Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(39)

I can't help myself. I tug his waistband down and wrap my fingers around his shaft. He's rock hard but the skin is so soft. I graze my thumb over the head and his whole body goes rigid as he gasps into my hair and pulls me closer.

My own heart hammers in my chest, thudding against my ribs. My throat is as dry as packed sand. It takes all my effort to speak.

"We could do it if you want."

"Do it?"

"Have sex," I choke out in a breathy voice.

"I'm not sure…"

"I'm ready."

"I'm not."

"Why?"

He sighs. "I just… I need more time."

I give his dick a squeeze. "Do you now."

He shudders. I can feel the shiver pass through his body, down to his toes. His arms tighten around me and we mold to each other as I slowly work his shaft through my grasp. I pull my hand away and moisten my palm with my lips, to make it slide more easily through my fingers, and he rolls onto his back and pushes his underwear down. He has an amazing body, all ridged muscle, so tight and sculpted that veins stand out even on his stomach. I love watching the way he flexes and tightens when I do it just right.

I rest my head on his chest and watch. I've started to learn to feel when he's getting close. It gets harder, tighter, and even swells a little. I may be brave enough to offer myself to him but the thought of taking all of that into my body still makes me a little afraid, but it's an exciting kind of fear, like taking the plunge down a rollercoaster. A tiny little rational part of my mind keeps me from just, well, hopping on. I know if I started he'd finish it. I'm surprised he's so resistant to go all the way. For all the time he spends between my legs, it can't be me.

He grunts and thrusts into my fist and his hot seed spills over my palm. Fascinated, I stare at it as I squeeze out every drop. There's something strange and exciting by how vulnerable he becomes in these few seconds when he loses control and pleasure takes over his body. I like the feeling of control it gives me. I sit up, yawn, and walk to the bathroom, holding up my hand like a doctor headed to the operating room until I clean up in the sink. When I walk back into the room he immediately grabs me by the waist, and, giggling, I'm pulled down to the bed.

Apollo is strong. He gets on top of me, gets my underwear down and slides his finger inside me, and I go still, a slow breath emptying my lungs before I draw it back in, my body tensing at the feeling of movement inside me. All it takes is his finger curling inside me to make me tingle all over, and then he starts kissing me, his lips hot on mine, his breath tickling my nose until I give in and the kiss deepens, his tongue slipping over mine. Then he goes for my throat, then my breasts, and works his way down until he's lying between my spread legs and I'm writhing on the bed, clenching fistfuls of sheet and gritting my teeth out of some irresistible urge to stay quiet.

The pleasure ebbs and flows, each time rising to a new plane until I can't take it anymore and I feel like I'm flying apart and crashing together all at once, too choked with the spasmic energy tightening my body to even cry out. I only moan when it's over, and he rests his head on my shoulder and puts his arms around me. As my eyes close and I settle against him, he flicks my nipple with his finger and my whole body jerks, my legs snapping up from the shock of his touch when I'm so sensitive. It turns into wrestling and I struggle and squirm to get loose. My legs wrap around his hips.

Do it. Do it.

He rolls over and I lose my grip. I'm on top of him now, trying to grind down on him, and he slips his arms under my shoulders and pulls me up, rolls again so I'm on my side and kisses me.

"Not yet," he murmurs, a strange sad timbre in his voice.

"Why not?"

"Your first time should be special."

"Was yours?"

He looks startled.

"It was…" he sighs. "No. Not really. Special isn't the word I'd chose."

There's something guarded in his voice. He rolls again onto his back. I flip onto my stomach and climb on top of him, resting my chin on my folded arms, on his chest.

"Tell me about her. What was her name?"

"Star."

"Star? Seriously?"

"I don't think that was her real name."

My eyebrow twitches. "Uh, that sounds like quite a story."

"I don't want to… I don't want to talk about it," he says, turning away.

"Tell me."

"She was a stripper."

"A stripper?" I sit up, leaning on his chest. "Your first time was with a stripper?"

He sighs. When he breathes, it moves my whole body up and down. "Yes. It's kind of complicated. My dad was… there a lot, and I knew some of the girls, and I think they, um, they made a bet on who would, ah, break me in…"

"Oh. My. God."

He just looks confused, and his confusion clearly deepens when he sees my grin.

"You've had an interesting life."

"Have I?" he says, looking up at the ceiling.

"Tell me about her. How old was she?"

"I don't know. Thirty? It's hard to tell with all the makeup and the kind of exercise she did."

"What was she like? Bleached hair? Big fake boobs?"

His face twists in annoyance. "No. She had black hair, blue eyes, and she was, uh, all natural. She was very attractive."