Our Parents Wed in June, So I Spent the Winter Claiming My Stepbrother novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: By the Stove

On the floor by the wood stove Page undresses Reeve and takes him in her mouth, he returns it, and she rides him until the phone lights up with his father's name.

He kissed me back, and five months of holding still went out of him.

One hand came up into my braid.

The other stayed flat at the small of my back, a half inch too low, exactly where it had been in June.

"Lower," I said against his mouth.

His hand slid down and gripped my ass through my jeans, and I groaned.

"Page," he said, rough. "I'm your stepbrother."

"I know what you are."

"Our parents are in Arizona," he said.

"That's the best thing you've said all night."

I rolled my hips down over the hard line of him, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Say it again," I said.

"Say what?"

"Stepbrother. Say it while I do this."

I ground down on him slowly.

"Stepsister," he said, hoarse, and his head fell back against the hearth stones.

"Fuck. Stepsister."

Heat went through me from my scalp to my knees.

I had not known one word could do that.

I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it, and he stared.

The firelight put orange along my collarbones and the pale lace of my bra.

"Look at you," he said.

"Touch me."

He did.

His rough palms covered my breasts through the lace, and his thumbs dragged across my nipples until they pebbled hard.

I unhooked the bra myself and threw it behind me.

He made a low sound and put his mouth on me.

He was hot and slow and careful, and he sucked one nipple deep while his hand worked the other.

I held his head against my chest, and my toes curled in my wet socks.

"Quilts," I said. "On the floor. Now."

He picked me up in both arms and set me down on the rug in front of the stove.

He pulled the quilts off the sofa and spread them under me.

The fire threw our shadows high up the log wall.

I pushed him down onto his back by the shoulders and straddled his knees.

His flannel shirt hung open.

The chest I had warmed my hands on was broad, with a trail of light brown hair running down to his belt.

I put my mouth on the place where my palm had been.

He shuddered under me.

I kissed my way down the center of him, over hard ribs and a flat stomach.

He lay there with his fists in the quilt, letting me.

"You don't have to do anything," he said.

"I know."

"Page."

"I want to," I said. "I've wanted to since June."

I undid his belt and his jeans and drew them down his thighs.

He was thick and flushed and already wet at the tip, and I looked at him with my whole body aching.

Then I wrapped my hand around him and put my mouth on the head.

"Oh, fuck," Reeve said.

He tasted of salt and warm skin.

I took him in slowly, my tongue flat under him, and the sound he made was low and broken.

His hips jerked once, and then he forced them still.

"Don't hold back for me," I said, my mouth wet. "Move if you want."

"I'll hurt you."

"You won't."

I took him deeper, and he swore.

His hand found my braid and wrapped it around his fist, gently.

"That's it," he said. "Just like that. God, your mouth."

I hollowed my cheeks and worked my hand where my mouth couldn't reach.

He was shaking.

His thighs were hard under my palms, and his breath came in short, ragged pulls.

"Stop," he said suddenly. "Page, stop. I'm going to come."

I took one more slow stroke, just to hear him say my name.

Then I let him slip out.

"Now you," he said.

He sat up, took me by the waist, and laid me back on the quilts in one move.

His stubble scraped the inside of my knee when he kissed it.

"These," he said, and tugged at my jeans.

I lifted my hips, and he stripped them off me with my wool socks and my underwear.

I lay there bare in the heat of the fire.

He knelt between my legs and looked at me.

"Christ," he whispered. "You're soaked."

"You did that."

"I know. I want to do more."

He pushed my thighs wide with his broad hands and lowered his face.

The first lick drew a cry out of me.

He went from my entrance to my clit with the flat of his tongue, slow and thorough.

Then he sealed his mouth over me and sucked.

My back left the floor.

"Reeve," I said. "Oh, God. Right there."

"Tell me," he said against me.

"Don't stop doing that."

He didn't stop.

He found one rhythm, a slow circle, and kept it until I was begging.

He slid two thick fingers inside me and curled them, and the pleasure doubled and wound tight in my stomach.

His beard was wet.

His other hand held my hip down, because I couldn't stay still.

"You taste incredible," he said, into me. "I knew you would."

"You knew?"

"I've been thinking about it since June."

That did it.

I came with my hand in his hair and a sound I hadn't known I owned, my thighs clamped around his ears.

He kept his mouth on me through all of it, softer and softer, until I pushed at his forehead.

He lifted his head.

His mouth shone.

He looked pleased and shy and a little dazed.

"Come here," I said.

He crawled up the quilts, and I kissed him, tasting myself on his tongue.

"Then get on your back."

He went over without a word.

I climbed on top of him and braced my hands on his chest.

His cock stood up hard between us.

I took it in my fist and held it against me.

I slid the head through my wetness once, twice, until we were both breathing in gasps.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

I sank down onto him.

It was slow.

He was big, and I felt every inch spread me open, and I stopped halfway with my eyes shut and my nails in his skin.

"Page," he said, strangled. "Fuck."

"Wait."

"I'm waiting," he said.

His hands were on my thighs, shaking, and he did not move them.

I took a breath and sat the rest of the way down, and we both groaned.

I was full of him, completely, and I could feel his pulse inside me.

"Fuck, you're tight," he said, "your pussy's strangling my cock."

"I'm perfect."

I opened my eyes.

"Don't you dare be good right now," I said.

His mouth curved.

His hands gripped my hips.

I started to move.

I rolled slowly at first, up and down the length of him.

Then I found the angle that dragged him over the best place inside me, and I stopped being slow.

"There," I said. "There, yes."

"You're so tight," he said. "You feel so good."

"Tell me more."

"I thought about this on the river. I thought about it in the truck. I thought about you in this house all summer."

His hips came up to meet mine, hard enough that I cried out.

"Harder," I said.

He gave it to me.

He thrust up into me with his heels dug into the quilts.

The slap of our skin filled the room over the crackle of the fire.

I bent down and bit his lip, and then his jaw.

He grabbed my braid and pulled my head back, not hard, and kissed my throat.

"Say my name," he said.

"Reeve."

"Again," he said.

"Reeve. Reeve."

My thighs burned, and I didn't care.

I reached between us and rubbed my clit in time with his thrusts, and the pressure inside me spiraled up.

"I'm close," I said.

"Not yet," he said.

He rolled us over.

He did it in one smooth move, with his arm behind my head and my legs still wrapped around his waist.

I landed on my back on the quilts with him braced above me, still deep inside.

"You said not yet," I gasped.

"I want to look at you."

He hooked one of my knees over his elbow and pushed in slow and deep.

The new angle hit something that made me clutch at his arms.

"Oh," I said. "Reeve. Oh, that's it."

"There?"

"Right there. Don't move. No, move. Move."

He laughed breathlessly and moved.

He fucked me in long, even strokes, and every one dragged against that spot.

His eyes never left my face.

I wrapped my other leg around him and dug my heel into his back, and he groaned.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said. "Look at you. Look at what you do to me."

"Tell me what I do."

"You make me stupid."

"Good," I said.

"You make me want to be bad."

"Be bad," I said. "Come on. Be bad for me."

He drove into me harder.

The quilts bunched under my back, and the firelight jumped on the logs, and my nails raked down his arms.

"Come on my cock," he said, and his voice cracked. "Come on me, stepsister."

That word again.

I came with a shout, clenched around him, my head thrown back and my whole body locking.

He swore and drove into me twice more.

Then he came, deep, with his hands crushing my hips and my name torn out of him.

I felt him pulse inside me, hot and long.

He dropped onto his forearms and pressed his face into my neck.

We lay there, wet and breathing, with the stove ticking and the snow against the glass.

His heart was going fast against mine.

"I've been so good," he said after a while, into my hair. "For five months."

"You were terrible at it."

He laughed helplessly, and I felt it in every part of me still joined to him.

Something buzzed on the floor.

His phone lit up on the rug beside the quilts, and a name glowed on the screen in the dark.

DAD.

Under it was a preview: Pass closed? You two got heat?

Reeve went absolutely still above me.

I reached over, took the phone, and set it face down on the hearth.

"We have heat," I said.

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