Asher stared at my lips and tipped closer before creases marred his brow, and he backed off again. He was thinking the same thing, struggling with the same barrier. How much harder was this for him? A month ago, he’d been comfortable calling himself straight. This was an identity crisis and incest all wrapped into one for Asher. No wonder he was suffering from anxiety.

I shifted, facing him, and our eyes locked. He was close enough I could smell the natural scent of my brother under the essence of shampoo. It was a smell I’d know anywhere and one that calmed me like no other. Jay’s fancy cologne had nothing on the pureness of Asher’s skin.

There was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know where to begin.

Neither of us were able to find the courage to move closer, so I did what needed to be done.

I cupped Asher’s cheek, dragged a thumb along his scruffy jaw, and said, “Action,” right before leaning in and kissing him.

It was the push we both needed. His flavors burst across my tongue and invaded my mouth. He pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me, forcing my lips apart, spearing me with his determined tongue. Fuck, he could kiss like nobody’s business.

His hands sought skin, delving under my shirt and shoving it up so it gathered under my armpits. Then he latched onto a nipple and went to town.

“Motherfucker.” I grabbed his hair, holding on for the ride. I never should have told him how sensitive they were. The bastard was determined to drive me out of my mind.

With a free hand, Asher unhooked the button on my jeans and tugged down on the zipper. Then he stopped. Hesitated. Came up for air and stared deep into my eyes.

I found the button on his jeans and shoved his pants down around his thighs—underwear and all. There was a hint of uncertainty on his face, but he didn’t stop me. Then, for the first time, I took him in my hand and stroked. Long, slow pulls that made him gasp. His cock was a familiar weight and size in my hand; a mirror image of my own.

Asher had stalled, and I knew my brother enough to know he didn’t know how to proceed. His memory of all that porn must have slipped away.

Releasing him, I arched my hips and shoved my pants down too. “Take your pants off,” I told him.

He worked frantically, kicking them off the side of the bed just as I got my feet out of mine—stupid skinny jeans.

We were both naked from the waist down.

I took his hips and guided him back down toward me, closer so our lower halves aligned. They touched, hard flesh against hard flesh. Asher made a noise in his throat.