Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(34)

"I don't know anything about you."

"I don't know much about you, either," he confesses, shifting a little closer on the couch. "I know you're compassionate, bold, thoughtful. You care about your friends. I think I envy you."

"Envy me?"

He shrugs. "I've never had friends my own age, not even acquaintances, really. My mother died when I was young. She raised me herself until my father came and took me, after she…"

"I'm sorry," I mutter, looking down at the floor, past my soda can. I take a drink but it doesn't cool the heat in my chest. "I feel like shit for bitching about her in front of you."

"It's not like that."

I glance over at him. "So what's it like?"

"You know I have clear instructions to stay away from you. Yet here I am."

I set the can on the table (on a coaster!) and turn to face him, sitting sideways so my elbow leans on the back of the couch, and prop my hand on my chin. He leans back, turns a little to face me. I can feel him trying to force his eyes still but they keep roaming over me. My shorts are hiked right up to my hips. I cross my legs, and his eyes wander down to settle on them. I must have still been a little damp when I dressed. I can feel the cloth clinging to my shirt.

I am such an amateur.

He puts his can next to mine and slides over. This time his eyes are on mine, and they don't waver. The longer he holds the stare with me, the tighter I feel in my stomach, like I'm coiling up. I think he's going to lean in and kiss me.

Instead he yanks the towel off my hair and drops it on the floor behind the couch, pulls me to him, and buries his face in my wet hair. He breathes deep, his chest expanding against me as his arms slide around me. He breaths out slow and his hot breath tickles my skin, and he does again.

"What are you…"

"Savoring you," he says, and tugs me closer. I"m almost on his lap.

Now he kisses me. Oh God I'm melting. It's like swallowing a spoonful of warm honey. Before I know it I fall back on the couch and take him with me, and he's lying on top of me, lips locked with mine.

Oh.

His hands slide up my forearms to rest on my palms, and lightly hold them down, while his thumbs trace little circles around my knuckles and the kiss deepens. I'm as hungry for it as he is. I can't keep my hands off him, feeling the muscles on his stomach and sides twist and bunch when he moves, spreading my fingers across his chest. I slip my legs around him and he breaks from the kiss, his tightly muscled chest heaving against me as he catches his breath, only to start again when I've barely caught mine. It's as if we don't have enough time and he wants as many kisses as he can before we have to stop.

Do we have to stop? Why can't I want this?

I feel his hand cool on my side, slipping up into my shirt. My eyes flutter open but I don't stop him, if anything I welcome it by doing the same. His skin is smooth. There's a scar up his side from some injury and I find myself unable to stop tracing it with my finger. He shifts so he's lying on his side, pulling me against him, my head cradled on his arm while his other hand moves lightly over my ribs, down to my hip, and back again, each time edging a little closer to my breast. He must be able to feel my heart beating. Finally I gasp as his hand slides up, cups my breast and ever so lightly squeezes, his thumb brushing over my nipple. He goes still and I know he can feel my heart now, pounding in my chest.

Another kiss. He pulls back a little, smirking as he makes me sit up to reach him, teasing me for it. He rises further and pulls me onto his lap so I sit there straddling him. I can feel his erection, his hard-on pressed between my stomach and his. It startles me when I realize how big it feels. I've never done anything like this before. His hands roam under my shirt up my back with the same attention he paid to my chest, his fingertips tracing every little contour and dip in the muscles, tracing up my spine. Then his mouth finds my throat, and one hand slips up to my shoulder blades to pull me close, while the other works into my shorts. He spreads his fingers, cups my butt, and squeezes. I let out a little squeak and he laughs.

"You ever been spanked before?"

"Spanked?"

"You have a spankable ass."

Before I can argue he slips his hand free of my clothes, and smack, a shock shoots up my spine from the impact of his hand on my ass.

That felt… good.

I arch my back a little, shifting in his lap, and he groans as his cock grinds against my stomach. I wiggle my butt and he lands another stinging smack on me, and I shudder. It feels good, like a tart taste, or dipping my toes in ice cold water.

"Again."

His hand hits my rump, and then slides up my back, along with his other one. I wriggle as he pulls my shirt up all at once, pulling my arms up with it, and he twists the cloth and pulls it tight, so only my mouth is exposed and my arms are trapped next to my head, and I'm not wearing a bra and I feel so naked. He keeps the cloth knotted in one hand and pulls me close to him, only the thin cotton of his shirt separating him from me, his skin from mine. I'm shivering, not from cold, but just because I'm naked. He can see my bare chest. I've never… I even kept myself covered up in the locker room.

His mouth brushes mine in an almost kiss, and his voice is in a whisper so soft I feel it as much as hear it.

"Shy, aren't you?"