Their Father Called Me Family, So His Four Sons Made Me Theirs novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Calico Hills

Luca had me against the red sandstone with both my palms flat on the rock and the sun not yet over the ridge.

We had hiked up from the lot in the dark, forty minutes of boots on gravel, in silence.

At the top of the wash he had stopped beside a slab of warm stone.

He had folded his shirt in thirds and laid it on a ledge.

Then he had turned me around by the shoulders and said, "Hands there."

I put them there.

The rock was still holding yesterday's heat, and it came up through my palms.

The sky behind the Calico Hills was gray going to rose.

He stood close behind me, close enough that I could feel him without being touched, and he did not hurry.

Luca never hurried.

He pushed my hair off my neck with one finger and laid it over my other shoulder.

"You wore the boots," he said.

"Nico told me."

"I know."

His mouth came down on the side of my neck, warm and dry, and stayed there.

I shut my eyes.

His hands slid around my waist, over my T-shirt, and up under it.

His palms were rough, scarred across the knuckles, and he cupped my breasts through the cotton of my bra and held them in his hands.

My head fell back against his shoulder.

"Luca."

He didn't answer.

He rolled my nipples between his thumbs and fingers, slow and exact, and the sound I made carried out over the canyon and came back.

"Quiet," he said, into my ear.

"Or what?" I asked.

"Or the ranger hears."

"Then make me quiet."

He went still, and I felt the smile against my skin.

He drew my T-shirt up over my head and laid it on the ledge beside his folded shirt.

My bra followed, one strap and then the other, until the cool air touched my breasts.

He cupped them in his bare hands, and his thumbs moved over my nipples in slow hard circles.

I pushed my ass back against him and felt exactly how much he wanted me.

He bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth from behind my shoulder, as far as the angle allowed, and sucked.

The tug went straight down to my clit.

"Luca," I breathed. "Please."

"Not yet," he said against my skin.

He did not stop.

He alternated between them, his tongue slow and deliberate, until I was arching.

My hands slid on the rock, and my knees would not hold.

He undid the button of my shorts and slid his hand inside, flat, over the front of my underwear, and held it there.

He did not move it.

He only pressed, his palm heavy and warm, his middle finger resting along the seam, until I rocked against it without meaning to.

"You left," I said.

His hand stopped.

"Last New Year's Eve. I stood at the pool house door and said happy new year, and I waited."

"Gemma," he said.

"I waited, Luca, and all four of you found somewhere else to be."

The wind moved through the wash.

I felt his chest rise against my back.

"You were the last one out," I said. "I watched you go up the path."

"I know."

"Why?"

He took a long time.

His hand did not leave me, and his mouth was against my hair, and when he spoke it was low and flat and plain.

"Because I would have stayed."

I turned my head.

"If I stayed," Luca said, "I would never have gone. I would have taken you."

"And?" I said.

"And I would have taken you in my father's house, with you owing him everything."

"I would have had plenty to say."

"I know that now," he said.

"Luca. I would have said yes."

He closed his eyes against my temple.

"I know," he said.

"You taught me to drive in the canyon lot," I said. "'Foot off the brake, Gemma.'"

"I remember the lot."

"I've heard that voice in my head for three years now. I'm not talking about driving."

His hand tightened at my waist.

"So don't go anywhere this time," I said.

"No."

It was one syllable, and he meant every part of it.

His hand moved again.

He pushed my shorts and underwear down my thighs together, to my knees.

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