Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 73

She yawns. "Did he teach you how to fight?"

"Yes. He taught me how to do all sorts of things."

She looks up at me with wide eyes.

"Uh, not that stuff. That's... experience."

"Oh. Oh. Oh my G.o.d." She sits up, pulling the blanket over her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The gesture is so endearing and demure I can't stop staring at her. "How many?"

"Uh, a lot. I didn't really count, I mean it's not something I brag about..."

She's staring at me now, her mouth open a little.

"I'm... I did it safely. You don't need to worry about that."

She swallows, her throat bobbing. "This isn't some kind of a game, is it? You're not just messing with me, are you?"

"No. No, I swear. There's something different about you, Diana. I want to tell you everything, but..."

But if I tell you everything, you'll throw me out of the house and never speak to me again, and probably call the cops. That's if you don't stab me for my trouble.

"What is there that you're not telling me?"

"A lot," I whisper.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting. Anger, maybe, but her hand rests on my back and rubs in slow circles. Not in a s.e.xy way, like she's trying to arouse me. It's comforting. She puts her head on my shoulder.

"You can talk to me. I'll listen."

"I don't know what to tell you."

I swallow. Something about saying that hurts more than it should.

She pulls the blanket up to her neck and sighs a deep, sad sigh. "Are you going to leave?"

"No. I"ll stay if you want me to. I just..."

"n.o.body needs to know what we're doing for this week. We can sort things out when they get back."

Yeah. We can sort things out when they get back.

I'll give Dad a chance. Lay it out. I can't do this to her, I can't let this happen to these people. They don't deserve it.

"So," Diana murmurs, "Are you going to spend the night, then?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good."

She rises and shrugs out of the blanket, grabs her clothes and walks to the stairs. I hate to see her leave, but I love to watch her go. All I can do is stare, open-mouthed. She cradles her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in her arm as she walks up the stairs, and I lean forward to crane for a better view of her perfect a.s.s swaying as she makes her way up. Then I leap up and follow her. I want her so bad I can taste it. It sings in my veins like fire, hammers in my chest. It's like I've been crawling through the desert and she's a gla.s.s of water, and all I have to do is drink.

I can't. Not yet. I can't be her first and then just disappear on her, especially if Dad carries off the heist anyway. She'd be crushed, I can feel it. She's so inexperience about the whole thing. Everything is new to her, and through her, it's new to me, too. I've always gone down on my conquests because I like it, but this time it was different. It was about her, about making her feel pleasure, about making her happy. My touches weren't to satisfy me but to drive her to higher heights of pleasure. I want to do that now. I want to see her red faced and sweating, her hair fanned out over the bed, her body heaving, her hands balled into fists as she can't take it anymore and screams for me not to stop. I want to grab her naked body, feel her warm softness against me and carry her right to the bed.

When I make it upstairs, she's in the shower.

"Join me," she calls.

I swallow, hard. It's going to be tough keeping control of myself like that, but I can't turn her down, either. I lay my clothes on her bed and walk over to the bathroom, step inside and spread back the shower curtain. Her hair is all wet and glued to her back, strands hanging over her shoulders, clinging to her nipples. Her mismatched eyes make her look like some kind of exotic, supernatural creature, a G.o.ddess or nymph out of a myth. Even the thick brown hair between her legs is slicked down and wet. It looks good on her. I like it.

All those curves. Her body is so full and lush. I can't stop myself from slipping into the shower with her and running my hands up her sides, feeling her tremble under my touch. Every little thing excites her, everything is new. I step in and she presses against me, her big b.r.e.a.s.t.s sliding over my chest, and she leans on me, holds me. She's so content just to touch me. What is this? When her hair is wet it's a thick, full mop, and my hands get lost in it as I slip them around her. The feeling of her wet skin slipping against mine, the soft scent of her hair under my nose, and I'm hard again. I want to f.u.c.k her so bad. The idea of being her first, of calming her fears and gently entering her as I rea.s.sure her with my gaze makes me hard as a rock, so hard it hurts.

Her hand curls around my shaft and she starts stroking, still holding me in her arm as I embrace her. My legs start to tremble almost immediately. It's like she just knows how to please me. She starts grinning as I start groaning.

"Slow down," I murmur, and kiss her.

I kiss her a lot. I'm afraid the water is going to go cold. I push her into the tiles and she spreads her legs and it would be easy, so easy to just slide inside her. I know she wants it, I can feel her throbbing at the idea, but I let her slip her hand away and slide my c.o.c.k against her wet stomach until I explode all over her.

The look on her face is priceless, and I enjoy soaping her up as much as I enjoy the event that led to it, even if my legs feel like jelly. Washing her up turns into just holding her from behind, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s cradled in my arm as I slide my hand between her legs. The wet heat I feel isn't from the shower water.

It isn't long before she can't stand up anymore, her legs shaking hard, so I lower her to the bottom of the tub with me and slowly finger her there, savoring the feeling of her tight walls gripping my finger, wishing I could take her fully. I should stop this, but her excitement drives me on, her moans are like a song calling my name.

She arches against me, her legs jittering as they shoot out straight in front of her. She feels tight all over, her muscles coiled until they feel like they'll pop, her soft skin furnace hot. I ease off when I feel her getting close, again, and again, and again, until there's no turning back and she bucks against me. Her little squeaks are adorable, it's like she's afraid to moan.

Then she relaxes. The water is going to go cold soon if we don't get out. She reaches out and turns it off with her foot, and lays there, a content smile on her face, until she finally sits up.

When she steps out I have to do it. I grab a towel and sit her down, and start rubbing her down. She trembles, her face twitching between confusion and enjoyment. I've never felt an urge to do these things before. When I'm done I'm done, but soon I find myself running a brush through her hair, smoothing it to her head.

I could get used to this.

I don't have anything to change into, so I end up putting my old clothes back on, slowly as I watch her dress. It's fascinating. Not like I've never seen a woman put on clothes before, but her ever movement draws my eye. Even watching her slip into a bra is s.e.xy, and her choice of underwear isn't what I'm used to, just plain white cotton. She tugs up a pair of loose lounge pants and a shirt that all swallows her curves, but when she moves the way they drape over her body hints at what lies underneath.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not much of a cook," she confesses, shrugging. "I can microwave something."

I feel like I'm in a dreamworld. She's so... normal. She hums as she cuts slits in the plastic wrapping on some microwave dinners, and fidgets, her fingers drumming on her hips, while they cook. She stands off to the side when the microwave warms up.

"Why are you doing that?"

"I don't want to stand directly in front of the beams. It gives you brain cancer."

She flinches.

"Uh, sorry."

"You don't have to try not to say the word cancer around me ever again."

She smiles sadly. "You had a rough time growing up, huh."

I can't help but look around. "It wasn't like this. It's just you and your Mom?"

"Yeah. Dad divorced her. I have a half-sister I've never met, out in Arizona."

I laugh. She shoots me a look.

"It wouldn't surprise me if I have some half-siblings running around out there somewhere."

Diana eyes me. "Your Dad is that kind of guy, huh?"

I swallow, hard. "I, uh, he must have sowed his wild oats. Before I was born, I'm sure. I was just joking. I don't know of any siblings."

"You know my Mom went to Las Vegas with this guy."

"Right, he's my father. We've met."

The microwave dings and she sets the tray before me, and starts heating her own, again avoiding standing directly in front of it while it cooks. The food is pa.s.sable, but I eat it hungrily. I am hungry, but it's almost like I don't want to insult her cooking. Diana picks through hers, her cheek propped on her fist. She looks at me, her mismatched eyes sucking my attention away from everything else in the room. I feel something on my foot and realize it's her toes.

For someone so inexperienced she has a h.e.l.l of a s.e.x drive. I'd think twice would be enough, but apparently not.

Every time I think about laying her down and giving her a first time she'll never forget, I think about the awful thing I'm conspiring to do to her. I want to use all my tricks, satisfy her in ways her inexperienced imagination can't even begin to conjure. I want to make her mine, possess her totally and completely.

If I do that I may just destroy everything, her included. I don't know if I can take that risk. I don't know if I can bear that weight.

Then I realize what's getting to me. It's just like I thought before. All this time I haven't been on the outside looking in, I've been trapped inside, staring through the invisible bars of my gilded cage, and Diana is opening the door and beckoning me to fly free.

I have to tell her the truth, but how can I?

Chapter 10: Diana.

My alarm beeps and before I can shut it off, another hand mashes down on the snooze b.u.t.ton. Apollo reaches over me and lets his arm lay over my side as I curl up against him. He moves closer, and I feel something poke my back.

I twist around in his arms to face him, slip mine around him and rest my cheek against his chest. I can feel his heart beating, and the scent of his body floods my nostrils every time I take a breath. I can't believe it's already been four days. His eyes close and he presses his face into my hair, and his breathing slows. Then the alarm goes off again, and his whole body jerks. He reaches over and fumbles with the clock until it shuts off again, this time for good. You'd think he'd have learned where the b.u.t.ton is by now.

I can't help myself. I tug his waistband down and wrap my fingers around his shaft. He's rock hard but the skin is so soft. I graze my thumb over the head and his whole body goes rigid as he gasps into my hair and pulls me closer.

My own heart hammers in my chest, thudding against my ribs. My throat is as dry as packed sand. It takes all my effort to speak.

"We could do it if you want."

"Do it?"

"Have s.e.x," I choke out in a breathy voice.

"I'm not sure..."

"I'm ready."

"I'm not."

"Why?"

He sighs. "I just... I need more time."

I give his d.i.c.k a squeeze. "Do you now."

He shudders. I can feel the shiver pa.s.s through his body, down to his toes. His arms tighten around me and we mold to each other as I slowly work his shaft through my grasp. I pull my hand away and moisten my palm with my lips, to make it slide more easily through my fingers, and he rolls onto his back and pushes his underwear down. He has an amazing body, all ridged muscle, so tight and sculpted that veins stand out even on his stomach. I love watching the way he flexes and tightens when I do it just right.

I rest my head on his chest and watch. I've started to learn to feel when he's getting close. It gets harder, tighter, and even swells a little. I may be brave enough to offer myself to him but the thought of taking all of that into my body still makes me a little afraid, but it's an exciting kind of fear, like taking the plunge down a rollercoaster. A tiny little rational part of my mind keeps me from just, well, hopping on. I know if I started he'd finish it. I'm surprised he's so resistant to go all the way. For all the time he spends between my legs, it can't be me.

He grunts and thrusts into my fist and his hot seed spills over my palm. Fascinated, I stare at it as I squeeze out every drop. There's something strange and exciting by how vulnerable he becomes in these few seconds when he loses control and pleasure takes over his body. I like the feeling of control it gives me. I sit up, yawn, and walk to the bathroom, holding up my hand like a doctor headed to the operating room until I clean up in the sink. When I walk back into the room he immediately grabs me by the waist, and, giggling, I'm pulled down to the bed.

Apollo is strong. He gets on top of me, gets my underwear down and slides his finger inside me, and I go still, a slow breath emptying my lungs before I draw it back in, my body tensing at the feeling of movement inside me. All it takes is his finger curling inside me to make me tingle all over, and then he starts kissing me, his lips hot on mine, his breath tickling my nose until I give in and the kiss deepens, his tongue slipping over mine. Then he goes for my throat, then my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and works his way down until he's lying between my spread legs and I'm writhing on the bed, clenching fistfuls of sheet and gritting my teeth out of some irresistible urge to stay quiet.

The pleasure ebbs and flows, each time rising to a new plane until I can't take it anymore and I feel like I'm flying apart and crashing together all at once, too choked with the spasmic energy tightening my body to even cry out. I only moan when it's over, and he rests his head on my shoulder and puts his arms around me. As my eyes close and I settle against him, he flicks my nipple with his finger and my whole body jerks, my legs snapping up from the shock of his touch when I'm so sensitive. It turns into wrestling and I struggle and squirm to get loose. My legs wrap around his hips.

Do it. Do it.

He rolls over and I lose my grip. I'm on top of him now, trying to grind down on him, and he slips his arms under my shoulders and pulls me up, rolls again so I'm on my side and kisses me.

"Not yet," he murmurs, a strange sad timbre in his voice.

"Why not?"

"Your first time should be special."

"Was yours?"

He looks startled.

"It was..." he sighs. "No. Not really. Special isn't the word I'd chose."

There's something guarded in his voice. He rolls again onto his back. I flip onto my stomach and climb on top of him, resting my chin on my folded arms, on his chest.

"Tell me about her. What was her name?"

"Star."

"Star? Seriously?"

"I don't think that was her real name."