Stepbrother Thief (14 page)

“I didn't even know they made these,” he whispers, and I laugh, the sound turning into a moan as he pushes the cups back and takes my breasts in his hands.
I bought it special for you,
I want to say, but the words won't come, replaced by animalistic groans that bring more heat to my face.

I can't seem to help it though. With Gill's hands on my breasts, his body between my legs, it's hard to remember to even breathe.

“One second,” I whisper, rolling partially onto my side and snagging my jeans off the floor. I came prepared. “Got it,” I say as I pull a few condoms out and flop back onto my back, looking up at Gill and his bemused facial expression. “Here. Put this on.”

“Wow, you really did think this whole thing out, didn't you?” he says, his voice warm and his eyes gentle. Gill's strong, no doubt about that, but he knows when to show a different side. I can see it right here, right now, and it's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. I don't tell him that out loud though—he'd probably tease me if I did.

“Just put it on,” I whisper, a fire burning down below that I can't wait to quench. If his fingers feel that good then …

“
Oui, mademoiselle,
” he whispers back, leaning down and kissing me softly, our lips barely brushing as he breathes against my mouth, “I aim to please.”

I bite my lower lip as he scoots back and slides off the end of the bed, dropping his pants to the floor and giving me a wry look over his shoulder.

“What do you think? I've been told I have a nice ass.”

“Screw you,” I whisper, but my voice sounds too breathy to really be mine. I sit up, shrugging off my bra and tossing it to the floor. The panties follow after, smacking Gill right in the chest—totally by accident, of course.

The warm air in the bedroom seems suddenly chill as I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, watching as Gilleon stands there buck naked and peruses the writing on the condom package.

“I know we're both virgins, but it's not that hard to figure out,” I say with a slight smile. Butterflies are taking over my stomach and making it hard to think straight. Mostly I just want him to stop looking at it and put the damn thing on.

“
Feels like nothing at all,
” Gill reads and then smiles, looking up at me. “Did you pick these out special?”

“I ordered them off the Internet—after reading lots of reviews.” I turn away because it's hard to have a conversation with someone who's so buff and beautiful and … excited. His laughter makes me purse my lips as he climbs back onto the bed and curls his fingers around my knees, slowly opening my legs up.

I turn back and we lock gazes, blue to brown. Gill's lips are gently parted as he looks down at me, watches me lean back onto the bed, my honey blonde hair spread out across the stark white of his pillowcase.

When he leans down over me, our bare skin brushing with an electric thrill, heat rushes through me and I find myself opening wider, reaching up and resting my fingers on the back of Gill's neck.

The talking is over, the joking put on hold.

I feel him at my opening, hard and ready, as desperate for me as I am for him.

“Regi,” he whispers as he pushes inside, sliding deep and drawing a sharp gasp from me. It doesn't hurt, not really, but I feel tight, stretched, full. Knowing that that's Gill, the boy with the sharp wit and the fierce love, the loyalty that never quits, makes my head spin in the best way possible.

I groan, the hardness of my nipples brushing against the muscles of his chest as he starts to move, slowly at first but picking up speed, abs contracting as his hips move to a rhythm that we both somehow know instinctually.

I close my eyes, lashes fluttering against my cheeks, as pleasure slides through me, like ripples in a pond, starting down below and taking over until I can feel Gill everywhere—in my fingertips, my toes, my lips. He leans down and kisses me fiercely but lovingly, like I belong to him and he belongs to me. Together. Forever. I really believe that, really and truly believe that. Gill and me, we're made for each other.

My eyes open and I stare up into Gill's as his breath comes faster, as mine picks up speed to match, our bodies slipping and sliding together in an erotic dance. I raise my hips to meet his, hook one leg tightly around him and encourage him to go deeper, move faster, hit harder.

When the orgasm hits me, suddenly and unexpectedly, my body soars while my heart falls. Far. And hard. I fall so hard for Gilleon Marchal then that I know it'll be impossible to ever climb out.

“We met when I was sixteen and he was seventeen,” I tell Aveline, memories sweeping over me and threatening to smother me in the avalanche of emotions that comes with them.
The past doesn't control me; I control my future.
I take a deep breath and lean back, relaxing into the white and blue throw pillows and tugging the white afghan over my legs. Aveline listens intently, even as I know she's keeping an eye and an ear out for trouble. “That was the day he moved in for good, two weeks before our parents' wedding. I'd known Cliff for a while before that, and I liked him alright, but I was really upset about my mother getting remarried.”

I tap my fingers on the back of the couch, forcing myself through a condensed version of the story. If I have someone to talk to for this next week of forced isolation, I'll feel a whole lot better. It's almost become a desperate need for Aveline to know everything. “My dad died of melanoma a few years earlier and I still wasn't over it.” I swirl the red wine around in my glass and then take a tentative sip, letting the alcohol crash into my empty belly. “Gill helped me through that. He was … nice and he was funny and he was the only person I'd ever met who valued family as much as I did. He
understood
me, and when he looked at me, I felt like he saw me.” I take another sip of wine. “Really and truly
saw
me. When we moved to France, he kept me going, helped me when I stumbled through the language, when I missed my friends, when I thought about flying back to live with my grandma in California. He kept me there, taught me to be happy, to appreciate my new circumstances.” My eyes mist as I get to the next part of the story. I won't cry about Gill, spent way too many years crying over him. But my mom? Ouch. That still hurts, and I'm not ashamed of it. “When my mother passed away in an accident, he was there for me. In fact, to this day I feel like he's the only reason I survived that.”

I check the stairs again, check to make sure we're really and truly alone. I know Cliff knows this story, but Solène … she doesn't need to hear it.

“We stayed together until I was twenty-one,” I say, my eyes glazing over as I remember the ring Gill gave me, tucked it right in my hand while we were taking a walk. He didn't even say anything, just looked at me with that love in his eyes and … I was his. Of course it was a yes. It was always going to be a yes. “But then one day … one day he just left.” I fight back the pain, kick at it and shove it until it falls away and leaves the emptiness. I don't like that either, but it seems to fade more quickly, so I'll take it. “He left a letter telling me how much he loved me, but how we wouldn't work. Said he was going and that he wouldn't be back, that he'd asked Cliff not to give me his number or his address, that maybe one day we could talk but it wouldn't be anytime soon.”

I feel my jaw clench, that old anger rising up to bite me in the ass.

I want to stand up right now and throw my wineglass at the wall, scream and shout and curse his name like I did that day. But I don't. I won't allow myself to get that caught up in a memory.

“I … had something to tell him, but … when I tried to contact him …”

My stomach twists when I think about how I begged and pleaded Cliff, how I browbeat him into giving me Gill's temporary address at that hotel, how I went there, how Gill refused to answer the door. I knew he was in there though, so I rented the room next door and went onto the balcony. That's when I saw him, sitting in one of the chairs outside, staring into the night sky with tears on either side of his face. I knew then that he wasn't going to talk to me, that no matter what I said, it wouldn't change things. “I got Cliff to tell me where he was anyway, went and banged on the door to his hotel room.” I sigh at the sad, miserable person I was then. I feel for her even now, but I promised myself that I will never, ever let myself become her again. “He didn't answer, even though he was inside.”

“The thing you went to tell him about …” Aveline begins and I nod. She's perceptive enough, smart enough, that I don't even have to say anything aloud.

“The day I found that letter, the day he left, I spent the morning walking around the city with some girlfriends of mine, shopping for the future we'd never have. I remember feeling so much love for him that I thought my heart would burst from my chest.” My fingers tighten around the stem of the wineglass. “That letter was the last thing I ever expected to find, and it nearly killed me.” I swirl my wine around and take another drink. “My love for Gill very nearly killed me.”

Before Aveline can respond, there's a knock at the front door and she gets up to answer it, sliding off the chains and flicking the deadbolt before Gill steps inside. When he looks over at me, blue eyes sparking, I feel a little thrill of fear inside my chest and can only wonder how much of my story he managed to overhear.

“Ooh!” Solène exclaims as I turn the page in the magazine and her fingers trail across the sea of colorful dresses. “
Je les aime tous.
”
I love
them all.

I shake my head.

“Nope,” I say, leaning my head against hers. “You know the rule. You have to pick one.” I sit up and laugh as she pouts her lips and shakes her dark curls out. We're almost a full week into this mess, but at least we've got the basics back—underwear, pajamas, toothbrushes, a curling iron for Solène. I can't believe she's nine and already curling her hair, but I roll with it. I suppose I really don't have any room to talk. I snuck red lipstick to school when I was her age and got in trouble from the teacher. My mom, though, she didn't mind. No, I don't think she wanted her nine year old wearing grenadine red lip color, but she smiled softly and showed me how to put it on properly, and then she explained that I was still a kid and that I should enjoy being one while I could.

I miss her so bad it hurts and find my fingers unconsciously drawn to the diamond pendant hanging around my neck.

“This one. Don't you think it would bring out my eyes?” Solène blinks her long dark lashes at me, showing off those pretty cornflower blue eyes of hers. “Papa, don't you think I'd look pretty in this?” She lifts up the magazine and shows it to Cliff. He immediately takes his eyes off the TV and gives Solène his full attention, reaching out to grab the magazine between his fingers.

“Oh, that one is beautiful,” he tells her, examining the page with true interest. “The skirt's a little short though.”

“Papa!” Solène whines, laying her head back against the couch. I take that moment to glance surreptitiously towards the formal dining room where Gill sits, watching us. Our eyes meet, but he doesn't look away, challenging me with that sharp gaze of his. For the past week, he's been avoiding me, and when I track him down to ask questions, he gives me vagaries that make my teeth hurt. I'd think something was wrong if I wasn't so sure that he just didn't want to talk to me anymore.
How much of that conversation between Aveline and me did he hear?
I feel like it must've been more than just a word or two.

I stare back at him as Solène presents a brilliant feminist argument in favor of the dress that far exceeds her years, and challenge him with the look.
Why are you staring, you prick? Do you wish you had a family? Do you regret abandoning us all those years ago? Well, fuck you.

More and more lately, I notice Gilleon watching, cataloguing, surveying. He keeps examining Solène, examining me. I said all he had to do was open his eyes and look; I'm terrified that he's looking now.