“Sorry to disappoint.” His hot breath tickles my jaw. He presses kisses along the way, the path to my neck now his new agenda.
“Canyon,” I cry out as his tongue teases my flesh below my ear. “We have to stop this.”
“We do?”
I run my fingers through his hair, lifting my hips, aching to feel his cock grinding against me. He sucks on my neck, gifting me with more hickeys I’ll have to answer for later. A mewl escapes me the second I feel his fingers on my stomach where my shirt has ridden up.
All resolve to push him away and stop the kissing and touching fades. Fiery need chases away logic and reasoning, leaving me a burning pile of want.
“You taste so good,” he murmurs near my ear. “So fucking good.”
His large palm slides up beneath my shirt, fingertips drifting over one of my nipples before reaching my collarbone. He touches the silver chain around my neck, tugging at it as if to test its strength.
“Don’t break it.” I grip his hair, pulling his head back so I can see his eyes. “Please.”
He nods, his dark brows knitting together. “I won’t.”
His lips descend back on mine as he toys with the necklace. I quickly lose myself to the teasing of his teeth and tongue.
I’ve been kissed lots of times, but never like this.
Like I matter.
Like I’m more than a means to get off.
Like maybe I have answers to the mysteries of the universe.
It’s addictive and mesmerizing to be worshipped by someone’s mouth. As though your taste is a drug for them, and each whimper is sustenance they greedily need to devour. He ravishes my mouth like he may never get a chance to kiss anyone on this earth ever again. The intensity with which he owns my mouth with his leaves me breathless and lightheaded.
The voices that can be heard nearby are like knives stabbing into the balloon of bliss that dragged Canyon and me into our own little cloud. He rolls off my body and rises to his feet, straightening his clothes. I start to stand up, but a wave of dizziness has me staggering. Canyon’s strong grip digs into my shoulders as he steadies me on my feet. Just as I plant my ass on a stool, the door creaks open, revealing Dad.
“Hey, guys. We’ll probably get the grill started in an hour or so. Any special requests for sides? I can make my famous red potato salad.” Dad grins at us, but then his smile falters. “You okay? You look pale.”
I wave him off, nodding. “Yeah, fine.”
“He fell and bumped his head,” Canyon tattles. “Blacked out for a second there.”
Dad’s features morph into a worried expression. I’m reminded of those first days I came to live with him. When he’d study me all the time with the same pinched look on his face.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just catching my breath.”
Dad glances between us and then lets out a resigned huff. “Okay. I’ll stop hovering. But, Canyon, keep an eye on him in case he starts acting weird.”
“Too late for that,” Canyon jokes, his voice flat from the forced joke.
Dad chuckles, unaware. “Get along, boys. You’ll be brothers soon.”
With that, he exits the studio. His words ring in my ears as bile crawls up my throat. The room spins around me. I’m about to face plant when Canyon steps between my parted thighs, his large hands seizing my hips to keep me from toppling over.
“Hear that?” he taunts, though lacking his usual venom. “We’re going to be brothers. That means you have to get along with me.”
“This is so fucked up.” I close my eyes and swallow. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, well, that’s life. Get over it, Wonderland.”
His bitter tone has me circling back to his pissy attitude when he first showed up. I lean forward, inhaling his masculine scent, and rest my cheek on his chest.
“What happened?” I ask, my eyes fluttering closed. “You lost your shit.”
He tenses, his grip biting into my hips. “Nothing.”
“I’m not an idiot. Something happened.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t care. Spill it.”
Canyon pulls away from me, glowering and teeth grinding together. “It’s my mom.”
“She okay?”
“She…I think she’s lying to me about her job.”
His words sink in, and I see the heartache written all over his face. The track meet was important to him—more important than showing me up for his stupid revenge shit. He wanted her to root for him and be proud of him.
“I’m sorry.”
He clenches his teeth, his jaw muscle ticking, and looks away. “I tried to talk to her about it, but she just got angry.”
I watch him as he visibly hardens himself to whatever it is he’s feeling inside. His tough, mean boy act is nothing but a shield he uses to protect his vulnerable heart. I want to press him and demand answers.
Instead, I stand up, feeling much steadier. “Want to watch a movie before dinner?”
Blue eyes dart at me, relief evident at not having to continue this heavy discussion. “We could watch—”
“No,” I blurt out. “We’re not watching your creepy cartoon porn.”
“Mubōna Ikari.” His lips lift on one side in amusement. “And it’s not cartoon porn.”
“Still not watching it.”
“I bet I could convince you to watch it…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to my crotch. “Would be a pretty quick argument. All over in about three seconds.”
Smug asshole.
“Go fuck yourself, Canny.”
“As long as you watch, Wonderland.”
His wink shouldn’t make my dick hard, but goddammit, it does.
“Again, go fuck yourself, bro.”
Canyon
Holy shit.
I kissed Alis Sommers.
And I liked it. Hell, I loved it. I’m still reeling over that fact, too.
I’ve never been so starved for a kiss. One taste and I wanted to eat him alive, spending every available second tasting and sucking and nipping on his lips and tongue.
His taste was everything.
I’m already craving my next hit.
I follow him out of his studio, my eyes falling to his ass. He’s wearing a dark pair of skinny jeans that, based on all the holes in them, look as though he found them in the trash can. The black tank top he wears shows off his muscled biceps and sculpted shoulders. He’s no football player like me, but he keeps his body in excellent shape. I fixate on the gorgeous ass that looks downright bitable in his jeans.
He pushes through a doorway and into what appears to be his bedroom. My gaze sweeps over the space, noticing immediately how immaculate it is. Not an article of clothing on the floor. Bed is perfectly made. Nothing sits on top of the dresser or end table aside from a lamp.
It’s so bare.
“Where’s all your shit?” I ask, waving an arm to gesture at the room.
He crosses his arms over his chest, a frown marring his face that’s slightly red from my stubble. My dick twitches at the reminder of having him pinned beneath me.
“What shit?”
“Your stuff. You know…the things that belong to you.”