens his fly.

He tries to take my hips, but I dig the blade into his neck. “Don’t touch me.”

He pulls away, and I attack his mouth, feeling the hard, hot flesh of his cock brush against my clit.

I stare down into his eyes. “You still want me?” I whisper.

He nods, his mouth hanging open as he breathes hard. “God, yes.”

I linger, rolling my hips and taunting him, but he’s ready to go. He dives behind me, reaching for the glove box, and I kiss his neck and trail up his jaw and to his temple.

But then he goes still, and eventually, I stop kissing.

Looking behind me, I see his hand clutching a condom box upside down. As if it’s empty.

He throws it down onto the floor and shuffles through the contents of the glove box, looking for a condom that must’ve spilled out. Papers and napkins and tools I don’t recognize slide onto the floor, but when he stops, he’s still empty-handed. Nothing.

He has nothing. No protection.

I tense. “There were two left,” I tell him.

He glances up at me, a pained look in his eyes. He swipes his hand through the compartment again in vain.

I drop my arms from his body. “Trace …”

He shoots up, letting his head fall back and locking his hands on top. “Shit,” he murmurs to the roof.

My stomach drops a little. We were together three days ago. He had two condoms left in that box. His brothers don’t use this truck.

I try to catch his eyes, but he won’t look at me. “Are you serious?”

Without waiting for him to answer, I climb off, plopping back into my seat and setting the knife down.

“Come on,” Trace says in a gentle voice. “Please don’t be mad, Krisjen.”

He reaches for my hand, but I take it away, buttoning my shirt the couple of notches I undid earlier to look like sexy serial killer bait on the dark road in the middle of nowhere.

He hesitates, but the mood is gone. He zips up his fly and fastens his belt, our little role-play switching back to reality. I’m eighteen again, graduated and no longer in Catholic school, and he’s twenty, trying not to make an enemy out of one of his sister’s best friends, because he knows he’ll be running into me a lot in life.

“Please don’t make me feel bad,” he says softly. “I didn’t think you were exclusive to me, either. You’re not in love with me, are you? I’m an idiot.”

I close my eyes but almost laugh, because he is an idiot.

And I’m not in love with him.

But now I can’t lie to myself anymore. I am absolutely not special to him. I’m probably just the only one who texted back tonight.

I did like him, though. He goes along with my role-playing fantasies where I overpower someone trying to overpower me.

I bow my head, rubbing my tired eyes.

“Krisjen, seriously.” He takes my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think we were like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” I tell him, pulling my hand back. It just makes me feel more pathetic. “You’re right. We’re not getting married.”

I meet his eyes, saying his name in my head. Trace Jaeger.

And Milo Price. My ex-boyfriend. The two men I’ve slept with.

I always thought it would be only one. When I was twelve, I imagined my true-love experience would be passionate kisses on seaside cliffs as my dress blew in the wind. He would be a poet. And secretly a duke. With a castle. Like, I literally thought that’s what would happen, because I had lofty ideas and never figured in my desperation for attention.

But that’s not what happened. I was a sophomore, invited with some friends to junior prom, which ended at a party where I gave it up to my boyfriend on a stranger’s bed, and it was all over in eleven minutes.


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