He doesn’t stir. Not that I expected him to.
I needed to practice saying the words aloud to give me the courage to one day say them to his face.
I sit there another moment before I tuck the blanket tighter around him. “Goodnight, Grayson,” I whisper before getting to my feet.
At my voice, his face scrunches and he shifts beneath the blanket. “Mom?” he rasps in a sleep-filled voice. I freeze, waitingto see if he says anything else. I know absolutely nothing about his mom. She was never talked about when I lived in his father’s house. All I know is that she died when Grayson was young. Is he dreaming of her? There’s something monumentally heartbreaking about this twenty-two-year-old man dreaming of his dead mother.
However, he becomes increasingly agitated, shifting restlessly on the couch to the point that I reach out to take his hand, feeling the need to offer him some sort of comfort. He grasps it like a lifeline, squeezing so hard that my fingertips go white. “I don’t want him to hurt you,” he whines, in a voice so small I can imagine it coming from schoolboy Grayson.
Not knowing what to do, I settle back beside him, reaching forward to brush my fingers through his hair. “Everything’s okay,” I murmur in a soothing tone. “No one is getting hurt.”
My heart clenches at his concern for his mother, and a darker part of me can’t help but wonder if he’s having a nightmare or reliving a memory.
I continue to mutter reassuring words as I run my fingers through his hair until he settles back into sleep. Only then do I slide my hand from his relaxed grip, and with a final glance, I leave him alone to sleep off his hangover while I get ready for bed.
I’m burning up. My body is literally on fire as sensation after sensation rolls through me, a tidal wave of ecstasy building in intensity until I snap awake with a drawn-out moan.
It takes me a long moment to wade through the confusing pulses of pleasure, demanding all of my attention, to notice the head of hair buried between my thighs.
“Grayson,” I gasp at the long, slow slide of his tongue along my slit before he assaults my clit with his lips and teeth.
Any outrage goes flying out the window as my spine arches off the bed and my eyes roll back in my head.Holy shit, he’s good at that.He brings me to the edge of what promises to be one hell of an orgasm, before switching up his moves so that promise dangles just out of reach.
“Grayson,” I snap when he does the same thing again, his vibrating chuckle against my sensitive parts causing me to shudder.
“Don’t like being kept waiting, do you, little sis?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap absently as he replaces his tongue with his fingers.
Stretching out above me in the darkened room, I can’t make out anything more than his outline, but I canfeelthe clash of his stare.
“You don’t like me calling you little sis? Only, isn’t that what we are? Isn’t that what made this so goddamn hard to resist when we were teenagers? Knowing we weren’t supposed to be attracted to one another?” Bending down, he trails his lips up the column of my neck, sucking on the skin. “Watching you at family dinners, acting like you were my sister while I thought about spreading you out on the table, always had me nearly coming in my pants. I was so fucking hard for you.” His breath tickles my ear before he sucks on my earlobe, his teeth sinking into the flesh and making me yelp.
“Telling my friends at school that you were my new stepsister while I fantasized about shoving you against the locker and kissing you so they could all see exactly how unsisterly my thoughts were,” he continues in a gravelly voice.
“You drove me fucking wild without even trying, and all the while I had to pretend like you were nothing more than a new, unwelcome stranger living in my house.”
Okay, yes, he’s right. There was something incredibly hot in the forbiddenness of my attraction to him. In knowing I wasn’t supposed to feel the way that I did.
“Tell me you didn’t get off on that too,” he rasps. “Tell me you never once acted like a sister in public while fantasizing about fucking me behind the nearest closed door.”
“I did,” I admit. “At your games. I’d cheer you on as your sister, but I’d be thinking about what would happen if I showed up in your locker room after everyone else left.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “I wouldn’t have been able to resist you.”
He curls his fingers inside me while rubbing his thumb over my clit, and I’m on the verge of complete combustion. “Please, Grayson. I need to come.”
At my plea, he pulls his fingers from me, and I whine in protest as he moves to kneel between my legs.
“Admit that you want this,” he says in a sinister tone as his fingers undo his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down his legs. Fisting his cock, he pumps his hand up and down before swiping the spongy head through my folds. “Admit that despite everything, you wantme.”
Holding his gaze, my voice is firm when I say, “I’ve never denied that I want you, Grayson. But wanting you doesn’t mean demeaning myself into being the toy you turn to when you need something to break.”
My admission is followed by a pregnant pause, and I’m highly aware of the stretch of my walls where his tip is pressing against my opening.
“I don’t want to break you,” he confesses in a broken tone. “I want you to piece me back together. To make me forget. To be my reprieve from the thoughts in my head.”
He holds my stare as he pushes forward, filling me inch by inch until I’m stretched full, and he’s leaning over me. His face hovers above mine. It’s far more intimate than anything we’veshared yet, and I’m grateful to the darkness for providing me with a modicum of distance. It would be far too easy for me to give myself over to this Grayson.
