Trapped With My Stepbrother novel · Chapter 2 of 6

Chapter 2: The Forest Knows

Perry follows Reid into the storm and watches him say Perry's name in the dark, then confronts him, strips him down, and teases him to the edge twice, ending on Reid shaking with need as he begs Perry to let him finish.

The rain hit Perry's face the second he stepped out of the tent, and it felt like waking up. Cold, sharp, real. He didn't have a plan. He had a shape moving away from him through the dark, pale against the trees, and he had the look Reid had given him in the tent, the one that had held too long and said nothing at all.

He followed.

The camp was a smear of dying firelight behind him. Canvas, smoke, the professor's snore swallowed by the weather. Perry moved through the undergrowth with his heart in his throat, keeping his steps light on the wet leaves, keeping Reid's back in view. The trees closed in. The rain came down in sheets. And Reid kept walking, head down, one hand braced against trunks as he passed, like he knew exactly where he was going.

Perry's shirt was soaked through in under a minute. His boots squelched. He didn't care. His whole body was one long electric wire, humming with the thing he refused to name, the thing that had been humming since the tent, since the sheet, since Reid's eyes had opened and found him reaching.

You followed him into the woods in the rain. That's not nothing.

He shoved the thought down. Kept moving.

Reid stopped.

Perry froze behind a tree, his shoulder pressed to the bark, his breath coming fast and shallow. Reid stood in a small clearing, twenty feet away, his back half-turned. He tilted his head up into the rain, and for a second Perry thought he was just standing there, letting the storm wash over him. Then Reid's hands moved. Down his own chest. Over the soaked fabric of his t-shirt, which clung to every ridge of muscle. Lower.

Perry's mouth went dry.

Reid's fingers worked at the button of his cargo shorts. The sound of the zipper was lost to the rain, but Perry saw it, saw the fabric sag, saw Reid's hand push inside. Reid's head fell back against the trunk of a tree. His other hand braced against the bark. And then, so quiet Perry almost missed it under the hammer of the storm, a sound. A low, ragged breath. A name.

Perry.

It wasn't a shout. It wasn't a call. It was a whisper, torn out of him, the way a man says something when he thinks no one in the world can hear. And then Reid said it again, and again, his hand moving faster, his hips rolling into his own grip, and Perry stood behind a tree with rain running down his face and felt the ground tilt under him.

He wants you. He's out here in the rain with his hand down his shorts and he's saying your name.

Two years. Two years of filing it under 'definitely nothing.' Two years of looking away at breakfast, of laughing too hard at someone else's joke, of pretending the heat in his chest was indigestion. And the whole time, Reid had been out here. Wanting him. Saying his name in the dark.

Perry's foot slipped.

It was a small sound, a wet shift of leaves, but in the quiet of the clearing it was a gunshot. Reid's whole body went still. His hand stopped moving. His head turned toward the trees, toward Perry, and his eyes found him through the rain without hesitation, like he had known all along.

Perry couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead. His shirt hung heavy on his shoulders. And Reid just looked at him, chest heaving, hand still shoved down the front of his shorts, and there was no surprise on his face at all.

Only heat.

'You followed me,' Reid said.

His voice was rough, scraped raw. Not a question.

Perry's mouth opened. Nothing came out. His own body was a traitor, every nerve lit up, every inch of him aware of the distance between them, of how easy it would be to close it.

'Yeah,' he managed. The word came out hoarse. 'I followed you.'

Reid pulled his hand out of his shorts. Slow, deliberate. He didn't button them. He pushed off the tree and took a step toward Perry, then another, closing the distance with that loose, rolling stride of his, the one that made Perry's stomach tighten every time.

'How long you been standing there?'

'Long enough.'

Reid stopped an arm's length away. Rain dripped from his jaw. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were black in the low light, and he smelled like rain and pine and something underneath that made Perry's knees weak.

'Then you heard,' Reid said.

Perry swallowed. 'I heard.'

The rain hammered down. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled over the ridge. And Reid reached out, slow, giving Perry every chance to step back, and hooked his fingers in the wet collar of Perry's t-shirt.

'Good,' he said. 'Now you don't have to pretend you didn't.'

Perry should have said something. Should have made a joke, deflected, rebuilt the wall between them. That was what he did. That was who he was. But his hands were already moving, fisting in the soaked fabric of Reid's shirt, and then he was kissing him, hard, desperate, two years of wanting crashing out of him all at once.

Reid made a sound against his mouth, low and broken, and his hands came up to grip Perry's hips, dragging him closer. The heat of him was staggering, even through the rain, even through the wet layers of their clothes. Perry bit at his lip and Reid groaned, and then they were stumbling, tangled together, and the ground came up to meet them.

Perry landed on top.

The forest floor was cold and wet and alive under his knees. Mud and leaves and the sharp press of roots against his shins. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He had Reid under him, big and solid and shaking, and that was the only thing in the world.

'Perry,' Reid breathed, and it was the same word, the same shape, the same prayer from before, but now it was against Perry's mouth, now it was for him.

Perry kissed him again. Slower this time. He dragged his lips down the line of Reid's jaw, down the column of his throat, tasting rain and salt. Reid's hands came up to grip his shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Perry's hips rolled down against him without permission, and Reid's whole body arched up, a choked sound tearing out of his chest.

'You have no idea,' Perry said against his skin, 'how long I've thought about this.'

Reid's laugh was ragged. 'Two years? Try since the day you moved in.'

Perry's brain shorted out.

He pulled back, looked down at him. Reid's face was flushed, his mouth red and swollen, his chest heaving under his soaked shirt. And his eyes, those deep dark eyes, were looking up at Perry like he was the only thing in the forest.

'You,' Perry started. 'You were twenty-five. I was seventeen.'

'Yeah,' Reid said. 'That's why I waited.'

The words hit Perry like a physical blow. He stared down at him, rain dripping from his hair onto Reid's face, and Reid just looked back, steady, unflinching.

'Reid,' Perry whispered.

'Perry,' Reid said back, and it wasn't a prayer this time. It was a dare.

Perry's hands went to the hem of Reid's shirt. He shoved it up, baring the wet, warm skin of his stomach, his chest. Reid lifted his arms and let him strip it off, and then Perry's shirt was gone too, and the rain hit his bare skin and he didn't feel the cold at all.

He was on fire.

He kissed down Reid's chest, slow, deliberate, tasting the rain on his skin, the salt of his sweat. Reid's hands fisted in his hair, not guiding, just holding on. His breathing was ragged, uneven, and every time Perry's mouth found a sensitive spot, his hips bucked up.

'You're killing me,' Reid rasped.

'Good,' Perry said, and bit down on the muscle of his pec.

Reid swore, a raw, broken sound, and his hips rolled up against Perry's, and Perry felt him, hard and thick through the wet fabric of their shorts, and his own body answered, a pulse of heat so sharp it made him gasp.

He sat up. His hands went to Reid's zipper. Reid's eyes were on him, dark and wild, his chest heaving. Perry pulled the shorts down, and Reid lifted his hips to help, and then there was nothing between them but the rain and the dark and the two years of pretending.

'Perry,' Reid said, and his voice cracked on it. 'Please.'

Perry's hand closed around him.

Reid's whole body seized. His head fell back against the wet leaves, his throat working, and the sound he made was almost a sob. Perry stroked him once, slow, feeling the weight and heat of him, the way he twitched in his palm.

'Not yet,' Perry said.

Reid's eyes flew open. 'What?'

'Not yet.' Perry leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth. 'I've waited two years. You can wait a little longer.'

He stroked him again, slow, torturous. Reid's hips bucked up into his touch, and Perry pulled back, letting go, watching him writhe.

'Perry,' Reid gritted out. 'I swear to god.'

'You'll what?' Perry asked, and his own voice was shaking now, his own body screaming at him to stop the game and just take. But there was something intoxicating about this, about having Reid under him, about the way the big, competent, perpetually-unbothered Reid was shaking apart because of him.

'Please,' Reid said again, and it was the same word from before, the same prayer, but now it was desperate, now it was begging.

Perry took him in hand again. Stroked him faster this time, building a rhythm, watching Reid's face, watching the way his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut and his hands clawed at the ground.

'You're close,' Perry said. Not a question.

'Yes,' Reid gasped. 'Yes, god, Perry, don't stop.'

Perry stopped.

Reid's whole body went rigid. His eyes flew open, wild and dark, and he stared up at Perry with something like betrayal. 'What are you doing?'

'Teasing you,' Perry said, and his voice came out steadier than he felt. 'You've been driving me insane for two years, Reid. You can take a little of your own medicine.'

Reid's hands came up to grip Perry's hips, hard, his fingers digging into the wet skin. 'Perry.'

'One more time,' Perry said. 'Then I'll let you come.'

'You're a menace,' Reid breathed, but there was no heat in it, only hunger.

Perry smiled, slow and wicked, and lowered his head to kiss him again. 'You love it.'

He didn't wait for an answer. He took Reid in hand again, stroking him with a sure, steady rhythm, and Reid's whole body arched up off the ground, his back bowing, his head thrown back against the leaves. The rain kept falling. The trees kept their vigil. And Perry watched him, watched every twitch and shiver, every broken sound that fell from his lips, and felt his own need build until it was almost unbearable.

'Perry,' Reid gasped. 'Perry, I'm close, I'm so close.'

Perry stopped.

Reid's whole body shook with the effort of not coming. His hands gripped Perry's hips so hard it hurt. His chest heaved. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tight, every muscle in his body locked against the edge.

And Perry sat there on top of him, in the rain, in the dark, and watched him tremble, and felt the power of it like a drug.

'Please,' Reid whispered, and the word was broken, ruined, dragged out of the deepest part of him. 'Perry, please.'

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