His hands grip my waist. “Will you feel comfortable if you’re nowhere near my knee? Like, what if you’re really far away? Like…hmmm…maybe up here, on my face?”
His blue eyes sparkle, and I know that’s one of his favorite things to do, but I have a good idea, too. My hands tug at the waistband of his sweats until his cock springs free. It’s thick and long and dripping pre-cum. I glance up at Van and his eyes are heavy with desire.
“What if I have a different idea?” I ask.
“Jos, you can do anything you want.”
I crawl to a spot next to him, making sure I’m as far away from his knee as possible. I wet my lips and kiss the tip of his cock. I have missed not only the physical sensations of sex, but the connection, too. My hand grips his base and I take him deep into my mouth.
Van’s hands grab at the sheets and he mutters a string of curses. “Fuck, Josie, your mouth is so sweet and it’s been so damn long.”
I block the world out and focus only on his pleasure. I listen for the sounds he makes, the way his fingers thread through my hair, the way his hips thrust upward. I feel powerful and beautiful when I’m in bed with Van.
His responses turn me on and make me bold. I slip my hand between his thighs and cup his balls, loving the weight of them in my hand. Van loves it, too, because he’s mumbling things I can’t understand. He pushes lightly at my shoulders, a sure sign that he’s about to come, but I don’t move. Instead, I grip him a little tighter and go at him a little harder.
The whole world stills as he holds my head in his hands and cries out. I swallow him down, loving every drop as he pumps into me. When the waves are over, he reaches for me. I curl up on his good side and let him tuck the blanket in around us.
“Love you, Jos,” he whispers.
“Love you, Van.”
He reaches for my glasses, gently takes them off my face, and folds them before setting them down on the nightstand.
We lie together and my eyes drift shut to the sound of his heart beating.
Van is in my kitchen. Sitting shirtless at the breakfast nook with his leg elevated and a bag of frozen peas on his knee.
I could get used to this.
The timer dings, so I take muffins out of the oven and slide the frittata in before pouring myself a cup of tea. Van pats his lap and I saunter over, carefully taking a seat.
"I can't believe you're here. That last night wasn't a dream," I say, kissing his cheek.
He waggles his eyebrows and I swat his gloriously bare chest.
"I don't have to be back on campus for two more weeks," he says. "But I don't want to overstay my welcome. Your brothers and sisters are awesome, but somehow I think Levi might frown on the idea of an extended sleepover."
"Levi doesn't give a shit," Levi says, walking into the kitchen scratching his chest. "Thanks for the coffee, Jos. And thanks for whatever smells so delicious." He peers down at the oven. "Damn, is that quiche?"
"Close enough. Keep the door closed and it’ll be ready in twenty. And there's bacon, too."
Levi grabs a mug. "You trying to butter me up?"
“Not intentionally,” I say, my cheeks heating. “But you always want to talk about next year, and I think I’m finally ready to have that conversation.” I take a deep breath. “I want you to go to L.A. permanently, Levi. That’s where you can chase your dream. You let me chase mine, and now it’s your turn. That was our deal and I’m sticking with it.”
My brother leans against the counter. “I’m not going to L.A.”
I roll my eyes and reach for a muffin, but they’re too hot. “Okay, Nashville.”
“Not going there, either. Hell, I’m not even going to Baltimore. I like it here, Josie. This is where I belong, and it’s where I’m staying.”
“But we made a deal.”
Levi looks at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “You realize I was probably high on all kinds of shit when we made that deal, right?”
I crack a smile. “Still counts.”
Levi takes another sip. “Then I’m backing out. Believe me, Josie, this is what I want. Yes, I love making music, but I lovedoing it on my terms. The weeks I spent going back and forth to L.A. were exhausting and not just because of jetlag. I hate going to the grocery store because it forces me to see people, so the West Coast party scene is not for me. But this place,” he says, gesturing. “This is where I thrive. I can make music, but still be home with the kids. I can get exposure, but I don’t have to expose every part of myself.”
