Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(37)

"He doesn't sound like a nice person. Leaving you two alone all that time…"

"He had his reasons."

"Sounds like you trust him."

"Yeah."

She yawns. "Did he teach you how to fight?"

"Yes. He taught me how to do all sorts of things."

She looks up at me with wide eyes.

"Uh, not that stuff. That's… experience."

"Oh. Oh. Oh my God." She sits up, pulling the blanket over her full breasts. The gesture is so endearing and demure I can't stop staring at her. "How many?"

"Uh, a lot. I didn't really count, I mean it's not something I brag about…"

She's staring at me now, her mouth open a little.

"I'm… I did it safely. You don't need to worry about that."

She swallows, her throat bobbing. "This isn't some kind of a game, is it? You're not just messing with me, are you?"

"No. No, I swear. There's something different about you, Diana. I want to tell you everything, but…"

But if I tell you everything, you'll throw me out of the house and never speak to me again, and probably call the cops. That's if you don't stab me for my trouble.

"What is there that you're not telling me?"

"A lot," I whisper.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting. Anger, maybe, but her hand rests on my back and rubs in slow circles. Not in a sexy way, like she's trying to arouse me. It's comforting. She puts her head on my shoulder.

"You can talk to me. I'll listen."

"I don't know what to tell you."

I swallow. Something about saying that hurts more than it should.

She pulls the blanket up to her neck and sighs a deep, sad sigh. "Are you going to leave?"

"No. I"ll stay if you want me to. I just…"

"Nobody needs to know what we're doing for this week. We can sort things out when they get back."

Yeah. We can sort things out when they get back.

I'll give Dad a chance. Lay it out. I can't do this to her, I can't let this happen to these people. They don't deserve it.

"So," Diana murmurs, "Are you going to spend the night, then?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good."

She rises and shrugs out of the blanket, grabs her clothes and walks to the stairs. I hate to see her leave, but I love to watch her go. All I can do is stare, open-mouthed. She cradles her breasts in her arm as she walks up the stairs, and I lean forward to crane for a better view of her perfect ass swaying as she makes her way up. Then I leap up and follow her. I want her so bad I can taste it. It sings in my veins like fire, hammers in my chest. It's like I've been crawling through the desert and she's a glass of water, and all I have to do is drink.

I can't. Not yet. I can't be her first and then just disappear on her, especially if Dad carries off the heist anyway. She'd be crushed, I can feel it. She's so inexperience about the whole thing. Everything is new to her, and through her, it's new to me, too. I've always gone down on my conquests because I like it, but this time it was different. It was about her, about making her feel pleasure, about making her happy. My touches weren't to satisfy me but to drive her to higher heights of pleasure. I want to do that now. I want to see her red faced and sweating, her hair fanned out over the bed, her body heaving, her hands balled into fists as she can't take it anymore and screams for me not to stop. I want to grab her naked body, feel her warm softness against me and carry her right to the bed.

When I make it upstairs, she's in the shower.

"Join me," she calls.

I swallow, hard. It's going to be tough keeping control of myself like that, but I can't turn her down, either. I lay my clothes on her bed and walk over to the bathroom, step inside and spread back the shower curtain. Her hair is all wet and glued to her back, strands hanging over her shoulders, clinging to her nipples. Her mismatched eyes make her look like some kind of exotic, supernatural creature, a goddess or nymph out of a myth. Even the thick brown hair between her legs is slicked down and wet. It looks good on her. I like it.

All those curves. Her body is so full and lush. I can't stop myself from slipping into the shower with her and running my hands up her sides, feeling her tremble under my touch. Every little thing excites her, everything is new. I step in and she presses against me, her big breasts sliding over my chest, and she leans on me, holds me. She's so content just to touch me. What is this? When her hair is wet it's a thick, full mop, and my hands get lost in it as I slip them around her. The feeling of her wet skin slipping against mine, the soft scent of her hair under my nose, and I'm hard again. I want to f*ck her so bad. The idea of being her first, of calming her fears and gently entering her as I reassure her with my gaze makes me hard as a rock, so hard it hurts.

Her hand curls around my shaft and she starts stroking, still holding me in her arm as I embrace her. My legs start to tremble almost immediately. It's like she just knows how to please me. She starts grinning as I start groaning.

"Slow down," I murmur, and kiss her.

I kiss her a lot. I'm afraid the water is going to go cold. I push her into the tiles and she spreads her legs and it would be easy, so easy to just slide inside her. I know she wants it, I can feel her throbbing at the idea, but I let her slip her hand away and slide my cock against her wet stomach until I explode all over her.