My Stepbrother Ruins Everything novel · Chapter 4 of 4
Chapter 4: The Order
She turned.
He was exactly where she had pictured him, on the edge of her bed, his hands loose between his knees, his dark eyes already on her. The lamp on the nightstand was still on from the night before. It threw long shadows across the room and caught the sharp line of his jaw, the hollow of his throat above the collar of his henley.
He said nothing.
Neither did she.
For a long moment they just looked at each other, and the whole house seemed to hold its breath around them, the snow outside pressing against the windows, the wind a low, distant moan in the eaves.
Then she crossed the room.
She stopped in front of him, close enough that her knees almost touched his, and looked down. He had to tilt his head back to keep her face in view, and the movement exposed the long column of his throat, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the faint pulse beating in the side of his neck.
He was beautiful like this. He was always beautiful, but like this, looking up at her, waiting, there was something raw and unguarded in his face that made her chest ache.
'Kneel,' she said.
The word came out low and steady, and she was surprised by how much she meant it. Not a question. Not a request. An order.
Callum's eyes went dark.
For a second he didn't move, and she felt a cold spike of fear that she had misread everything, that she had pushed too far, that he would laugh or get up or ask her what she thought she was doing. But then his jaw tightened, and something in his face shifted, and he slid off the edge of the bed and onto the floor in front of her.
He knelt.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He knelt like it was the easiest thing in the world, his knees settling onto the rug, his hands resting on his thighs, his face tipped up to hers. He was so tall, even on his knees he came to her chest, and she could feel the heat of him through the space between them, could smell the coffee on his breath and the clean, sharp scent of his skin.
'Is this what you want?' he asked.
His voice was rough, scraped low in his throat, and the question was not a challenge. It was a genuine offer, a door held open, and the patience in it made her want to scream.
'I want you to use your mouth,' she said.
She watched the words land. Watched his pupils blow wide, his fingers curl against his thighs, the muscle in his jaw jump. He didn't look away from her. He didn't even blink.
'Where?' he said.
Flat and direct and absolutely steady, like she had asked him to pass the salt.
She reached down and took his hand. His skin was warm, his palm calloused from all the hours in the garage, and she pressed it against the front of her jeans, against the heat that had been building since the kitchen, since the night before, since the first time he had looked at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
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