The only available spot in the room is beside him.
Truthfully, there is no other place I would rather sit. I’m just so confused by what’s happening between me and my stepbrother, the idea of two hours beside him turns my stomach into a trampoline for nerves. After what happened in the shower earlier, I thought I had the situation figured out. Vale is lonely and starved for affection after being away so long. In such perilous circumstances.
I’m still pretty sure that’s the case. I’m just convenient.
A warm body to slake the urges of a big, testosterone-laden warrior.
But the way he stood up for me at the dinner table, the protectiveness he displayed for me when he found out about camping…it doesn’t add up. Is it possible there is more happening here than meets the eye?
Swallowing hard, I cross the floor of the den and sit down on the couch to Vale’s right.
He’s leaned back, one elbow resting on the arm of the couch, his magnificently thick and corded thighs spread in the pose of a man who can and does handle hard situations. After his shower, he changed into sweatpants and it’s an effort not to look there. At the apex of his thighs where there is a clear outline of his manhood, fat and definitely not contained by underwear. Oh yeah. My stepbrother is one hundred percent free-balling it.
Vale runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip when he catches me staring. I notice the flesh in his sweatpants rise quickly, pushing at the seam, bigger than I could have imagined. He mouths a curse and grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa, throwing it over his lap and hiding the evidence of his arousal. And we both stare straight ahead at the television, both of us breathing faster than before.
As the movie begins—a comedy about a dog and its scatterbrained owners—I begin to wish I’d worn pants. The simple act of sitting this close to Vale and knowing he has an erection is making my sex warm and achy. Wet. So wet that my panties are sodden by the time the first scene is over. A hot shiver passes through me. And another.
“Lula,” my mother calls from across the room. “You’re freezing. Share some of that blanket with Vale.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
Vale grunts, lifts the edge of the blanket, his eyes almost black when they meet mine. “I see you shivering. Come here, Lula.”
If I protest now, it’s going to be weird. My resistance might even draw attention to the fact that I’m attracted to Vale, thus wary of getting too close, and that’s the last thing I want to do. “Um…okay. Thanks.” I slide closer to him on the couch, my tummy flipping over when our hips meet. The outsides of our thighs press together, softness to ample muscle.
Vale leans over and tucks half of the blanket around me, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. As if he takes my warmth very seriously. “That better, princess?” he whispers, right against my ear. And all I can do is nod vigorously, training my eyes on the television, praying I won’t have another spontaneous orgasm like I did in the shower. When I climaxed after barely being provoked. It’s him. This man. He has a crazy effect on me, and I don’t seem to have much control over it.
My nipples are stiff, my inner thighs buzzing with sensitivity. Every part of me that connects with Vale is rejoicing happily, wanting to snuggle and luxuriate in his power and masculinity, but I force myself to remain stock still.
At least until, beneath the blanket, Vale hooks his pinkie finger around mine.
Smooth and slow. Clutching possessively.
My clitoris throbs in response.
Head to toe, I’m sensitive. I’m physically aware of every single movement my stepbrother makes from the scratching of his eyebrow to the slow lift of his hips—and of course I see it. His bulging shaft beneath the blanket. He lowers his hips again afterward, but I know it’s there, mere inches from my left hand—which he is holding now.
I’m holding hands with my stepbrother, his thumb brushing side to side on the small of my wrist. He can almost definitely feel my racing pulse there. There’s no hiding it.
To our right, my stepfather begins to snore in the recliner, head tipped back against the cushion. My mother laughs at the sound and hits a few buttons on her phone, lowering the lights in the den even more. To almost pitch black, except for the flickering television screen. “To help him sleep,” she explains in a conspiratorial whisper, going back to petting the dogs. She’s on her third glass of wine, though, her own head beginning to nod on the pillows.
A few minutes later and she’s unconscious, too.
With both of our parents sleeping, the awareness between me and Vale is multiplied tenfold. He squeezes my hand and lets it go, but I’m not given a second to mourn his touch, because he slides that arm around my shoulders, tugging me more securely up against his side.
“You’ll be warmer this way,” he says, lips grazing my temple. “I’m sorry about dinner. My father being dismissive of the career you want.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” I whisper back. “You stood up for me. It was…nice. Someone having my back. Thank you.”
“No one should have to stand up for you. Not in your own house.” His upper lip curls. “I’ll make sure to put an end to that before I leave for Coronado.” The reminder that Vale is only here on a temporary basis makes my throat feel clogged. That reaction must be showing on my face, because he frowns, leaning down to roll our foreheads together. “Ah, princess…”
Our mouths open and release a breath, bathing each other’s lips in warmth, preparing to launch into a kiss that neither one of us can prevent, but there’s an eruption of snoring from my stepfather. Vale and I put a few inches of distance in between our mouths as the man shifts in the recliner, turning slightly away from us and resuming his nap once again.
I study Vale’s chiseled face in the flicker of the television, feeling closer to him than I ever have with anyone. I felt that way the moment he walked out into the open at the airport, the emotion only increasing with every passing hour. Every exchange of knowing eye contact. I’m eager to know more about this man. What other chance will I have if he’s leaving soon?
“I was surprised when your father said you used to be quiet and introverted,” I breathe for his ears alone, barely checking the urge to touch his chest beneath the blanket. “I mean, you came across thoughtful in your letters. But the media has portrayed you as kind of…”
“A confident man’s man with the perfect answer for every question?” He chuckles quietly, but the sound holds no humor. “The press has given me this persona to make everyone comfortable with celebrating the kill. I’ve been coached by the Navy on how to respond. No one wants to hear it was a low-down and nasty business. They want to think it was something like they might see in a movie. Now the hero just has to look pretty and wave for the cameras.”
My heart gives a long tug. “How are you feeling on the inside?”
He blows out a breath. “Isolated. Displaced.” That muscular arm tightens around me, pulling me closer, his brow knit in thought. “I don’t feel that way right now, Lula. With you.”
Pleasure washes over me, warm and potent. I can’t let the confession go to my head, however. He’s been on US soil for a matter of hours and I’m the only person who is willing to show him some comfort. Even among his own family and friends. At least, that’s what I seem to be telling myself so I don’t get far-fetched ideas in my head about this hunky, heroic man developing an interest in me. “What about the other men on your team?”