“Holy—” she utters, fisting my hair tighter. The sweet sting of it is pure dopamine.
Her thighs clench against my hand, and I want to kiss them. Bite them. Instead, I take her right breast again, and when I suck, her pussy squeezes my fingers. My mind is hot coconut oil. Clear, melted liquid.
But the squeeze drives us both to a different rhythm. Faster. Deeper.
I can’t get close enough to her. I want more. I want everything. And wanting her kiss, I leave her breast for her mouth, and her welcoming kiss is rough and hungry.
We kiss, tongues tangling, almost frantic. I pump. She arches. Her breasts press against my chest. Her right calf strains between both of mine. I clamp harder, wanting her to feel she’s held.
I’m not going anywhere.
I feel it rise in her, an erotic wave of promise and pleasure. When she opens her mouth, panting against my mouth, I know innately how hard, how deep, and how fast to thrust. She breaks the instant I know she will, shuddering, softening, breathless and boneless beneath me.
“Oh God… Oh God…” she mutters between inhales. Her sweat mingles with mine. I can feel her pulse around my fingers, and this?
This is life.
I kiss her again, slowly, gently this time, easing my hand from her. And even though I’m not in her anymore, for a long, blissful moment, I am still with her.
The rise and fall of her chest steadies, and she blinks like someone waking from a dream. “I—I didn’t expect that.”
My laugh is a low rumble. “That makes two of us.” I squeeze her sweet thigh. I need to keep touching her. The look on her face tells me she’s already questioning what we’ve done, and I can’t let her regret anything. “I didn’t expect it, but I sure as hell wanted it.”
Stella smiles, but I know her. I know how things were after that night outside her bedroom. When the energy between us was so intense, it’s a wonder we didn’t knock each other down. She was practically a missing person after that close encounter.
Now that we have collided, I have to make sure she doesn’t disappear. I want to ask her if she’s okay, but somehow I know I can’t reach her with words.
I lean in and kiss her with slow, languid pressure. When I draw back, I still read a question in her eyes, so I lean down and kiss her again. Longer and slower this time.
The next time our eyes meet, her smile is easier. Softer.
I kiss her a third time. Slow. Gentle. No demands. Only reassurance.
I thought I’d be satisfied bringing her to orgasm, giving her that kind of pleasure. But now I realize it’s not enough. Not enough for me.
And I’m not talking about my pleasure. Yeah, my dick is still a steel bar wedged against her, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. I want to see to her.
I want to be with her.
And I don’t want her running away.
If she let me join her in her bed, I could hold her until morning. Pretty damn hard to run away if my arms are wrapped around her. And that big, white bed of hers would give me plenty of room to spread her legs, dive in between them, and fuck her with my mouth.
I open said mouth to ask this most integral of questions, but a sound from upstairs cuts me off.
A door opening.
Stella goes rigid beneath me.
Someone upstairs steps out onto the balcony. The footfalls aren’t light or delicate. Not Nina’s, or Livy’s, or Pen’s.
A man’s.
It’s only when Stella’s grip on my hair tightens that I realize I’ve tensed, ready to intercept whoever has found his way upstairs. But Stella surprises me.
“It’s Tyler,” she whispers.
Tyler. Upstairs. In Nina’s room.
I’ll be damned.
Good for him.
And why the hell is he coming down?
I want to utter all of these thoughts, but when I open my mouth, Stella places her other hand over it.
“Shhh.”
Tyler makes his careful way down the stairs, and I hear his footsteps move into the dining room and fade into the kitchen.
Stella’s eyes are still locked with mine, her hands still fitted around my head. The stern expression in her gaze would keep me from making a peep even if she weren’t sealing my mouth shut.
That’s fine. I don’t need to say anything that way.
I shift my weight and bring my left hand up to her face and run my thumb against her cheek. Watching her face, I know the move is unexpected.
We stare at each other as the tap in the kitchen squeaks open and Tyler fills a glass. I know the moment Stella feels my smile grow against her hand.
I don’t care how long Tyler takes filling his glass of water. He could take hours. I’m just fine right here.
But he doesn’t take hours. In just a few seconds, his footsteps retrace themselves, and he’s climbing the stairs again.
Stella lowers her hand from my mouth, a shy smile shaping her lips.
“I should probably go,” she whispers, “I need to get Maisy up in a couple of hours.”
I hesitate. But then, what the hell?
“I want to come to bed with you.”
Her eyes flash. “I-I—”
I tilt my head to the side, grinning down at her as I read her mind. “Not for that.”
She blinks. “Not for that?” With the slightest shift, she presses her hip into my still thriving hard-on.
My breath catches, but I rally. “N-no.”
“Then for what?” Her look is playful but suspicious.
“Just to hold you.”
As with the gentle caress of her cheek, she doesn’t expect this. For a second, the look she gives me is so unguarded and moved, the muscles in my abs ripple. I want to surprise her that way again.
But as soon as it arrives, the look is gone, replaced by one that tells me Stella is thinking about her responsibilities instead of the possibilities of taking me to bed.
“I think we’d better not.” She says it so gently, I almost don’t mind that she’s shutting me down.
Almost.
“Okay,” I say, but keep my gaze on hers. “But in the morning, you’re not allowed to avoid me or pretend this didn’t happen.”
Stella blinks her eyes wide and her bottom lip disappears between her teeth. “What do you mean?”
Oh, man. She was so totally going to avoid me and pretend this didn’t happen. I’m torn between being wounded that she would and gratified that I totally know her.
I know her, and what I don’t know, I want to discover.
“You know what I mean. No avoiding me tomorrow. When you see me at breakfast, you look me in the eyes.”
I’m taking a risk here, and I know it, but if she goes back to pretending like I don’t exist after I’ve kissed her and made her come, I might go nuts.
When guilt flits across her eyes, I know I haven’t pushed too far. “Fair enough,” she says with half a nod. But she stops it at half. “But nobody knows about this.”
Ouch.
It’s my turn to give a half nod, but mine’s diminished because I’m recovering from a sucker punch.
“Hey,” she says, reaching up and touching my face, worry in her eyes. “I don’t mean anything by that. It’s just—”
“I get it.” I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t need her to say it. Neither one of us planned for this. It just happened. And it might not happen again. Especially if she doesn’t want it to.
“No, I don’t think you do.” Her words are gentle but her tone is firm. “I live with my daughter, my brother, and my best friend. And so do you.”
Okay, maybe I didn’t get it. But now I do.
I nod for real this time. “Right. We won’t say anything.” I bite my tongue before the words just yet slip out.
And, hell, where did that come from?
I don’t have time to wonder because Stella is making to wiggle out from under me. I climb off her and offer her a hand to stand. After she takes it and I help her up, I d
on’t let go.
“Can I walk you back to your place?” I tease.
“Better not,” Stella says, but her smile softens the sting. “Don’t want to wake Maisy.”
I nod and squeeze her hand before letting it go.
But then she grabs back again, stretches up on her tiptoes, and offers me her mouth. I bend to take it, and then because I can’t help it, I wrap her up in my arms, and kiss her until we both sway a little.
“Okay,” Stella says, a little breathless some time later.
“Okay,” I pant, forcing myself to step back, but keeping my hands on her hips.
I follow her out into the hallway, and when we reach the middle of the space, I stop and watch her until all I can see is her silhouette. When she reaches her door, I can tell she turns to look back, but I can’t make out her face.
I want to groan when she slips into her room, and I make my way back to the living room. I’ve never been so grateful for a busted AC, but not having a bedroom to disappear into and take matters into my own hand is sort of confining.
At first, I’m sure I won’t sleep. But the sofa where I stretched out on top of Stella smells like her. And—after a while—the air in the room cools my blood. And I shut my eyes, wanting morning to hurry up and get here.
“You snore.”
I peel my eyes open to sunlight streaming into the living room and Maisy staring down at me with her bumble bee stare.
I rub my eyes like it’s an Olympic sport. “Don’t tell anybody,” I croak.
A grin splits her face. “I already told Mama and Livy.”
Great.
“You want cim-mim rolls? Mama made cim-mim rolls.”
I fucking love cinnamon rolls. “Yeah.”
“Well,” she informs me, “you can only have two.”
I stop rubbing my eyes and peer at her. “Why only two?”
“‘Cause. There’s only twelve. We each get two.”
I frown. “But there’s seven of us.”
Maisy blinks at me, clearly too young for her multiplication tables.
I count them out on my fingers. “Two for you. Two for me. Two for your mom—”
“Mama’s not having any,” she blurts.
“Why not?”
Maisy lifts and drops one shoulder. Then the oven’s ancient timer buzzes, and her eyes go Coke-bottle wide.
“They’re ready!” And she’s gone.
I can smell the cinnamon sweetness interwoven with the rich aroma of coffee, and I want to tell Stella that if she ever needs a kidney, she can have one of mine.
I get up and make a quick detour upstairs to change, take a piss, and brush my teeth in case there’s any chance I get to steal a kiss before breakfast.
As soon as I hit the kitchen, I can tell just by looking at Stella she’s nervous. She’s at the stove with a spatula and a cast iron skillet full of scrambled eggs, and her shoulders nearly reach her ears.
The kitchen’s bustling. Tyler sitting at the table with Nina, Livy making tea, Maisy at the table with a cinnamon-icing smile a la The Joker.
“Morning,” I mumble, and Stella drops the spatula. Bits of egg ricochet in every direction. I’m quick and snatch it off the floor before she can, and she meets my eyes on the way up.
“Thank you,” she says, her gaze flitting to and from mine three times. If she’s not careful, she’s going to make herself dizzy. But the sight spurs my grin. At least she’s trying.
Before I hand her the spatula, I take it to the sink and give it a wash.
“Thank you,” she says again, this time more softly, just for me, but she turns back to her pan of eggs with legit speed.
I’d love to just lean against the counter and watch her. She has on that sexy-beyond-reason silk robe, and I know the pajamas I breached last night are what she has on underneath. Possessing this intimate knowledge must be like owning land in Scotland.
Call me Laird Lark.
But instead of ogling her, I turn to the cabinet and grab a mug. “Maisy says you’re not having any cinnamon rolls.” I keep my voice low, but my tone casual.
I glance over my shoulder in time to see her shrug. “I just made a dozen and you all like them.”
It’s shit like this that she does that both ticks me off and turns me on. Because who else makes cinnamon rolls for the whole household and doesn’t have any? Even though she likes them as much as we do?
I pour my coffee, add a splash of milk and a heaping spoonful of sugar. Stella hands me a plate piled with eggs and two cinnamon rolls.
The plate on the counter with two slices of buttered toast is clearly hers.
“Can I trade you a roll for a piece of toast?”
She glances up at me, her green eyes all suspicion. “You don’t want two rolls?”
My grin is pure wickedness. “Nah, I had a lot of sweet last night.”
Wide-eyed and blushing, Stella whips back around to her eggs. “S-Sure.”
I make the swap, giving her one of my cinnamon rolls, and sit down at the table before I do something stupid like bust out a hard-on.
And as I bite into the toast she slathered with salted butter, I can’t help but think this is the sweetest breakfast I’ve ever had.
Chapter Eighteen
STELLA
I’m cleaning up the kitchen an hour later—after dropping off Maisy and jumping in the shower—when Tyler shuffles in from his bedroom.
I’m grateful to think about anything besides last night and the wolfish smiles Lark kept giving me this morning—and the way those smiles stirred my cup—so I give my brother a questioning stare. I know for a fact he didn’t sleep in his bedroom, but I guess he came back down early this morning.
Instead of wearing a guilty expression—or even a self-conscious one—Tyler stares right back.
And now I feel self-conscious.
And maybe a little guilty.
I turn back to the counter I’m clearing, my face hot.
And then Tyler clears his throat.
When I watch him swallow, preparing to say something, I give him my full attention.
“Ca...n...you… ta...ke… me…” He stops and frowns. Tyler looks up at me, and I see frustration.
I can feel my heart in my chest. For him, this question is a milestone, both in length and in intention. “Can I take you where?”
Tyler closes his eyes and then squeezes them tight. A part of me wants to start throwing out guesses like we’re playing charades, but I’ve learned that it’s better just to shut up and let him work it out.
“S...to...re.”
“You want to go to the store? Sure.” I’m ready to get my keys. “We can make it to Albertson’s and back before my first client.”
I hope.
Tyler’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head, irritation obvious in every line of his face.
“Mm.” His grunt is short and hard. I know this is his way of telling me I’ve got it wrong and I need to just listen. I bite my lip and wait.
“S… So…” he begins, and shuts his eyes again, clearly pissed at having to work so hard to get out the word. “So…”
“So? So hard?” I offer, my heart breaking. “I know it’s so hard, T. You’re doing great.”
Tyler’s eyes whip open, electric with anger, and he pounds a fist on the counter. “Ugh!”
I cover my mouth with both hands. “Sorry,” I whisper behind them.
His nostrils flare as he breathes in and out to calm down. He frowns like he’s in pain, and it’s all I can do to stay quiet and motionless.
When he meets my eyes again, I can see disgust in them. But I know it’s not disgust for me. He holds out both hands in front of him, palms up.
Tyler hates talking, but he hates miming even more. I know it makes him feel dumb and small. Whatever he wants, he wants it bad enough to humiliate himself. My heart breaks even more.
“S...o…” He keeps one palm up in a cupping gesture, and he bunches the fingers of the other hand together like h
e’s grabbing something. Then, he taps that hand into his open palm. “S...o…”
“So?” My eyes bug. “Sew! You want to go to a sewing store. A-a fabric store.”
Eyes almost crazy wide and nodding, Tyler breathes in and out. “F...F...ab...ri...c… s...t...ore.”
Joy and relief wash over me. Fabric is a new word for him. He hasn’t had a reason to say it since the accident.
I don’t care why he needs to say it now, I’m just so happy to hear him say a new word.
“I can take you to JoAnn Fabrics.” I grab my phone from the counter and pull it up, checking the store hours. I frown. “They don’t open until ten, and that’s when I have a color. What about this afternoon?”
Tyler’s frown returns, but this one, I can tell, isn’t anger or frustration. It’s concentration. I know because his gaze has shifted down again.
“Ta...ke… me… now.”
His tone tells me he’s not demanding. It’s a suggestion.
“Take you now? Even though they aren’t open?”
He nods.
My breath catches. “You want to wait there?”
He nods again.
I draw my lips in. Since the accident, the only places I’ve dropped him off are his OT and PT appointments. Never once at a store or a shopping center. Never where he’d have to fend for himself, interact with strangers who don’t understand, or communicate on his own.
Shit.
I’m scared out of my mind.
If I think about all the things that could go wrong, I won’t be able to move. I’d ask Pen to do it, but she just left to meet with a new client, and Lark has class. Nobody else here has a car, and I’m sure as hell not going to ask Mom or Dad to help. They’d stress out, and then Tyler would stress out.
But just looking at the hope in Tyler’s eyes makes doing anything other than helping him impossible.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Okay.”
It takes me a few minutes, but I put together a plan with some safeguards. We dig up Tyler’s iPhone 6 and charge it. Until now he’s had zero interest in using it because of the fine motor control it requires, but even if he doesn’t need it, I can use the location-tracking to make sure he’s okay and find him if things go sideways.
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