“I’m glad I moved the spare key.”
My eyes widen. “You really did that?”
His eyes roll like I’m being ridiculous for doubting him. “I wasn’t going to let some dude wander into my little sister’s room anytime he wanted. I’m just glad he didn’t try scaling the tree. Then I’d really have to kick his ass.”
I fluff my pillow and rest back. “You wouldn’t do that. I like to think you’re a giant teddy bear under all those muscles.”
He glares like I offended him. “Whatever. Don’t wake me up again. And next time the dickhead bails on you, break up with him.”
My lips part. “How did you—”
He backs up and lifts his hands. “It’s a small town, Little Bird. We know everything if we ask the right person.”
I cross my arms on my chest and pout while he shoots me a wave over his shoulder and wanders back down the hall.
When I pick up my phone, I see a text from Corbin. It’s a picture of two wrapped presents—one large and one small. Both with the same silver bow that was on the gift he gave me for Christmas. The paper is blue though, my favorite color. Bright and not dull.
I cuddle into my bed and pull the blanket over me, falling asleep with a smile on my face despite the strangest feeling settling into my stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Corbin / Present
Our mouths slant over each other’s as our tongues battle it out with demanding strokes and breaths. Both my palms hold her face to me like if I let go she’ll come to her senses and stop this. It would be the right, rational thing to do.
I don’t want to be rational.
Instead, we keep kissing and kissing and breathing each other in like it’s our only source of oxygen. Her body pressed against mine, cocooned in my warmth and hardness, makes me want more.
More her.
More this.
More everything.
Backing her up until her ass meets the small table off to the side, I grab her hips and lift her onto it. Her thighs part for me to step between them, our tongues never stopping the dance they’re doing. As soon as I’m nestled right where I want to be, I pull her forward so she’s on the edge of the wood beneath her. Instinctively, her legs go to either side of my hips and hug them to keep her balanced.
My hands trail down her sides as my mouth travels across her jaw, leaving little bite marks along the way. She catches her breath and writhes as I draw her shirt up and peel it off her completely revealing flawless skin and pert breasts.
“Fuck, baby.” My head dips to take one of the hardened buds of her nipples into my mouth and suckle as she bucks forward. Back arching until her chest presses into my face, I lick and suck and nip until her fingers go to my hair and tug hard.
Ignoring her panted pleas, I move to the other nipple and repeat the same movements until she pushes me back. Stumbling, I watch her slide off the table and drop to her knees and fumble with the belt around my waist.
“Kin—” Anything I’m about to say is cut short by the scratchy denim against my thighs as she takes me out and blows on the tip of my engorged head.
I’m choking on air when her mouth wraps around me and a satisfied moan escapes her and vibrates over my cock. My hand goes to the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair as she takes me in, inch by inch. Her tongue grazes the underside of my length and adds a torturous pressure just below my tip that has me twitching and hardening like steel.
When I cast my eyes downward, I see nothing but chestnut waves bobbing to a rhythm that plays me until my hips meet her every time. My fingers tighten and pull the silky strands in my grasp, causing her to groan again with me deep in her throat.
She withdraws and lets her tongue cast down the side of my cock and back up until her lips wrap around just my head again, putting pressure just below the tip with her lips while swiping her tongue across the precum dripping from me.
Every movement is mastered and skillful, and suddenly my grip on her becomes full of anger and need and so much more. Because what she’s doing was fucking taught to her.
But not by me.
Pulling her head back so her lips pop off me, my nostrils flare. “Stand up.”
Her eyes widen at the command, but she nods and does as I ask. Before she can say anything, I’m kissing her with a new fervor. My hands go to the back of her thighs and I pick her up until she’s wrapped around me.
“Bedroom,” is all I say.
She points to the right and I work on suckling her skin and licking the salty taste until her pelvis arches to rub against me.
With a gentleness I didn’t know I still had, I lay her on the unmade bed and slowly begin stripping her of her clothes. The pajama pants she’s in are plain instead of the colorful ones she used to wear, and the cotton panties are pink, which is a color she never really liked before.
Completely naked, I stare at every inch of her with a heated gaze. Her front teeth dig into her bottom lip as she squirms and tries hiding the rosy nipples that are swollen from my mouth.
She watches with close attentiveness as I strip off my hoodie, then slide out of my jeans. The belt hits the floor like a last warning alarm as my fingers trail under the elastic of my boxers. Her eyes lock on the slowest movement of my fingertips as the last layer between us finds their way to the pile of clothes on the carpet.
The nakedness of the moment is more than just physical as we get our fill of studying every dip, valley, and curve of the other person. We’ve both seen each other like this before but never with the hunger and distance that settles how we look and act and think now. Her body is curvier, fuller, perkier like she spends time at a gym when she can. Yet there’s a softness to her that gives way to a vulnerability I want to take away as she moves her legs to hide the pretty pink pussy I want nothing more than to bury myself in this second.
As I crawl over her on the bed, supporting myself with my arms on either side of her head, she stares up at me with a glassy gaze.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
My arms lower, so our bare chests are pressed together. “No. You don’t, Little Bird. But you want to.”
I kiss her softly, exploring her lips for as long as she’ll let me.
She pulls back. “I hate that name.”
“No, you don’t.”
It’s her who grazes her mouth against mine, the tip of her tongue tracing the outline of my bottom lip. “I hate who I am with you.”
That warrants no response because I know there’s truth in that, that seeps a little too deep. So, I let her kiss me, suck my bottom lip into her mouth, and arch her pelvis up to mine until my cock brushes her stomach. We explore in silence and map out every detail that we shouldn’t know about each other until we’re rolling in the mess of blankets and sheets.
She straddles me. Her palms rest on my chest and she looks down and locks eyes with me. “Do you hate yourself?”
Every single day.
“It would make this easier,” she continues, fingers following the indentation of my pec and the slightest smattering of hair lining it. “I wouldn’t feel like the bad guy if I knew that I wasn’t the only one.”
One of my hands covers hers. “You’re not the married one, Kinley. I’m the bad guy. I hate myself for what I’ve done since I stepped out of Lincoln. For choosing my career. For making assumptions. For rushing into marriage. I hate not being able to love you loudly—to hold your hand for everyone to see, to put my hand on your back without the rumors, to kiss you without people criticizing us. I hate myself for doing this wrong, but I hate myself more for dragging you down with me because I need you.”