Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 71

"I don't need anybody checking up on me, least of all you."

I break into a jog. Of course, he follows me. Suddenly I realize this might be a mistake. I'm moving away from all the people, towards a patch of preserved forest on the southeast corner of the grounds. Where the trees start up ahead, it's dark, the path shadowed and secluded. Lucas easily keeps pace, and I'm already winded from jogging this far. When I look back it feels like it's a million miles back to the museum or the garden or the house, and I'm stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with him.

Deep breaths. I'm being silly. He wouldn't try anything, would he?

Either way, I don't want to be out here, or anywhere else, alone with him. So I stop, turn without giving myself time to feel winded, and start jogging back.

He moves to block my path. When I try to cut around him he moves again, with surprising grace for his side.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I'm tired. Excuse me."

Lucas' hand shoots out and clamps down on my arm.

"Hey, no rush."

I shake my arm, but he doesn't let go.

"Get off of me, Lucas," I warn, my voice rising. "I'm not joking. Don't touch me."

He yanks my arm and I stumble, drive my elbow into his stomach and try to shake loose. All I end up doing is sliding my arm in his grip, so he has me by the wrist.

"That hurt, you little b.i.t.c.h. Why don't you just-"

"What's going on here?"

It can't be.

Apollo comes jogging up the path, the heat-haze behind him s.h.i.+mmering. He slows as he approaches. His eyes fix on Lucas' hand on my wrist.

"She said let go, meathead."

"You again," Lucas growls, releasing me as he steps forward. "You need to learn to stay out of my business."

"Do I? I think you need to learn to stay out of my business."

"What?"

Apollo nods at me.

"She's my business."

Lucas summons all of his eloquence and growls, "f.u.c.k off."

"I don't think so. Come on, Diana. I'll walk you home."

I move towards Apollo and Lucas blocks my way, turned sideways, one eye on Apollo.

"I don't know how you think this is going to go, but it's not going to be good for you," Apollo says, his voice jovial, almost joking.

Then, Lucas takes a swing at him.

Apollo just folds out of the way, twisting so smoothly I can barely believe he kept his balance. Lucas stumbles right past him, but apparently that wasn't enough for him. He turns around, swinging his meaty fist in a backhanded blow that connects with nothing but air. Apollo ducks the blow like he saw it coming last week and isn't all that concerned about it. Lucas grabs at him and again, nothing.

"I know what you're going to do before you do it," Apollo sighs. "Just give up."

Lucas' face goes from red to purple as he tries another grab and again, Apollo just slips out of the way, like there's nothing to it at all.

"That's not going to work. I'm like water."

"What?" Lucas snorts. "You little s.h.i.+t."

Another grab, another miss. Apollo dances back, well out of s.n.a.t.c.hing range.

"I'm warning you."

Lucas dives at him.

"Water can flow," Apollo sighs, "Or it can crash."

He spins on the ball of his foot and kicks, and his other foot connects with the side of Lucas' head. Lucas goes tumbling into the gra.s.s, clutching his ear, and curls into a ball. He tries to get up but just flounds and flops there, moaning and clutching his ear. The look on his face is shocking, somewhere between confusion and fear. Apollo takes my hand before I even realize he'd moved. His touch his soft, deceptively so considering what he just did. His fingers lace through mine.

"Come on," he says, very softly. "Let's go."

I walk back to the house with him in silence, leaving Lucas lie there. Apollo still has my hand.

I slip my fingers loose from his grip and stick my hand in my pocket. He does the same.

"What's up with him?"

"I'll be blunt. He wants to f.u.c.k me. My mother has been egging him on."

"Uh, why?"

"Because," I sigh, blinking back the burning in my eyes. "To her I'm just a little doll to play with as she likes. I have to do everything her way, no matter what. I guess she wants me to have a star football player boyfriend. It doesn't matter that he's a lecherous creep and I can't stand him. She doesn't see things the way they are. She sees the way she wants it to be, and if reality doesn't fit her vision, reality is what's broken."

"You've been arguing with her."

"Yeah. I have to reply to admission letters by the end of the month. She wants me to go where she went, do what she did. I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to be a museum whatever. I want to do something different. Besides, her life sucks. Why would I want to emulate it?"

"It can't suck that bad. She's got you."

I snort.

"Very smooth." I sigh. "We used to be closer but she's just seemed so bitter and controlling ever since I started high school, really. Lucas has been on me since I was a freshman. First year, it was grade school s.h.i.+t, and then he turned all the girls against me. There's these cliques..."

"Clicks?"

"Cliques. With a Q. Anyway Lucas has all the popular girls wrapped around his little finger. I don't even matter to him. It's not me he wants, it's the girl that's always turning him down. It could be anybody. Mom doesn't see that. He's good at showing a different side to people when he wants to. I think he's a sociopath."

"Huh," Apollo says, a hint of a nervous tone in his voice. "Well, that's all over now, right? No more high school s.h.i.+t."

"I hope so. You can't imagine how disappointed I'll be if I start school in the fall and it's High School, Part II."

He snorts. "I guess so. Hey, look, house."

There it is.

"What are you doing today?"

"Me? Being a man about town, I guess. I had nothing planned."

"Why don't we..." I trail off.

Why don't we what? I can think of a few things. I have a hard time not thinking of those few things, point of fact, especially when I look at him. I almost have to grip the sides of my pockets to keep from touching him.

"I'm not sure. Diana, my father..."

"Had a talk with you about me, yeah, I know. Look, I know it makes it weird if our parents are... involved."

"Makes what weird?"

"Come inside. I need to take a shower."

"Uh, is that an invitation?"

"You're staying in the kitchen."

"Oh."

He deposits himself in the living room instead, and turns on the television while I head upstairs, my heart pounding. I could invite him to take a shower with me. I think I'd rather enjoy that.

Slow down, Diana. You met this guy what, three days ago? You hardly know anything about him and...

He's incredible. Call me what you will, that little show with Lucas got my motor going. He's so primal. I wonder if he's down there picturing me up here naked in the bathroom. I hang my robe on the hook and stuff my sweaty clothes in the hamper, and get under the water. It soaks hot into my hair and smooths it down my back, and the water flows between my legs. My eyes flutter open a little, then closed again as I think about Apollo moving the way he did, so lithe and graceful, almost like a dancer. There's a lot of power in his body.

I lean back against the wall and slide my hands between my legs. The wetness I find there isn't from the shower at all. I close my eyes and stifle a little sound as I begin to slide my fingers along my lower lips, the stimulation sending s.h.i.+vers down my legs that make my knees buckle. I sink to the bottom of the shower, sitting in the spray, and hug myself thinking about when I was in his lap, feeling his hard-on pressed into me, the way his hands pressed lightly into my skin and his taste filled my mouth as I kissed him and lunged on top of him. My legs trap my hand and I start circling my c.l.i.t with my finger, shuddering when the sensation is almost too intense, but I feel a sudden desperation for release.

It doesn't take long. It's like just thinking about him drives me higher and higher, until I have to press the back of my hand against my mouth and stifle the sounds as I drive myself to further heights of pleasure. Part of me wants him to burst through the door, strip, and get in here with me. My toes curl as the peak hits and I curl up into a ball, whimpering, almost biting my hand. As it fades my legs stretch out until my feet hit the other side of the tub, and the water just pours over me.

That wasn't good enough.

I stand up, leaning on the wall for balance. I feel more winded now than I did before, and no less excited. I lean on the wall under the shower, rest my head against it, and just let it pour over me. Then I turn it up, until the room fills up with steam, and let it scour down my back. I don't know what I want my life to be anymore. I don't know what Apollo is doing in my house. I don't understand anything that's happening to me. When I finally turn it off I'm so used to the heat my teeth start chattering and I start s.h.i.+vering as I towel off, wrap up in my robe, and open the door.

It would be nice if Apollo was waiting outside to grab me, but he's not. I pad barefoot and dripping over to my bedroom, close the door, and listen to the soft sounds of the television from below. After I put on a long t-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of threadbare shorts, I walk slowly down the stairs, my hair still wrapped up in a towel. He's sitting on the couch, and he has his feet up on the coffee table. Mom would be furious.

"Hey."

"Hey," he glances over his shoulder, and the look is heavier than an outright stare from someone else.

I'm doing the lip bite thing again.

"Want something to eat?"

"Nah. I'm thirsty, though."

I grab a couple of sodas from the fridge and hand him one as I sit down. I"m not sure what to do. Do I scoot closer, so we're touching? What am I even trying to accomplish here? His fingers brush mine and the cold of the can makes them feel warmer as I pa.s.s it off to him. I look over and realize he hasn't been paying attention to the show playing on the television since I walked in the room, any more than I have.

"I don't know anything about you."

"I don't know much about you, either," he confesses, s.h.i.+fting a little closer on the couch. "I know you're compa.s.sionate, bold, thoughtful. You care about your friends. I think I envy you."

"Envy me?"

He shrugs. "I've never had friends my own age, not even acquaintances, really. My mother died when I was young. She raised me herself until my father came and took me, after she..."

"I'm sorry," I mutter, looking down at the floor, past my soda can. I take a drink but it doesn't cool the heat in my chest. "I feel like s.h.i.+t for b.i.t.c.hing about her in front of you."

"It's not like that."

I glance over at him. "So what's it like?"

"You know I have clear instructions to stay away from you. Yet here I am."

I set the can on the table (on a coaster!) and turn to face him, sitting sideways so my elbow leans on the back of the couch, and prop my hand on my chin. He leans back, turns a little to face me. I can feel him trying to force his eyes still but they keep roaming over me. My shorts are hiked right up to my hips. I cross my legs, and his eyes wander down to settle on them. I must have still been a little damp when I dressed. I can feel the cloth clinging to my s.h.i.+rt.

I am such an amateur.

He puts his can next to mine and slides over. This time his eyes are on mine, and they don't waver. The longer he holds the stare with me, the tighter I feel in my stomach, like I'm coiling up. I think he's going to lean in and kiss me.

Instead he yanks the towel off my hair and drops it on the floor behind the couch, pulls me to him, and buries his face in my wet hair. He breathes deep, his chest expanding against me as his arms slide around me. He breaths out slow and his hot breath tickles my skin, and he does again.

"What are you..."

"Savoring you," he says, and tugs me closer. I"m almost on his lap.

Now he kisses me. Oh G.o.d I'm melting. It's like swallowing a spoonful of warm honey. Before I know it I fall back on the couch and take him with me, and he's lying on top of me, lips locked with mine.

Oh.

His hands slide up my forearms to rest on my palms, and lightly hold them down, while his thumbs trace little circles around my knuckles and the kiss deepens. I'm as hungry for it as he is. I can't keep my hands off him, feeling the muscles on his stomach and sides twist and bunch when he moves, spreading my fingers across his chest. I slip my legs around him and he breaks from the kiss, his tightly muscled chest heaving against me as he catches his breath, only to start again when I've barely caught mine. It's as if we don't have enough time and he wants as many kisses as he can before we have to stop.

Do we have to stop? Why can't I want this?