I’m fucking melting.
What the fuck is going on??
“Because I’d rather be with you,” I whisper the truth. The first true thing I’ve said so far.
His fierce gaze is stuck on my lips as he swallows visibly. “Yea?”
I nod again and choke, “Mhm.”
“Good…” he hums, releasing the grip on my shirt, though he doesn’t step back. He keeps me pinned to the wall, covering my rapidly thumping heart beneath his palm. He cups my pectoral muscle gently, a hiss escaping his lips. “What is happening to me…”
I don’t think that statement-like question was meant for me. It sounds like he’s asking himself… A war going on inside him. A bloody battle.
Then something insane happens. His hips thrust forward, slowly. A leisurely push into mine that drags a whimper from inside my throat.
The contact… Holy Jesus, the feel of his crotch touching mine. I could pass out.
It isn’t until he lets his linger there that I notice how stiff my cock is between us.
And it’s not the only one.
“God, forgive me…” he mumbles, breathless and barely audible.
And then his mouth inches, it advances… it fucking washes over mine like a wave crashing onto a shore.
I gasp, because I can’t help it, but he eats it up like a delicious treat, lips capturing mine in bold yet hesitant suction. My lower lip is pulled into his mouth, sucked like candy before his tongue swipes it gently.
He groans. He fucking groans into my mouth, hands flying up to hold my jaw, keeping me still while he kisses me fucking lifeless.
I’m dead. I’ve died and gone to heaven. Some sort of sick heaven where you’re allowed to make out with your father.
No. He’s not my father. Not even one bit, especially now.
He’s the man who’s grinding me into the wall, fisting my hair and swallowing me like I’m the last drop of water to clench his thirst.
James’s hard body ripples into mine, strong hands holding me in place while I just flutter against him like a leaf in the wind. My body is a completely useless vessel in this moment, made purely to give him whatever he wants. I’m barely even kissing him back. I mean, I know I am, but he’s doing most of the work, gripping me, sucking, licking, and biting my mouth numb.
A raspy noise escapes him as his hips meld with mine, the long, thick shape of him writhing into my own. I can’t motherfucking believe I’m feeling his dick right now.
I can’t believe he’s kissing me right now…
Of all the things I’ve conjured up in my mind over the years, this one takes the cake. I never could have dreamt up something like this… This level of sheer, naughty perfection.
Finally, my brain jumpstarts my body back into human mode, and I slide my hands up his sides, clutching him and hanging on for dear life as I glide my tongue over his. He whimpers, tugging my hair until it stings, panting between my lips while we devour one another.
I’m burning the fuck up. We might as well be standing in the fire, heat surrounding us where we writhe, using the wall for support. My hands move up to his chest, and I feel the muscles constricting beneath his shirt, his strength and his size twirling my brain into a frenzy of lust and greedy desire.
I want more. I need more.
More of him sucking my bottom lip, then the top, then the bottom again, biting it with tender nips from his teeth, his tongue working to soothe the pain that tightens my balls and has me clenching with an unbearable yearning to be filled.
God, please never let this stop.
But then he rips his mouth off mine, aggressive breaths flying in and out of him as my eyes peel open. I catch him glaring behind me, and just as my face is turning, he stumbles back, putting space between us.
Oh right. The window.
We were literally sucking face right next to the front window of our house. The one that looks out onto the street.
It’s highly unlikely that anyone saw us, or that anyone is even out there, since it’s Christmas and snowing like crazy.
But obviously those rationalizations don’t matter to a father who just made out with his son.
Adoptive son. Let’s not forget that part.
James rakes his hands through his hair, shoulders hunching over as his fingers scrape down his face and he holds it, mumbling behind his palms, “Jesus, what have I done?”
My lips part, as if there’s any possible way I could speak right now. Of course, nothing comes out.
I have no words… No comforts to give.
He may have initiated it, but this is still my fault. I’m the one who’s manifested my crush into a reality. And while in most other situations that would be a great fucking thing, in this one, it’s nothing short of a terminal disaster.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, shaking his head, refusing to make eye contact. “I’m so fucking sorry…”
And then he storms out of the room, racing up the stairs as fast as his legs will carry him.
Leaving me standing among the shattered ruins of my family and broken glass.
Chapter 9
James
* * *
It’s official.
I’ve lost my damn mind.
Things have taken a turn for the devastating, and I can’t get my brain to comprehend how or why this is happening.
I fucking kissed him. I kissed my fucking son.
Stop. He’s not really your son.
If the only comfort I can take in the matter is that he’s not a blood relative, then I’ll squeeze onto that with white knuckles. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I need something to justify it… To rationalize.
Because right now, I’m spinning the fuck out.
When I glance at the clock, I find that I’ve been up here for over an hour, though it feels like it’s been seconds. Guilt is whirring around inside me like a blender, crushing and whipping up everything I’ve ever known about myself and my relationship with my kid, leaving me with something new. Something unexpected and dangerous… Exciting in how goddamn terrible it is.
My heart is fucked, and my mind? Forget about it. It’s destroyed.
I ruined us. How did everything get so fucked up in twenty-four hours?
But the main thing that has me seething at myself is the stuff surrounding the kiss. I pushed him… I’ve never laid hands on Jesse before, and tonight I did that. In such an angry, perverse and dominating way. I’m a sick fuck.
Not to mention, I gave him a ton of shit for wanting to go out, and then I ran away, leaving him alone on Christmas.
He doesn’t deserve this. Whether he was aware of what he was doing last night is irrelevant. I took it a step further down there. One hell of a fucking step…
He made us dinner, as he always does. In his own caring and selfless way, he was trying to make this day special for us, and I abandoned him.
I have to go try to fix this. And as twisted as it is, I’m reminding myself not to touch him as I hesitantly open my bedroom door and peek out into the hall.
Since when do I have to give myself a pep-talk about not kissing my fucking son??
I’m going to Hell. Or I’m already there.
Jesse is obviously still downstairs, and the thought of him eating the elaborately wonderful Christmas dinner I’m sure he prepared, alone, has me stomping down the steps, on a mission I’m horrified of failing miserably.