Stepbrother Thief(88)

I'm so wet right now, so desperate to feel him inside of me again, but I don't push it. I wait, letting him circle my clit in slow, lazy whorls, drawing his mouth down to my opening and teasing me for a split second before working his way back up. By the time Gill's fingers slide inside of me, I'm lost, floating on a sea of pleasure, but sinking fast. I tighten around him, clamping down hard and feel him groan against my body, breath fluttering against the inside of my thigh.

My girlfriends back in Paris used to say that they thought oral sex was a step up from vaginal intercourse, an act of intimacy that wasn't acceptable during a one-night stand. Coming from the States where people act like oral isn't even sex at all (a sentiment I never echoed, by the way), I didn't really get it. I mean, it's sex, obviously, but is it really more intimate? In this moment with Gilleon, I see where they're coming from. I feel so open, so exposed, and I know he's there and he can see everything, and not just the physical bits. Gill's pleasuring me, watching me writhe and moan, but he isn't wrapped up in his own body, in the slide of his cock between my legs; all he's doing right now is watching. Looking. He's looking right at me.

I drag a pillow over my face to hide a scream as Gill's knuckles slam into me, his tattooed fingers disappearing between my legs as he continues working his tongue around my clit. Always patient, never rushed, Gill listens to the rhythm of my body, the pulsing ebbs of pleasure that radiate through me, and he holds steady until I'm gasping into the pillow, fireworks flickering and flashing behind my eyelids.

Without missing a beat, Gill sits up and unbuckles his pants, dragging the pillow away from my face and tossing it to the floor before he enters me in a slow, smooth motion, riding right through the blooming pleasure of my orgasm. His blue eyes look right into mine as he slides deep, rocking our hips together until I can feel him hit the end of me. Gilleon's just long enough to tease, not long enough to hurt.

I gasp and grab the sides of his face, pulling him in for a kiss, flickers of an old life riding through me like the last waves of pleasure from my orgasm. Our first time—and the many, many others that followed it—drift in and out of my mind as I wrap my legs around my first love and wonder how the hell I ever even considered saying no. Of course, it's hard to think when a fucking Adonis is gliding above you, muscles defined and taut, hard beneath my fingers, laced with sweat.

I pull Gill's head down to me, and he growls, biting his lip hard as I lick the sweat from the corded muscles of his throat, nibbling and tasting that spicy masculine sweetness, breathing in the bergamot scented perfection of him. In that moment, in that fucking moment, he is mine.

You're my constant, Regi.

Gill's words ring in my head as I trail my hands over his muscular shoulders and down to his chest. Without having to say a single word, Gilleon knows what I want, rolling onto his back and letting me straddle him. All of that strength, all of that power, I want it beneath me, and I want to own it.

We lock gazes again as I position Gill's cock at my opening and slide down his shaft until our sweaty pelvises meet, my fingers splayed on his chest, his hands gripping my hips again. I start to move, slow at first, and then faster, grinding us together, my clit rubbing on his hot, hard body. The only sounds I can hear are our panting breaths and the slick slide of flesh in flesh, my wetness betraying my desire, the brightness in Gill's gaze betraying his.

Gill's hands tighten, squeezing hard enough that his grip almost hurts, but I know that's still just a tiny fraction of the power inside of him, that if he wanted to flip me over and fuck me, he could. But he wouldn't; he won't. I know that he can tell I need this, that I need to possess him, convince myself that he really could be mine again, that we could actually be together.

I shove some stray strands of blonde behind my shoulder as Gill moves his right hand over to my belly and up, palming my breast, cooling some of that sharp ache with his fingers as he runs his thumb over my hardened nipple. His touch is gentle at first, and growing rougher as the pleasure builds tight and tense between us.

It's my turn to watch Gill's face as he comes inside of me, his back arching, lifting me up off the bed like I'm weightless, flying, floating above him. Those stubborn blue eyes won't leave mine though, not even as his body spasms with pleasure. I bend down and bite his lip roughly, hard enough to draw the slight metallic tang of blood, refusing to slow the rhythm of my hips.

Our lovemaking takes a strange turn, from an emotional roller coaster to something … much more primal. Gill makes a face then, like a snarl, and pushes me off and over onto my back. I hit the pillows with a gasp, arching my spine as Gill kicks his boots off and tosses his pants to the floor, climbing between my legs and sliding his palm up my belly. I writhe under his touch, watching through half-hooded eyes as sweat drips down his chest, glistens on his tattooed right arm, on the gunshot scar on his shoulder.