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She’s quiet for a while. A framed photo on the plastic table catches my attention. It’s her with a guy.
“Who is that?”
“My brother.”
“You don’t look like siblings.”
She huffs. “We have the same eyes.”
Now I see it. “Does he live here?”
“In this apartment? No. He’s in the city, though.”
Her voice has lost color. It sounds strange, but that’s how it feels. I’m prying, it seems, but my mouth has its own agenda. “And your parents?”
“They’re gone. Know what?” She pulls away from me, turns her gaze away. “I’ll make some tea.”
I don’t let her go. “Brin… wait. Sorry.”
Her eyes are sad. “No, it’s not you, it’s… just complicated.”
“Is it? If there’s anything I can do to help…”
She gives me a faint smile. “Thanks. I don’t think so. And it’s not why I brought you here.”
“Then what is…?”
She puts her hand on my face, and that slight pressure, the knowledge it’s her doing this after all this time I’ve wanted her, it takes my breath away.
This time it’s her who kisses me. We’re kissing again and heat expands in my gut, making me so hard and slick I feel I’m about to explode.
Whoa.
Guess I’m staying the night after all, and making the mother of all bad decisions. For the first time, I’m throwing caution to the wind, forgetting all about my obligations and my decisions.
This kiss, this girl… It feels like she’s about to make or break my world.
31
SAWYER
The ancient sofa creaks as I lower her onto the hard cushions, springs twanging alarmingly, but I don’t give a damn. Let the neighbors hear. If I take her, they’re going to hear a lot more than that, I’ll make sure of it.
I’ll make her scream my name.
The frustration of wanting her, needing her all this time is shifting into a feral desire that has me pressing her into the sofa and bowing over her, nestling between her legs. She’s already pushing my shirt up and I’m shoving a hand under her blouse, and I can’t stop kissing her.
Fuck, I want her so badly.
I rise a little, braced on one hand, to let her pull my shirt over my head, and I throw it to the floor. Then I haul her blouse up and off her, and stare down at her tits. She’s wearing a sort of bikini triangle bra, plain black cotton, but the way her breasts strain under those triangles has my dick trying to burst out of my pants.
Wow…
She whispers my name, and I don’t even ask if she’s done this before. I don’t need to, not with the way she grips my arms, the uncertainty in her eyes. If she has, it’s not a habit, and as for me, I’m not a grand expert, either, like I’ve said before.
Thanks to the internet, though, I know enough to make it good for her. For both of us.
And I know what I want. Pulling the flimsy cotton triangles aside, I gaze down at her dark pink nipples. They are hard already, and when I tease one with my thumb, she moans.
