The Fight In Us: A Brother's Best Friend College Romance (The Four Book 4) Becca Steele (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

talking. “This is good, actually. We can go through our evidence before they get back. Wanna drop your bag upstairs and meet me in the computer room?”

After dumping my bag in the guest room, I changed into a baggy black hoodie that almost came to my knees, fleece-lined and more like a blanket than a hoodie. Leaving my legs bare other than my fluffy socks, I padded back downstairs to Weston.

He was already at work, inputting lines of code that were scrolling across the screen and navigating to our secure server. When I entered the room, he didn’t even look up, too intent on what he was doing.

Yep, I knew that feeling. When I was engrossed in my work, the outside world stopped existing for me. Instead of disturbing him, I locked the door behind me, then pulled up a chair and set up my laptop on his desk, plugging it in to one of the giant monitors so that we’d have a better view.

“Here.” He finally spoke after we’d been pulling information in silence for around twenty minutes. “Come and look at this.”

Sliding out of my chair, I went and stood next to his, peering closely at the screen.

“See…here.” Without warning, he tugged me down onto his lap and banded his arm around me.

I was suddenly so aware of him. His body at my back, the way he held me firmly in place, his warm breath hitting my ear as he leaned his head over my shoulder to speak. As he moved his other hand, clicking the mouse and highlighting the phone records of Martin Smith on the screen, it took everything I had to concentrate on what he was telling me.

“What am I looking at?” Oh, bloody hell. The rasp in my voice betrayed me, and I shifted in his lap. Since our bodies were pressed together so closely, I didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath or the growing hardness I felt beneath me.

“This text thread here,” he said in a rough, low tone, moving his hand from around my waist and down onto my thigh, on top of the thick fabric of my hoodie. He left it there, unmoving, until I relaxed back against him. “See? This message is most likely coded, but it could refer to the dog purchases.”

As he spoke, he began to run his fingers up and down my thigh in light, teasing touches.

I. Was. On. Fire.

My thighs clenched. As his fingertips closed around the bottom of my hoodie, I moved my legs wider in a silent invitation, the ache between my legs undeniable. I’d been in love with this boy for so long, but the desperate craving for his touch… This? This was new.

His lips touched my ear as he spoke softly. “This message is dated from the week before you saw the two guys meet.” He dragged the fabric of my hoodie slowly up, all the way to the top of my thighs. My heart was racing, my breath stuttering as he unclasped his fingers from the fabric and laid them on my bare leg. “I don’t know who the recipient is, but read the message.”

How? What? My brain was overloaded, all my senses directed towards the sensation of his hand trailing up my thigh.

“The message?” He laughed softly, amused at my lack of attention.

“How…can…you…expect me to concentrate?” My head fell back against his shoulder.

“I fucking love how responsive you are.” His teeth nipped at my earlobe. Then, “If there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, tell me, and I’ll stop straight away.”

Warmth flowed through me at his words, because I knew he meant them. I trusted him, and for that reason, my reply easily fell from my lips.

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, if you concentrate. What do you notice about this message?”

Dammit! Why was he torturing me this way?

His fingers paused, touching the band of my underwear with the barest pressure. An involuntary whimper tore from my throat. “Stop fucking teasing me,” I whispered.

“Read the message, Lena.”

With an effort, I focused my attention on the screen. The words swam together, and I blinked, then blinked again, gathering the shreds of my self-control so I could focus.

Martin: 3 parcels, prepaid. Post them at the usual place. Thom is expecting them.

“Um.” I licked my lips. “Parcels must refer to the dogs?”

“Good.” His voice dropped, and he dragged one finger over my clit, down my slit, and back up again.

“Oh, fuck.” My hips involuntarily arched forwards. How the fuck was I meant to survive Weston Cavendish? He was incinerating me and he’d barely even touched me. I had no idea it could be like this. No idea he’d be like this.

“So…” he continued, his finger slipping under the fabric, making direct contact with my skin. “Do you think this refers to the meeting you intercepted?”

“Yes,” I moaned, moving my legs wider, not even recognising myself in this moment.

“This message, too.” Leaning forwards, he reached out and clicked the mouse, scrolling through the records to a highlighted conversation. At the same time he opened it, he pushed his index finger into me.

My whole body stiffened, warring with my mind.

“Breathe, baby. It’s me.” He pressed the softest kiss to the side of my throat and curled his finger inside me. His breathing grew heavier, the huskiness in his voice proving that I was affecting him. “You see how they mention parcels again? This one has a date.”

“Y-yes,” I managed to say, as his hand moved, stroking over my clit, while his finger moved in and out of me, sliding through my wetness.

“This number’s the same as the other one. I’ve run it through the system, but no hits. Probably a burner phone.” Another finger joined the first, making me gasp. His voice continued to rasp in my ear as he kept up his movements, increasing the pace bit by bit. “What do you think? Should we intercept the next meeting?”

“Y-Ahhhhh, fuck.” My pussy clamped around his finger as the orgasm hit me out of nowhere, blinding in its