Stepbrother Thief(33)

I bite my lower lip as he scoots back and slides off the end of the bed, dropping his pants to the floor and giving me a wry look over his shoulder.

“What do you think? I've been told I have a nice ass.”

“Screw you,” I whisper, but my voice sounds too breathy to really be mine. I sit up, shrugging off my bra and tossing it to the floor. The panties follow after, smacking Gill right in the chest—totally by accident, of course.

The warm air in the bedroom seems suddenly chill as I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, watching as Gilleon stands there buck naked and peruses the writing on the condom package.

“I know we're both virgins, but it's not that hard to figure out,” I say with a slight smile. Butterflies are taking over my stomach and making it hard to think straight. Mostly I just want him to stop looking at it and put the damn thing on.

“Feels like nothing at all,” Gill reads and then smiles, looking up at me. “Did you pick these out special?”

“I ordered them off the Internet—after reading lots of reviews.” I turn away because it's hard to have a conversation with someone who's so buff and beautiful and … excited. His laughter makes me purse my lips as he climbs back onto the bed and curls his fingers around my knees, slowly opening my legs up.

I turn back and we lock gazes, blue to brown. Gill's lips are gently parted as he looks down at me, watches me lean back onto the bed, my honey blonde hair spread out across the stark white of his pillowcase.

When he leans down over me, our bare skin brushing with an electric thrill, heat rushes through me and I find myself opening wider, reaching up and resting my fingers on the back of Gill's neck.

The talking is over, the joking put on hold.

I feel him at my opening, hard and ready, as desperate for me as I am for him.

“Regi,” he whispers as he pushes inside, sliding deep and drawing a sharp gasp from me. It doesn't hurt, not really, but I feel tight, stretched, full. Knowing that that's Gill, the boy with the sharp wit and the fierce love, the loyalty that never quits, makes my head spin in the best way possible.

I groan, the hardness of my nipples brushing against the muscles of his chest as he starts to move, slowly at first but picking up speed, abs contracting as his hips move to a rhythm that we both somehow know instinctually.

I close my eyes, lashes fluttering against my cheeks, as pleasure slides through me, like ripples in a pond, starting down below and taking over until I can feel Gill everywhere—in my fingertips, my toes, my lips. He leans down and kisses me fiercely but lovingly, like I belong to him and he belongs to me. Together. Forever. I really believe that, really and truly believe that. Gill and me, we're made for each other.

My eyes open and I stare up into Gill's as his breath comes faster, as mine picks up speed to match, our bodies slipping and sliding together in an erotic dance. I raise my hips to meet his, hook one leg tightly around him and encourage him to go deeper, move faster, hit harder.

When the orgasm hits me, suddenly and unexpectedly, my body soars while my heart falls. Far. And hard. I fall so hard for Gilleon Marchal then that I know it'll be impossible to ever climb out.



“We met when I was sixteen and he was seventeen,” I tell Aveline, memories sweeping over me and threatening to smother me in the avalanche of emotions that comes with them. The past doesn't control me; I control my future. I take a deep breath and lean back, relaxing into the white and blue throw pillows and tugging the white afghan over my legs. Aveline listens intently, even as I know she's keeping an eye and an ear out for trouble. “That was the day he moved in for good, two weeks before our parents' wedding. I'd known Cliff for a while before that, and I liked him alright, but I was really upset about my mother getting remarried.”

I tap my fingers on the back of the couch, forcing myself through a condensed version of the story. If I have someone to talk to for this next week of forced isolation, I'll feel a whole lot better. It's almost become a desperate need for Aveline to know everything. “My dad died of melanoma a few years earlier and I still wasn't over it.” I swirl the red wine around in my glass and then take a tentative sip, letting the alcohol crash into my empty belly. “Gill helped me through that. He was … nice and he was funny and he was the only person I'd ever met who valued family as much as I did. He understood me, and when he looked at me, I felt like he saw me.” I take another sip of wine. “Really and truly saw me. When we moved to France, he kept me going, helped me when I stumbled through the language, when I missed my friends, when I thought about flying back to live with my grandma in California. He kept me there, taught me to be happy, to appreciate my new circumstances.” My eyes mist as I get to the next part of the story. I won't cry about Gill, spent way too many years crying over him. But my mom? Ouch. That still hurts, and I'm not ashamed of it. “When my mother passed away in an accident, he was there for me. In fact, to this day I feel like he's the only reason I survived that.”