My hands go to his sweatshirt, the AC/DC one with the red lettering peeled and faded. He lifts his arms and lets me take it off him, revealing a thin sleeveless top underneath. I study his lean torso and how his breathing picks up. The bulge twitching under me grows harder the longer I stare.
Swallowing, I lift my gaze. “Show me what to do?” The question is soft, like a quiet demand as my pleading eyes stay unblinking on his.
He reaches behind him and takes off his shirt, tossing it on the floor with mine. My palms go to his bare skin, leaving goosebumps over my arms and shivers down his body as I explore. I know he sometimes runs, but he’s cut like he works out too—not overly muscular, but lean. Strong. Beautiful.
His mouth finds mine as he holds me to him, my pelvis grinding down involuntarily. He bites down on my bottom lip and groans the same time I let out a soft gasp. Carefully, he trades positions. My back hits the mattress as he sits up and plays with the hem of my pajama pants. Without words, he questions me with a tip of his head and raised brow.
All I can do is nod and watch as he slides down the bottoms, revealing the cotton panties underneath. They’re plain blue, lighter than my favorite color, and not very sexy. But he doesn’t seem to care because he’s focused on my body. I’m self-conscious as his eyes trail over me from top to bottom, and hyperaware that my stomach and thighs show my love of sugar and carbs.
But. He. Doesn’t. Care.
“You’re beautiful, Little Bird.”
Oncoming emotion washes over me, leaving tears in my eyes. His appearance blurs, but I can see the worry in his features.
“Do you want to stop?” Withdrawing, he watches me carefully, unsure.
“No. I just…” I wipe my face as the tears leak down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. Nobody has ever called me that before and it’s … nice. More than nice.”
His smile graces his face. “It’s the truth. You’re beautiful and you’re mine. Right, Kinley? You’re mine?”
I swallow. “Yours.”
It seems like the rest of our clothes disappear in a blur of fumbling hands and soft curses. He nearly trips when he takes off his jeans and stumbles when I help him get my bra off. We stare intensely at each other when we’re completely exposed, and I have the need to cover my body with the comforter because of it.
He doesn’t let me though. When he climbs on the bed, he kisses me softly, intently, with purpose. Murmuring compliments, making me blush, his fingers trail over my naked skin and make me squirm. Heat rises between my legs when his hands draw nearer to a place only mine has ever been.
“We can stop,” he reminds me.
My hands grip his shoulders. “Do you think we’re moving too fast? It’s only been a few weeks since we even admitted we like each other. And we just talked about the whole inexperience thing and kissing and Sabrina Christy and—”
“You remember her name?” He chuckles.
“Yeah.”
He shakes his head, kissing me again. “I don’t think we know how to go slow, Little Bird. We’re meant to soar. Fly. Do what we want. You and I defy all odds, don’t you think?”
I take a deep breath and find myself nodding again, cupping his face and tracing his features as he watches me.
He captures my lips with his again and whispers, “Fly with me, Little Bird.”
And I do.
The moment is slow and painful and awkward, but beautiful and emotional and consuming. He gives me pain and takes it away with sobering kisses and covers my soft noises and accepts my scraping nails.
Corbin Callum and I cement something that makes me feel like a different person. Happy. Loved. Cared for. Scared. Nervous. Excited. I give him something that I have no doubt I’ll remember for life.
We fly. Soar just like he says.
When it’s over, we both get dressed—me in his AC/DC sweatshirt and my pajamas, and him in his tank top and jeans.
For the longest moment, we just lay there in silence, catching our breaths and absorbing the moment. My chest tightens, and my core hurts, and my eyes prickle with the swelling emotion from what we’ve done.
“Corbin?”
“Hmm.”
“How did you even get in here?”
“Climbed the tree by the hallway window,” he murmurs sleepily.
I sit up slightly. “You did not!”
He looks over and grins at me. “Your family keeps the spare key on the top of the door jamb, Kinley. It’s not hard to find.”
Shaking my head, I smile to myself and move closer into his side. “You have a habit of stalking me, Corbin Callum.”
“Why the full name?”
“You’re not denying the stalker claims?”
“I only stalk the pretty ones.”
“Wow.” I laugh into his chest which I use as a pillow despite the others around us. “You should try getting cast as Ted Bundy in a Lifetime movie. You’d be perfect.”
“Hardy har har.”
After a moment, I say, “You were born with a name meant to be known by the world. I mean, hopefully not as a serial killer, but…”
“Go to sleep, Little Bird,” he muses.
“Fine.” I close my eyes. “But you need to leave before anyone realizes you’re here, okay?”
I don’t hear his response.
“Absolutely fucking not,” a voice booms somewhere close by.
It doesn’t take long to assess the overheated body pressed way too close to me before understanding what the unwanted wakeup call is for. When I crack my eyes open to see my brother fuming at my doorway I want nothing more than to hide under my blanket and pretend he can’t see Corbin.
“Morning, Gavin.”
He walks in and rips the blankets off, quickly covering his eyes with his hands. “You better both be wearing clothes. I don’t want to kick a naked boy’s ass.”
Corbin jerks up, somehow head butting me in the process. I wince and rub my forehead before smacking Gavin. “We’re not naked,” I hiss, feeling the sting of heat encompassing my entire body.
Gavin looks at Corbin with narrow eyes before pulling him up by his shirt and shoving him toward the door. “I’m hiding the spare key and chopping down any trees that he might be able to climb. You’re lucky Mom and Dad didn’t find you two in here.”
I quickly get up and yank on Gavin’s sweatshirt to force him to stop pushing Corbin out of my room. There’s discomfort between my legs that I push past, trying not to give myself away. “Stop! We didn’t do anything. He came over to tell me some good news and we fell asleep.”
Grabbing Corbin’s shoes from the floor by my bed, I pass them to him. He stays silent as he kneels and slides them on, tightening the laces while Gavin and I stare each other down.
“Dad would kill him,” he points out.
“Dad doesn’t have to know.”
His eyes narrow. “You can’t have boys in your room, Kinley. You’re like twelve. That’s inappropriate.”
My mouth gapes. He did not just call me twelve. I’m more mature than him in every way except age. He may have five years on me, but that’s all he does.
“Rebecca Davenport.”
His lips part.
“Stacy Smith.”