“Yeah,” Jess agrees. “You’ve got your stepbrother staying with you now after all.”
Lula’s cheeks turn pink. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean…” Jess draws out. “Did he introduce you to a hot Navy SEAL friend or something?”
“Oh,” breathes my stepsister, understanding dawning. “No, he…he didn’t. Introduce me to anyone.”
Goddamn right I didn’t.
If that ever happens, check on hell, because it’s frozen the fuck over.
“It’s only Vale staying at the house. No friends. Nothing l-like that.” She’s back to fidgeting and it’s like I can read her mind. She’s thinking of my finger pumping into her cunt, my tongue sweeping the sweet cavern of her mouth—and God, now I’m not just hard, I’m dripping. “I’m only asking about sex, because…well, if there’s ever an opportunity, I want to be prepared.”
“I’m not buying it!” Jess says, jabbing a finger toward the sky. “Come clean, girl. Who are you thinking of blowing?”
“Nobody!” Lula insists. A pause ensues. Then, “But if I was…what would you consider the proper technique?”
Santana and Jessa throw up their hands in victory. “Knew it!” crows Santana. “Hey, listen carefully. You need to worry less about your blow job technique and more about his cunnilingus skills.”
Lula nods, wide eyed. But her head slowly starts to shake. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I don’t think I would like it.”
Jess chokes on her drink. “What? Why do you think that?”
“I think I would just be self-conscious, you know?” She laughs, as if trying to make light of the statement. “My mother is always saying men don’t like…the extra weight. On a girl.”
I almost blow my cover right then and there.
Almost march down and demand Lula get on her back, so I can devour her like it’s a pie-eating contest and she’s strawberry-rhubarb. How can this girl not realize she’s a smoke show? She’s insecure about her weight? I’ve never had a type, but as soon as I saw Lula, my type became her. Exactly what she is. If that’s heavier than whatever people deem normal, then this is how I want her to stay. My favorite things about her body are its softness and resilience and mouthwatering curves. My fingers are fucking miserable without touching her.
“Lula,” Jess says hesitantly. “If I man doesn’t think you’re sexy, he’s an idiot.”
“And dead wrong.” Santana adds.
“Thanks, guys,” Lula says, splitting a smile between her friends.
It’s slightly stiff, though, as if she’s not totally convinced.
Her friends seem to notice she’s uncomfortable talking about her body, trading a look with each other, before Jess says, “Let’s break out the s’mores and talk about blow jobs.”
Subject changed, they start rooting through supplies for marshmallows and chocolate.
But my mind is stuck in one place.
That pussy.
Burning her self-consciousness to the ground.
As soon as she gets home, I’m going to put my tongue to work.
That’s what I should have done last night, instead of grinding on her ass cheeks. I was just in such a frenzy at the time, I wasn’t thinking straight. Next time, I’m going to spread those legs apart and lick until she realizes she’s a goddamn bombshell.
For the next hour, I groan into my fist, watching her lick melted marshmallow from her fingers. I swore I wasn’t going to beat off, but she makes it nearly impossible just by being Lula. By being mine. Her sweet laughter drifts up through the trees and starts my heart thundering in my chest. I’m full of her, head to toe. Consumed.
So when she excuses herself to go wash off at the stream, of course I follow.
Keeping to the shadows. Licking my lips. Starving for the taste of her.
Will I make it through today and tonight without coming out of hiding to touch her?
I know I should. This level of obsession could terrify Lula. Put her out of my reach.
I’m stalking her—there’s no other word for it.
But when she strips out of her clothes, my will rapidly begins to deteriorate…
Chapter Six
Lula
I didn’t come to the stream to clean off.
Well, I did. The s’mores are sticky little guys. But I also snuck away to do a little communicating with nature. Santana and Jess are well used to my spontaneous meditation sessions—they just aren’t aware of my preference to have them in my underwear.
With a smile curving my lips, I lift my face to the sun and hike to the waterfall. It’s my favorite spot, thanks to the grassy knoll on the other side. It’s a little hidey hole, away from the world. Quiet, dark, curtained by water. The white noise is perfect for blanking my mind, letting the beauty of my surroundings soak in.
All right, it’s going to be pretty hard to blank my brain today when I can’t seem to stop thinking of Vale—his eyes, his voice, his body—but I’m going to try. I can’t let myself get too carried away with this infatuation or I’m only going to be disappointed. Already, I’ve gone way too far by asking my friends specific questions about sex. They’re going to be relentless now. What would they say if they knew I’d hooked up with my stepbrother?
What would anyone say?
Maybe I won’t have to worry about it? Maybe it was a one-time thing?
When I ponder that possibility, my chest aches even worse.
Determined to enjoy the beautiful day, I look around on the off chance someone else is hiking through. Then I unfasten my jean shorts and drop them down to my ankles, groaning in delight over the warmth of sunshine on the backs of my thighs, my butt. Wanting to experience the heat everywhere, my tank top comes next. My bra. I’m in nothing but a pair of black bikini-cut panties now and I turn to the sun, raising my arms up so its rays can reach out and touch me. I focus on my breathing, inhaling the splendor of nature and releasing gratitude slowly—
A twig snaps.
My arms drop abruptly to cover my breasts, alarm prickling at the nape of my neck.
“Santana?” I call. “Jess?”
There’s no response.
It’s not totally unusual to hear twigs and branches and leaves falling from the trees. The forest floor is littered with debris from above, so it’s a common occurrence.
But the sudden electricity racing up my skin is not common.
I narrow my eyes and scan the trees, my gaze lingering on the shadows.
There is no one watching you. Don’t be paranoid.
Taking a deep breath, I wade into the stream toward the waterfall, concentrating on the water licking at my thighs, then eventually my panties. How the cool, crisp quality of it climbs my belly and refreshes my senses. When I reach the waterfall, I don’t hesitate to position myself beneath it, letting the water cascade down the front of my body, down my breasts, back, legs. My hair is gloriously drenched in seconds, the dull roar of falling water drowning out the forest sounds, leaving only my heartbeat—
And memories of Vale in the shower.
How water pooled in the valleys of his collarbone, how his hair sagged low on his forehead, dripping. How his harsh breathing echoed in the shower stall, mingling with mine.