My hips pump forward, only for a second, enough to sink toward the sweet spot in her belly. Right above her pussy. I want her to feel how hard I am, remind her the world might've suddenly dealt us a shit hand, but it didn't do shit to kill my need to have her under me.
It's risky, it's mad, and I can't resist. When I feel her heat, inhale her scent, that ocean breezy perfume mingling with her pheromones, my balls churn fire.
They blaze pure want. Need.
“You hungry, sis?” I pull back and look at her after several long seconds, the hand behind her back roaming, dangerously close to her ass.
“Starving. Yeah, let's eat.” Her voice sounds better, but when I look into those dark brown eyes, the only thing I see is a nervous, what the fuck?
I let go and turn around. Bruce gives an approving nod. Mom's got her skinny hand in his, smiling at me like I've just brought her the damned moon.
“Aw, Christopher. Very touching,” she purrs. Then her hands clap together. “Come! Let's go get to know each other better over food and wine. The risotto Bruce's head chef makes is simply amazing, you've both got to try it.”
We head for the dining room. It's huge, spacious, more like a cozy medieval war room in a castle than anything that belongs in a modern house. There's a massive fireplace behind the table, which looks like it's a hand-me-down from some mafia kingpin.
I take the seat right next to Delia, while mom and Bruce sit across from us, making goo-goo eyes at each other. If it wasn't for the shock and awe sitting next to me, my stomach would've soured a couple times over by now at their shit.
We watch a single sharp dressed man playing servant. He plates up our food and pours wine. Everybody tucks into their salad and drinks – except for poor Delia, who picks at her grub like a damned bird.
“You're a busy lady, aren't you? Journalism?” I say, remembering the one thing I've heard about my new sis. “You really should shovel that down. Keep up your strength.”
She gives me that wide-eyed look of pain and disbelief again. “I'm kinda on a diet. Too many bad influences, distractions. You know how it can be. The last thing a girl needs is her own body turning on her.”
“Nah, no fucking way,” I growl, stabbing down my fork. I reach underneath the table with my other hand, catch her thigh, and squeeze. “Everybody needs their fun. Don't you have a boyfriend or something to help blow off the steam?”
Mom coughs. I look at her over the table, while Delia shoots one hand down, desperately trying to slap me away without alerting our parents.#p#分页标题#e#
Yeah, I'm a jackass. But I can't resist. It's too much fun getting her hot and bothered, and as fucked up as it is, I'd still like nothing better than to slide between these silky thighs, shove her cunt on my face and lick her clit over and over 'til she explodes.
“I'm afraid my girl's always been very shy with the boys,” Bruce says, staring awkwardly at his risotto.
“Dad!” she chirps, loud and whiny. “Can we not talk about that?”
More heat flows through Delia's skin. Now, she's hot, bothered, and pissed.
Looks like I'm not the only bastard at the table shaming her. One more pinch ratcheting up the pressure, and I tear my hand away, lifting it over the table to grab some bread.
“She'll catch on sooner or later,” I say, giving Bruce a wink. “Or somebody's gonna catch onto her. I can't believe she's not engaged to some college kid yet.”
Her ignorant daddy chuckles. “Ah, yes, plenty of time for all that. She's a very good student. Her last semester's coming up soon, and she's picking at her thesis this summer.”
“Thesis, huh? What's the subject?”
“I haven't decided,” she snaps, taking an angry sip of wine. “It'll be something exciting. My professor's a real hard ass. It takes a lot to impress him, but I'm going to manage. His connections go far. I need to find something amazing, something tragic, something that tugs on the heartstrings.”
I can't help it. I roll my eyes, even as mom gives me a horrified look.
“I see you're already talking like a true reporter. Maybe you should give your subjects some more thought. It's not always fun being on the receiving end of some gangly, embedded jackoff who doesn't think twice about tweeting sensitive info from a war zone.”
“Chris!” Mom's turn to scream. Her silverware clatters on the china bowl. “I apologize for my son's mouth, Cordelia. He's a military man, very sensitive about these things.”
She flips her long dark hair back over one shoulder and shakes her head. “It's okay. Really. I shouldn't have sounded so stressed out myself.”
The fire blazing out my eyes, falling all over her skin, must finally get her attention. She looks at me, cocks her head, and polishes off another sip of wine before speaking.