Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(51)

It doesn't matter. There's never going to be another one after her. I should leave. I should get out of her life, let her move on, but it feels like there's something invisible wrapped around my heart, digging barbs into the muscle, and if I pull away it'll rip it out.

I could go again if she wants. I'm already getting hard again inside her. There's a million things I want to say, but I don't know how. She touches my face. I keep myself from laughing, just barely. She has leaves stuck in her hair. She looks like some kind of wood nymph. She's so beautiful. Those eyes. She rolls her hips and a spark of excitement flares inside me.

I'd stay here forever, if it was up to me. It's not. There's no hiding from the world out there, but it feels different now. I'm not alone anymore. We need to go inside. She knows it. She slides off of me. It feels incredible. When she bends to reach for her underwear I want to grab her hips and plunge inside her and f*ck her until she begs for mercy, and from the last time I think she could go a good, long while. Claim her. Mark her. Make her mine. I tuck myself in and start arranging my clothes. With every second that ticks by the real world grows closer.

Diana shakes her head but it doesn't get all the leaves out. I end up standing behind her, running my fingers through her hair to get rid of them all, undoing her braids while I'm at it. By the time I'm done her hair hangs straight down her back in a lovely chestnut brown cascade. When I lean in and breathe in her scent she smells earthy and musky. She turns around in my arms and starts picking leaves out of my hair, grinning. It's like, for just a minute, I forget everything else. There is only her.

Then why do I feel a heavy pit in my stomach, like a great big glacier chewing up my guts?

It hits me, startles me. I have something to lose.

She's looking over my shoulder. I look around and realize how late it's getting. The wedding was around eleven, and we've been gone since then.

"I don't want to go back yet."

"Me either," she says, resting her head on my shoulder. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

Her hand slides up my chest. "If we go for help, they'll take you away, won't they? The cops or whoever we call."

"Probably. I've been doing this for a long time."

"You were just a kid. You didn't know any better…"

"They won't care. I've been doing it as an adult for years. I knew what I was doing."

"Did you?"

I slip my arms around her. "It was like a movie, the whole time. We were adventurers. I thought I was the hero of my own story. I'm not a hero."

Her arms tighten around my ribs.

"Not yet."

"I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

"My mother needs to know. It will hurt her. She still needs to know."

"You want me to-"

"We both need to. Together. Then I'm going to stab your father to death with a potato peeler."

"Okay, wait, what?"

"I don't want to go back yet," she sighs. "Not yet. Please. Can we just sit out here?"

Back to the bench. I sit down next to her and hand my head. This has been brewing for a long time. Something broke a while ago and it's been chafing between me and my father. This is the last straw. We had a code, or at least I thought we did. He had a reason of his own to take up with these people, I just don't know what they are.

"Are you okay?" she murmurs, taking my hand in hers.

"Am I okay? After what I just told you?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"No. I was scared, Diana. I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know. I believe you." Her hand cups my cheek and she turns my head to look at her. "It sounds like your father tried very, very hard to make you into a bad man. And he failed."

"Diana, I don't-"

"Shhh. How old are you? Really? Did you lie to me about that?"

"No, I… I have work to do, don't I?"

She nods. "I don't trust you yet… I do but I don't. It's complicated."

"I know. I really am twenty years old. I'll be twenty-one in October."

"You weren't born on Halloween."

I smile, sadly. "No, the seventeenth."

"You have a long time to make up for it."

I look at her. Really look at her. There's more to Diana than her curves, her warm, pretty face, even her wonderful mismatched eyes. When she looks at me like that, it's like she sees something I don't even see in myself, when I look in the mirror.

The sun is setting. It's time to go back.

She grabs my hand.

"Let's go."

The walk back to the house is full of dread. It's like there's lead weights on my shoulders. The perfect moment is ending. It's time to step outside the snowglobe again. I try to pull my hand free of Diana's grip. I figure walking back into the house holding hands is a bad way to start this off. Her hand squeezes mine, and she won't let go. In my heart of hearts I'm glad she won't. She opens the door and we step inside. The party is still going. My father is drinking a flute of champagne, leaning on the kitchen counter. He looks over at me, and his eyes snap to our hands, still twined in each other. I shake loose of Diana's grip and feel like I'm letting something important slide a way.