I looked around the yard, noting the fireflies dancing in the distance. It looked like twinkling lights casting sparks of hope along the lawn. “Why did you want to see me, Decker?” I asked. I didn’t want to assume anything. Would this be just another conversation where we promised each other this would be nothing? Would this be just another argument about why we were wrong for one another?
Decker’s response surprised me. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to be near you.”
I took another step toward him. Questions were forming on the tip of my tongue. I realized then that I wanted to know everything there was to know about Decker Harris. I tried to find similarities in our upbringing. I wanted to know about the things that hurt him. I wanted to know what made him happy. His hopes. His triumphs.
“Why did you want to see me?”
Decker surged forward. He was like a force as he wrapped his arms around me and blinded me with a searing kiss. I felt him ricochet throughout my body.
His kiss was nuclear.
My body exploded with heated lust.
He molded his muscles against my soft skin, claiming my mouth as his tongue swept across my lips. He threaded his hands through my hair, pulling back as he bared my neck to him. I felt devoured and shaken.
I dug my nails into his back, clinging for dear life as he bit along the thudding pulse lining my neck. I felt enveloped in his toxic taste. “What are you doing?” I rasped. I wanted to make sense of this. But most of all? I wanted to make sure that he was certain. He had been hinting since I came home from dinner with my dad that this was more, but tonight felt different. It felt like we were finally plunging into the icy cold waters of our affections for one another. The new sensations bit at my skin but felt refreshing all the same.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
I shoved at Decker’s chest until his back was crushed against the bark of the tree. It was ironic that our souls would finally collide at the place where he built a friendship with my brother. If we were going to ruin everything, it seemed fitting that we would consummate it on an altar of their brotherhood.
Dragging my nails down the front of his chest, I rested my hands at the waistband of his jeans before delivering a forceful kiss of my own. Our mouths were like fists.
His lips fused to mine. His body shuddered at my touch. I moved my body like a wave against his, but it wasn’t enough—it would never be enough. I craved a closeness to Decker that no amount of kisses would fulfill.
Hiking my right leg up, I rested it on the peg of the ladder leading up to the treehouse. He started grinding against my core, his tented jeans pressing against the throbbing spot where I needed him most. He looked luminous in the light, and though my heavy eyes wanted to close so I could sink in the feel of his body, I didn’t want to miss the sight of his blissful face or his swollen, bruised lips.
His finger traced my leg, then started rubbing along my hot center, on top of my pajama shorts. My legs shook. Moans burst past my lips for him to feast on. His palm created unhinged friction against my nub, and I nearly toppled over when his finger slipped behind the barrier of my shorts and into my cunt.
“Can you fit in the treehouse?” I asked while tearing my lips from his and looking up at the small building above us.
He smirked, and I knew his reply before the words escaped his lips. “I can make it fit.” I snickered before moving to ascend the ladder. He quickly followed after me. I felt his eyes on my ass as I climbed, and I added an extra sway to my steps as I arched my back. It felt like each step was another nail in the coffin. Another plunge into the depths of this decision.
His hand pressed the curve of my back. “Hurry up before I eat you out on this ladder.” I hit a full stop, making him chuckle. “Go, Blakely,” he groaned.
When I finally got to the trap door, I shoved it open and hoisted myself inside. Finding a small lantern, I turned it on and watched in amusement as Decker stumbled after me, struggling to get his hips through the small opening. “Need help?” I asked when his foot slipped. His palms slammed on the plywood floor as he steadied himself.
“I’m fine,” he gritted.
It wasn’t until his massive body was lying on the plywood platform that I looked around. Forgotten toys and a sign that said no girls allowed were spewed around the small room. It was just big enough for both of us to lie down.
The act of climbing seemed to have slowed our impulses, and now that we were alone in the secluded homage to his childhood, doubt started to creep across both of our expressions.
“So what now?” he asked.
“You tell me.” I wasn’t going to be the one to decide. If we did this—whatever this was—it would be mutual. I didn’t want to feel like Mama, coercing and seducing a man.
“Take off your clothes, Blakley,” he ordered after a tense moment.
I happily obliged, shedding my sleep tank and shorts the moment that demand left his lips. “Good girl,” he whispered in awe as his hooded eyes swept along the curve of my breasts and my tight stomach. His gaze lingered on the birthmark on my hip. I watched his appraisal of me while mulling over his praise. The first time he’d said “good girl,” it had awakened something hot inside of me. Now, I just wanted to please him more.
I lay down without instruction, using my clothes as a thin, makeshift pallet to protect my skin against the bite of the rough wood. He moved to hover over me and rested on his knees before reaching behind his head to remove his shirt.
The moment his chest was bare, I leaned up to flick my tongue over his nipple while grabbing the waistband of his jeans. He positioned himself between my legs, and the only thing separating us were his jeans and my thin panties. I was slick with needy heat as he kissed me again.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, increasing the friction as I ground against him. He palmed my breast through my bra as I writhed beneath him. It wasn’t enough.
“More,” I begged as he slipped his fingers under my underwear and shoved them down.
“More,” he relented while reaching to unclasp the button on his jeans.
“More,” I whispered as he stumbled to pull off his pants with desperate need.
“More,” he pleaded when I wrapped my hands around his cock and stroked him. His back arched. He shuddered and the air fizzled from the friction our rubbing bodies created. I half wondered if we were going to burn the treehouse down.
“Shit, you feel so good,” he groaned as I pulled my hand away. He started grinding along my slit, coating his cock with my heat while rubbing against my clit. Faster he slid. Up and down, bumping my sweet spot as he lavished my mouth with consuming kisses. He felt eager and wild. The intimacy of our moment left me feeling gloriously exposed. It enticed my senses. His touch was indelible.
I was building. Building. Burning up from the inside out. Reaching for that invisible tether of pleasure within and coaxing it to blossom before us.
And then he stopped. Stopped.
Decker fucking stopped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when he got off of me and sat with his back against the wall. His dick was hard as hell as he hung his head in shame.
“This. This is wrong.”
Oh hell no, we were too far gone to stop now.
I ruminated on his refusal for a moment. I allowed myself a brief moment to absorb my feelings. Anger. Disappointment. Grief. Loss. Guilt.