She drives me nuts. She does crazy shit like pull a girl’s hair at a bar for calling her a slut. She feels up half-naked football players in our living room. She does cute little ballet jumps when she’s making breakfast in our kitchen.

And yes, she makes me lose my temper sometimes, but I make her lose hers.

It’s part of the fun.

“I’m going upstairs, Fitz. You can sleep on the couch or in Dean’s room or any of the other rooms. But not mine, because we’re broken up.”

“Say that one more time. I fucking dare you.”

She stops at the foot of the staircase and turns around. Her green eyes glitter with fortitude. “We’re brok—”

I lunge forward.

She throws up her hands. “Don’t you dare!”

Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I grab her by the waist and heave her wriggling body over my shoulder, clamping a hand over her ass. “We’re going to sit down and talk about this,” I growl, spinning toward the living room.

“There’s nothing to talk about! Put me down!” She manages to wrench herself free, her bare feet slapping the marble floor when they make contact with it.

“Would you listen to me? We’re not breaking up. It’s not happening, Summer. I don’t give a shit about the job at Orcus Games. I give a shit about you. That bastard was rude to you. He was rude to both of us, and I refuse to work for someone who treats people with disrespect or behaves that way in public. I put him in his place, and if I had the choice, I’d do it all over again, you hear me? Because he was a jackass to you, and I love you.”

Summer’s breath catches. “That’s…” She gulps. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“Well, it’s true. I love you. You’re my girlfriend—”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Are.”

“Was.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her against me. When she gasps, I know she feels the erection pressing into her belly. “You can argue till you’re blue in the face, but we both know we’re not breaking up.” My hand slides under her dress to caress her smooth thigh. “And we both know you love me too.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies my face. “You’re different,”

She’s right. I am. My patience is thin, and my nerves are shot. I’m still pissed at Kamal. Still pissed at Summer. Yet at the same time, I want to fuck her like I’ve never wanted to fuck her before.

Groaning softly, I cup the warm heaven between her legs. When I encounter her bare pussy, I shudder with desire. “You weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” I croak.

“No. This dress can’t handle panty lines. I’d never do that to Vera.”

“Who’s Ve— You know what, forget it.”

“Fitz.” She swallows again. “I’m sorry I cost you the job.”

I shake my head at her. “You still don’t get it, do you? You didn’t cost me a job. Kamal Jain cost himself an employee. I’m a good designer. I’ll find something else, I promise. But I’ll never find another you.”

Her lips part in wonder. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I can be sweet when I want to.” My knuckles graze her clit. “But right now, I’m feeling dirty.” I slip a finger inside her. “Spread your legs so I can screw you against the wall.”

Her jaw falls open at the wicked demand. “Oh my God. You’re in a mood tonight.”

“Yeah, I am. So for chrissake, stop trying to break up with me. Stop worrying about this job. Just stop and kiss me.”

When my mouth covers hers, she finally quits arguing and kisses me back with a level of passion that steals my breath. I grind against her, but it’s not enough. My aching cock is straining behind my zipper, and I’m too primed for foreplay.

“I just need to be inside you,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll make you feel good later. Promise.”

“You make me feel good always,” she whispers back, and damned if my heart doesn’t beat a little bit faster.

Thanks to Summer, I always keep a condom in my pocket these days, no matter the occasion. I don’t bother dropping my trousers. I unzip, pull out my cock, cover it up. Then I yank Summer’s dress up, lift one of her long legs to my hip, and with one deep stroke I bury myself inside her.

“Oh my God,” she moans.

The heat of her surrounds me, her inner muscles clamping around my dick as if to trap it in place. My skin is on fire. My heart beats in a sharp staccato against my ribcage. I’m hot and hard and in desperate need of release.

There’s nothing graceful about the pounding I give her. The wall behind her shakes and the credenza rattles as I fuck her standing up. Her legs snake around my waist and she’s so wet and tight I can’t think straight. I can’t stop the freight train of pleasure that slams into me without warning. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and tremble against her body, coming hard enough to see stars.

“Fuck yes,” I grunt against her neck.

My hips keep rocking for several moments before going still. I know she didn’t come, but I already promised I’d make it up to her. My knees start to wobble, but still I don’t move.

“You feel so good,” I mumble. “I never want to leave you—”

Ding.

We both jolt in surprise when the elevator doors slide open. The next thing I hear is, “What the fuck!”

It’s Dean.

As in Summer’s brother Dean.

As in my good friend Dean.

How is this happening again?

“How is this happening again!” Summer cries in embarrassment.

I honestly don’t know. This is the second time someone’s walked in on us while I’ve been lodged deep inside her. But this is a million times worse because it’s her brother. I’m about to turn around when I realize that if I do, Dean will see my dick flapping in the wind and know where it was a second before.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Fitzgerald!”

“Dean,” Summer begs, burying her face against my chest. “Turn around. Please.”

“Oh my fucking God. Are you having sex?” he thunders. “Right here?!”

“Dean! Turn around!”

He has the decency to obey her, but sounds utterly furious as he snarls, “Get your shit together and meet me in the living room. I’m walking past you guys right now, and I’m not looking, okay? Jesus fuck, I’m not looking.”

My peripheral vision catches him stalking by, holding one hand to his face as a blinder. The moment he disappears, we snap into action. I pull out. Summer takes the condom and ducks into the nearby powder room. A toilet flushes, and then she returns and we reluctantly walk into the living room like two teenagers who just—

Got caught having sex?

Yup. Exactly like that.

When we’re seated on the couch, Dean looms over us, arms crossed. “How long has this been going on?” he asks sternly.

I choke down a laugh. Hearing Dean (whose nickname in college was ‘Dean the Sex Machine,’ for chrissake) put on a Puritan tone and glare in disapproval is the ultimate irony. But I know this whole big-brother posturing is coming from a place of genuine concern. He adores his sister.