Stepbrother Thief(89)

“So beautiful,” I say, the words slipping past my lips before I can stop them. Gill rakes a hand through his dark hair and shakes his head.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he whispers, voice rough and dark as he slides our sweaty bodies together, fisting his fingers in my hair and kissing me hard, as hard as I just kissed him. I can still taste the blood dancing between our tongues, at war with the bright citrusy taste of him. My hips arch up and slide against Gill, finding him just as hard and ready for me as he was before. Fuck.

What we just did, that was us trying to find a way to get close again. What we're doing right now … is making up for lost time. It's fierce and hard and full of anger and sadness and fear. I want it, need it, but I also want it to be over. Then I can move on, really truly move on—whether I'm with Gilleon or not.

“Hard and fast, Gill,” I breathe as he pulls back and I turn over, stretching like a cat, using some of my own feline grace to entice Gilleon to thrust into me, his hands pulling my hips back, slamming his pelvis into my ass. The bed creaks, the headboard hits the wall, and goddamn it, I know there are people in this house who will know exactly what that means, but I don't care.

I moan, struggling to keep myself up on all fours, held up more by Gilleon's strength than my own. I'm melting, wasting away into dirty, filthy, guilty pleasure. When I feel him tensing up, getting ready to come again, I let myself go completely, collapsing beneath him as Gill releases his pleasure inside of me, thrusting long enough that I clench down around him and come hard, fast, and messy.

With my cheek pressed into the pillows, I'm asleep before I get a chance to overanalyze what just happened.





I wake up sometime later—much later if the clock on my nightstand has anything to say about it. I reach out clumsily and spin its face away with a groan, my right arm flopping unceremoniously on the bed.

The bed I shared with Gilleon last night.

I sit up suddenly, covers rustling against my naked body as I fist my fingers in the fabric and glance over at the empty space beside me. I could be offended that Gill's gone already, but I'm not. I bet he's around here somewhere, and if he's not, then he just left. Even though I was out cold last night, I could feel Gill beside me, his body wrapped around mine. If I'm honest with myself, it's the best sleep I've had in years—in over a decade actually.

I rub the heel of my hand against my bleary eyes and stifle a yawn. It's five in the morning which means … after Gill and I had sex, I must've passed out into an emotionally exhausted coma, sleeping right through our proposed dinner date. Oh well. I don't mind, and I'm guessing he doesn't either. I lift my arms up into a stretch, letting the blankets settle around my waist and exposing my bare breasts to the cool air of the bedroom, nipples already hardening into points.

“Merde,” I curse, shaking my head and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. When I go to stand up, my knees almost buckle, and I have to sit back down again for a moment. I am sore downstairs, my heart still all gooey and messed up inside from everything that just happened. When I think about the lovemaking, about gazing into one another's eyes, I flush from head to toe. When I think about the fucking that happened after … it gets worse. I groan and drop my face into my palms for a moment.

The guy tells me that my mother's death is his fault somehow and I jump into bed with him? Tell him I'll consider giving him a second chance after he abandoned me? I must be crazy.

I drop my hands and raise my head, staring through the darkness at the empty wall in front of me. I must be crazy … but I don't feel crazy. Somehow, this seems like the right thing to do, the right move to make. And it's not just the sex—although that's a bonus. Good sex isn't everything; it doesn't make the heart feel full, doesn't challenge the mind, doesn't listen carefully to secrets in the dark. But Gill … he can be all of that for me and more. Trust me, I know, because he's been all those things before. Gilleon's not just a good lover; he's a good partner, too.

A good partner who once made a terrible, terrible mistake.

I shake my head, take in a deep breath. I don't want to think about Gill leaving, not right now, not after what just happened between us.

I stand up and head to the bathroom first, debating the merits of my stolen hotel robe versus a proper outfit. The robe says yeah, I'm cool with this whole thing, gives off a comfortable sense of domestic bliss that I'm just not ready to admit to yet. A dress practically screams trying too hard to look like I don't give a crap. Hmm. I give myself a moment to think by fussing with my hair. Since it's already a hot mess, I twist it up into a chignon and call it good, slipping my body under the hot spray of the shower for a second, just to cleanup. And there's a lot to cleanup after—Gill and I had a good fucking time last night.