Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 72

I feel his hand cool on my side, slipping up into my s.h.i.+rt. My eyes flutter open but I don't stop him, if anything I welcome it by doing the same. His skin is smooth. There's a scar up his side from some injury and I find myself unable to stop tracing it with my finger. He s.h.i.+fts so he's lying on his side, pulling me against him, my head cradled on his arm while his other hand moves lightly over my ribs, down to my hip, and back again, each time edging a little closer to my breast. He must be able to feel my heart beating. Finally I gasp as his hand slides up, cups my breast and ever so lightly squeezes, his thumb brus.h.i.+ng over my nipple. He goes still and I know he can feel my heart now, pounding in my chest.

Another kiss. He pulls back a little, smirking as he makes me sit up to reach him, teasing me for it. He rises further and pulls me onto his lap so I sit there straddling him. I can feel his erection, his hard-on pressed between my stomach and his. It startles me when I realize how big it feels. I've never done anything like this before. His hands roam under my s.h.i.+rt up my back with the same attention he paid to my chest, his fingertips tracing every little contour and dip in the muscles, tracing up my spine. Then his mouth finds my throat, and one hand slips up to my shoulder blades to pull me close, while the other works into my shorts. He spreads his fingers, cups my b.u.t.t, and squeezes. I let out a little squeak and he laughs.

"You ever been spanked before?"

"Spanked?"

"You have a spankable a.s.s."

Before I can argue he slips his hand free of my clothes, and smack, a shock shoots up my spine from the impact of his hand on my a.s.s.

That felt... good.

I arch my back a little, s.h.i.+fting in his lap, and he groans as his c.o.c.k grinds against my stomach. I wiggle my b.u.t.t and he lands another stinging smack on me, and I shudder. It feels good, like a tart taste, or dipping my toes in ice cold water.

"Again."

His hand hits my rump, and then slides up my back, along with his other one. I wriggle as he pulls my s.h.i.+rt up all at once, pulling my arms up with it, and he twists the cloth and pulls it tight, so only my mouth is exposed and my arms are trapped next to my head, and I'm not wearing a bra and I feel so naked. He keeps the cloth knotted in one hand and pulls me close to him, only the thin cotton of his s.h.i.+rt separating him from me, his skin from mine. I'm s.h.i.+vering, not from cold, but just because I'm naked. He can see my bare chest. I've never... I even kept myself covered up in the locker room.

His mouth brushes mine in an almost kiss, and his voice is in a whisper so soft I feel it as much as hear it.

"Shy, aren't you?"

I nod, just a little. As much as I can.

"Why? You're beautiful."

A shudder rolls through me and my gasp turns into a kiss as his lips meet mine. The s.h.i.+rt slides up as he tugs it loose and, heart pounding like a fist against my ribs, I let it fall to the floor and sit topless in his lap. I open my eyes as he holds my sides, slip my arms around his head and kiss him, harder. His hair is silky smooth in my fingers, his skin warm. He squeezes my b.u.t.t with both hands and I wince, a little sore from where he smacked my rump. I like it anyway.

Everything like this is new. I've never had anyone pay attention to me like this before, touch me like they wanted me to feel pleasure from it. He keeps kissing me and his hands work their way up, until he holds my b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands, lets them slide against his skin. He runs his thumbs under them, and the skin there is so sensitive I can't help it, I break out laughing.

"You're not wearing underwear," he murmurs in my ear.

"No," I admit, breathless. "I'm not."

"I wonder why. Did you think I was going to do something to you?"

He turns me in his lap and his hand slips down the front of my shorts, between my legs. When his finger runs along my slit, it makes my whole body tense up. I shudder and press against him, slip my arms around him. His finger eases back and forth, back and forth, and I realize how wet I am. It's soaking through the light cotton of my shorts.

Then he starts to press his finger inside me, and I feel a shudder through his body. It feels so weird, but good, feeling him move deeper and deeper, and it's only a finger! He trembles with excitement, kisses my cheek softly and sniffs my hair.

For the first time since I met him, he sounds nervous. "Are you, ah, are you, um..."

I swallow, hard. "This is my first time." The words are heavy with a certain a.s.sumption.

His other hand cradles my head, and I s.h.i.+ft in his lap. His finger slides inside me and he starts to slowly, lightly rub his palm against my c.l.i.t. Oh G.o.d.

"I want you to c.u.m for me," He murmurs in my ear.

I hug my arms around him. "Please."

His finger works as his palm rubs, and I start grinding on his hand, riding him almost. I clutch his shoulders and shudder, it feels so good.

"Take off your shorts."

I scramble to get them off, slide them down my legs and then I'm buck naked on his lap, my left a.s.s cheek red from being spanked. He grabs the s.h.i.+rt and spreads it on the couch, drops me on it, and falls to his knees in front of me.

Oh.

I slide down, rounding my back, and rest my feet on the floor. When he runs his tongue over my p.u.s.s.y I cry out, gripping the edge of the couch in both hands. Oh my G.o.d. Just when I thought I couldn't handle that, he really starts, running his tongue over my slit as I writhe on the couch. I can't help myself. I throw my legs over his shoulders and sink my fingers in his hair, and it's like he's reading me, like he can feel it when I'm getting close, and slows, so it fades, then pushes me harder. His mouth isn't enough. He slips his finger inside me again as his lips and tongue move hot and slippery over my skin, as he sucks my c.l.i.t.

I can't take it anymore. I curl up around him, panting, gasping for breath, trying to hold back the noises that boil hot in my chest and sc.r.a.pe out of my throat as I cry out and arch back into the sofa, begging him for more, more, please, don't stop. He doesn't until I get so sensitive I have to twist away from him, and he slips up onto the couch next to me and pulls me against him as I shudder and my legs twitch.

"Holy s.h.i.+t, " I purr, turning, awkwardly. I press against him. I want him. I want him. More. I stick my hand down his pants and grab his c.o.c.k, and he undulates on the sofa.

"Wait."

"Why?"

"I don't... I didn't bring protection, I wasn't planning to..."

"I want you."

"Not yet."

"Then let me..."

He unzips his pants and I hold his erection in my hand, staring at it as I stroke my hand up and down his length. It feels rough, and the skin catches against mine, so I lick my hand to make it slipper before I start again. The slight of it stirs something in him, and the tip of his c.o.c.k flares bigger. It's just an impulse, I don't know why I do it.

I take him in my mouth, resting my head on his stomach as I suck and stroke. It feels weirdly soothing, and I feel... possessed when he rests his arm over my back, and uses his fingers to tug damp strands of hair away from my mouth as I suck him and slide him through my lips and stroke him.

He likes it. He doesn't take long. He groans and arches into the couch, pus.h.i.+ng up, thrusting through my hand, his body tight as a whip, a coiled spring. It's almost like he's in pain, and then...

When it's over he goes limp, a little smile on his face. I sit up, and he looks at me.

"I'm supposed to swallow it, right?"

His answer is a kiss. G.o.d, if somebody caught us like this.

Chapter 9: Apollo.

G.o.d help me.

I can't stop touching her. It's not just the afterglow, the exhilaration. She's perfect. Those few moments will be etched in my memory forever. Her shyness, the subtle way she was afraid but still bold as I peeled off her clothes, and begging me to spank her.

As she curls up naked against my side, I want nothing more than to lay her down and take her, thrust inside her and feel her shudder and writhe with pleasure, feel her tighten around me as she peaks, over and over and over until she pa.s.ses out from pleasure. I want her to be mine forever.

What am I doing? I can't do this to her. I can't. The way she's touching me now, stroking my chest, nestled under my arm. When I look down she looks back at me with, what? Adoration?

How can something so awful be so perfect? How can she not sense that I'm here to destroy her?

What am I going to do?

Oh, great. She's asleep.

She starts snoring. Even that is endearing. She looks like an angel when she's sleeping. Her hair is all tangled, she's flushed and sweaty, and so gloriously naked, her big b.r.e.a.s.t.s resting against me, her skin so silky as she breathes in her sleep. She snorts and s.h.i.+fts and the snoring stops, but her breath tickles my armpit. It's never been like this before. We didn't even go all the way and all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and protect her. She looks so delicate like this, something truly rare and precious.

It takes some doing to detach from her, but I manage it. I lay her down on the couch and wrap her up in a blanket, and she curls up into the fetal position and settles there. I tug my shorts back up and sit next to her, wondering what in the h.e.l.l I'm going to do about this. I don't want to hurt her.

I sag, my head falling into my hands, and feel the world spinning around me. This was such a mistake. I should have just left when I had the chance, and now... now what is she going to think? The way she looks at me, n.o.body has ever looked at me like that before. She sees me, if that makes any sense.

She keeps rubbing her feet together. Her toes must be cold. I pull the blanket over them and she stops, makes a soft sound, and stills in her sleep.

Time to go, Apollo. Get up and walk out, call her later.

I'm supposed to search the house for the codes but I don't even know where to start. I can't bring myself to leave. I should go somewhere, do something.

Somehow, I manage to sit there for an hour or more, staring at nothing. No answer presents itself to me. What am I going to do?

Then she wakes up. She yawns, looks over, and smiles, wraps the blanket around her wonderfully naked body and downs the rest of a can of warm, probably flat orange soda, and puts her head on my shoulder. Her arm slides around my waist.

I know, rationally, I need to pull away from her. I can't. I hold her back, lean back into the sofa and look past her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

I flinch. You're d.a.m.n right I'm lying. I'm here to rob you. You're the means to an end. This is just a job.

Except it isn't anymore.

The concern on her face only makes her more beautiful. Then she does it. She touches my cheek, runs her hand over the stubble and smiles.

"Talk to me. I don't know anything about you."

"What is there to tell?"

I have a cover story. We went through it together, point by point, but the details are slipping away from me now, like trying to grasp too big a handful of sand. I can't tell her the truth.

"Where are you even from?"

"Bayonne. I grew up in a housing project with my mother."

"Housing project? I thought..."

"That we're rich? I guess we'd have to be, to be donors, or whatever, right? My father is. My mother wasn't. He wasn't around when I was younger."

"That's awful. Where did he go?"

"He never told me," which is almost accurate. My father's life before he took me into it is a void. I don't know how much, if any, of what he's told me is true. What he has told me amounts of a few scant details, pieces of a puzzle that don't always fit.

I wrote off the inconsistencies as indicators of truth, to be honest. The real world is never perfect, things never make absolute sense. That's the foundation of a good lie, knowing the difference between something that makes too little sense to be true and something that makes too little sense to be false.

My deep breath turns into a sigh.

"She got sick. Lung cancer."

"Did she smoke?"

"No. Didn't help."

"Oh." Her hand presses to my chest as she rubs her cheek into my side. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"I'm still sorry. That's awful. How old were you?"

"Thirteen. Dad came for me then. Took me under his wing. I think Mom got word to him somehow. He came and took me after the funeral. I didn't have anybody else. Mom was an only child and her parents were dead."

"Why didn't he help you while she was alive?"

I have to roll that question around a bit. You know, I don't know the answer. He didn't have to be there. He could have at least sent money, kept us in better conditions, done something about her care when the insurance dropped. It was like he never checked on us at all.

"I don't know. I guess he took me in because he felt guilty."

"You seem a little distant with him," she sighs. "Look, I..." her voice catches, just a bit. "I like you a lot, but I don't know about him. I may be fighting with her but she's still my mom. Is he going to hurt her?"

I pull her close to me.

"I don't know. I think he feels stronger about her than he wants to admit."

That much is true. He's been acting off this whole time, ever since the last job. I don't know if it's affection for Carol or not.

"He doesn't sound like a nice person. Leaving you two alone all that time..."

"He had his reasons."

"Sounds like you trust him."

"Yeah."