Kissing Me Harder, Stepbrother novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: No More Rules

I didn't move out of the doorway.

"You rode a bike across Long Beach at midnight," I said.

"I don't have a car. Some idiot sold it."

"You could've called."

"I wanted to say it to your face." He held on to the doorframe like it was the pier rail. "I don't want ten days. I don't want rules. I want you, and I want your mom to know it, and mine, and the gaffer."

"The gaffer knows."

"The gaffer did a Dallas impression."

I laughed, and it came out shaky.

"I've known you nine days," I said.

"I know. I've counted every one."

"That's insane."

"Probably." He didn't look away. "Tell me to go home and I'll ride home."

I put the cereal box down on the counter behind me.

"Come here," I said.

He came in and shut the door behind him.

He stood very close and didn't touch me.

"Say it plain," he said. "I learn by ear."

"Yes," I said. "Stay. Tonight. All of it."

He let out a breath.

"Kiss me," I said. "Harder than the first time."

He didn't wait for me to ask twice.

His mouth hit mine hard, like the note, like a dare, like he'd been holding his breath since the tower and I was the only air left.

I grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him deeper.

He tasted like the ocean and like the mint from my own kitchen.

His hands came up to my face, careful, like I was the script he was still learning by ear.

I bit his lower lip, just enough.

He made a low sound that I felt in my stomach.

"Bedroom," I said against his mouth.

He pulled back half an inch.

"You're bossy tonight."

"I've been bossy since day one. You like it."

"Nine days, twenty-three hours, and you still think I'm here for your directing."

I stepped backward down the short hall, dragging him by the hoodie.

"Then prove it."

He followed like I'd hooked him through the chest.

My bedroom was all streetlight and shadow, the window open over the bed, the sheets still warm from where I'd been before he knocked.

I stopped at the foot of the bed and turned him around.

Then I took the hem of his hoodie in both hands and pulled it up over his head.

His hair fell forward in damp red pieces.

The thin silver cross sat below the hollow of his throat.

The black ink across his chest moved with every breath.

I put one hand flat on his stomach, just above the waist of his jeans.

His skin was warm and damp from the ride.

"Tell me what you want," I said, low, my fingers at his button.

He watched my hand.

"I want you to say it all. Everything. I learn by ear, remember."

"I know. I'm going to give you a full read-through."

"Best offer I've had all night."

I undid the button.

"Take these off."

He did, and kicked them toward the wall.

He stood there in the streetlight in nothing but the cross necklace and the ink and the silver hoop, and his cock was already hard, heavy against his thigh, and I let myself look.

Let him see me look.

"Now you," he said quietly.

I pulled my T-shirt over my head.

The air hit my skin, and my nipples went tight.

I pushed the gray shorts down and stepped out of them.

The hole in the hem didn't matter anymore.

He reached out and put his hand on my hip, thumb pressing into the bone.

Then he moved it up, slow, over my ribs, and stopped just under my breast.

"You're so fucking wet already," he said, like he could see it from where he stood.

"I've been wet since you said you weren't going to hide."

"That's the most honest thing you've ever told me."

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