Stepbrother Thief (26 page)

No!
My mind rails against the lack of oxygen and I start to thrash, my body panicking even though my thoughts have just gone eerily calm. In the back of my mind, I recognize a dark shadow and a splash above me, but I decide that I don't care, that I'm too tired. Right now, all I want to do is sleep. When I get up, I'll find a way out of this pool.

Something warm and strong wraps around me, something familiar, dragging me through the water and into the air like I'm floating. Somehow, someway, I end up on my back on the pavement, breath still a far gone dream as I try to blink away the pain and droplets of water clinging to my lashes.

Warmth presses in on my lips, a tingling sensation that feels too good to be dragging water from my lungs. I sit up slightly, the hot dance of fingertips on my arm, and cough until my chest hurts, until my stomach muscles are aching from clenching so hard, and then I fall back to the cement.

It takes several moments of slow breathing for me to orient myself, and when I finally do, I realize what just happened.
I almost died.
And somebody had to save me.

I sit up suddenly and look around, the ghostly tingle of familiar fingers still on my arms, my lips.

It's stupid. And impossible. And pathetic for me to even think it, but …

“Gilleon?” I ask quietly, voice echoing around the empty room. Somewhere in the hallway, I think I hear one of the locker room doors slam, but by the time I get up and peek inside the ladies' room, I can't find anyone. Dizzy and unsure on my feet, I wait outside the men's until I get too fed up and barge inside anyway.

There's nobody there either.

There's nobody here at all, least of all Gilleon.

I dry off and change clothes, heading outside and starting down the sidewalk back to Cliff's apartment.

I can't seem to shake the feeling that someone watches me the entire way home.

#

I sweep some hair off my forehead and blink away the memory. I've got enough to worry about in the here and now that random trips down memory lane are probably best left off my schedule, but still …

I wait as Gill climbs out of the pool, his dark green shorts slung low on his hips, his powerful pecs glistening with water, and his nipples rock hard. I can't seem to look away.

“Hey,” he says, raven dark hair dripping onto his forehead. “How's your book?”

“I haven't even looked at it yet,” I admit, drinking in his body like I'm parched, like I'm trapped in the desert and Gilleon's my oasis. He notices it, too, and his eyes shimmer with amusement as he lifts his powerful arms up to towel dry that dark hair of his, leaving it damp and tousled and oh so sexy. “Gilleon,” I start, wondering if I'm about to make a terrible mistake in asking the question that's tingling my lips, “can I ask you something?” I set my book on the plastic side table next to the chair and sit up, swinging my legs over and onto the pavement so that I'm facing Gill, so that I'm perfectly at eye level with the waistband of his wet swim trunks and the small dark patch of hair that trails beneath it, leading down to better places.

With effort, I force my gaze up the long line of his body so that I can look into his eyes.

“Of course,” he says, his voice a rough whisper, like he can sense what's on my mind. “You can ask me anything.” Gill's lips twitch in amusement. “But I might not be able to answer all of it.”

I take a deep breath, drawing the sharp bite of chlorine into my lungs. It's that smell, I think, that triggered the memory. They say scent's the most powerful reminder there is. I can totally believe that—Gill's spicy sweet scent still gets under my skin like nothing else.

I keep my eyes trained on his, even if they'd rather wander elsewhere. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. What happens if I get fooled a third time? Where does the blame lie then?

“About six months after Solène was born, I started swimming at one of the public pools late at night, on a favor from the manager.” I wet my suddenly dry lips.
Mon Dieu, this is harder than I thought it would be.
It should be a simple question, an easy ask and an even easier
no
for Gilleon because there's no way in hell he could've been there, right? But it's not. This is one of the hardest questions I've ever asked in my life.

I notice right away the sudden tension in Gill's powerful shoulders, the way his blue eyes darken and his breathing turns rapid.

There's no way. There's just no way.

“I tripped and fell in the pool,” I say, unable to stop the words even though I think I already have my answer. “And somebody saved me, gave me mouth-to-mouth. Gill … was that you?”

The silence that follows my question is more than enough to confirm my suspicions.

I feel my eyes go wide and my fingers curl around the edge of the lounge chair.

“Gilleon,” I say, feeling my own breathing picking up speed. “How could you? How could you have been so close and still have said nothing to me? I was aching, Gill. I was bleeding, and it wasn't just from hitting my head on the cement.”

“I'm sorry, Regi,” Gill growls, anger riding up and over him. Not at me, I don't think, but it's there. At who, at what, that's what I need to know. I watch as he rakes his fingers through his wet hair and lets the towel fall around his shoulders. “I couldn't be with you. I shouldn't even be with you now, but I couldn't take it anymore. Being separated from you was killing me. It was fucking
killing
me, Regina.” He fists a hand over his heart and closes his eyes, taking a step back like he needs to find some space for himself, a moment of alone time to process this. I don't let him dodge the questions, reaching out and curling my fingers around the waistband of his shorts.

The contact between us ignites in an instant, my fingertips grazing the smooth, hard planes of his belly as I swallow hard against the surge of emotion that rises up in me.

“Why run away only to come back? I don't understand, Gill, and I want to. I
need
to.”

“I love you, Regi,” he says with a sigh and a shake of his head. “I love you, and love is selfish.”

He breathes out, a rough, harsh sound that makes my fingers curl tighter around his waistband. Down below, an aching begins, hot and fierce, and I can't seem to get it under control. Gill either for that matter—the bulge in his shorts is painfully obvious.

He stares down at me for a long moment and then tries to pull away again. I won't let him. Against my better judgment, I reach up with my right hand and grab his waistband. Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I tug his shorts down, letting the hard, rigid length of him spring free. He sucks in a harsh breath, but doesn't fight me as I run my hands up his hips to his belly, my eyes dropping to his cock instead of his face. Believe it or not, it's easier to look at.

I cast a quick glance at the door to the pool area, but I don't see anyone. I know this is wrong, that it's highly inappropriate, that I'm probably making a really poor life decision, but I can't help it. I wrap my fingers around the long, thick length of him and lean forward, flicking my eyes up to Gill's face one last time before I put his cock in my mouth.

He holds his breath for a moment, like he can't quite believe this is happening. To be quite honest, I'm sort of in the same boat here, so I hold my breath, too, curling my fingers into a fist around his shaft and squeezing while I dip my head low. My lips meet my hand before I pull back, the left coming up to cup his balls. Like our previous two sexual encounters, this is just a quick flash, a bandage to cover the wounds we're both suffering from. I don't revel in it or try to drag it out, it just is what it is.

I'm taking the initiative here, taking hold of Gill—quite literally—and there's no excuse this time. There's no pleasure in this for me other than the fact that I'm getting off on getting him off. It's like a compulsion at this point, an unstoppable force. As much as I want to blame my body for this one, pretend this is all just some animalistic rut, I can't. I can't keep lying to myself.

I want Gill. Bad.

I pull back with a gasp, sucking in the air I just refused myself, and find my eyes drawn up to his face again. He's staring down at me, openmouthed, almost slack-jawed, his eyes hooded and dark, fists curled tight at his sides. I can see every muscle in his body quivering with need right now, with a violent rush of adrenaline and desire that's taking every ounce of his self-control to hold back.

Gilleon licks his lips like he's about to say something, but I cut the words off by taking him back in my mouth, gliding along his hard flesh with my tongue until he fists a hand in my hair. He tangles his fingers in honey blonde, but he doesn't hurt me, doesn't even bring a lick of pain to my scalp. I can
feel
the power there in those inked up fingers of his, the possibility of pain. He could hurt me bad right now if he wanted. Hell, he could kill me. But he won't.

I love the feeling of him holding back like that, but I can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he didn't, if I got to see the full force of him,
feel
the full force of him.

I lean back again and tilt my head to the left, licking down the side of his shaft and listening to his breath as it hitches then stops before turning into a harsh pant. The tip of my tongue traces across his balls as I pump my fist, listening to the sounds he's making as I try to judge the level of his pleasure. A groan breaks past his lips, almost like he doesn't have the willpower to hold it back anymore. Sliding my tongue back up, I take him in my mouth again and move until I feel his entire body go rigid, muscles standing at sharp attention under his warm, wet flesh. He tastes like chlorine, like a long ago memory that I'm only now just starting to understand. I move faster, squeeze harder, and listen in satisfaction as a growl escapes his throat before he comes inside my mouth.

Leaning back, I swallow the salty sweet taste of him, reach down and pick up my book before rising to my feet and starting for the door.

Gill adjusts his shorts and follows after, the sound of his wet feet loud on the concrete.

“We're not gonna talk about this?” Gill asks as I lean back into the pillows and shuffle the brand-new deck of cards I grabbed from the lobby gift shop. I keep my gaze on them and not on my stepbrother. I can't look at him right now, and the only way I seem able to keep going is to
not
mention the fact that we keep ending up in … questionable situations.

“About the blow job?” I ask, hoping that if I mention it first, it won't be as embarrassing. I don't look up, but I can hear the tight smile in his voice.

“I'd love to talk about that, actually, but I was referring to the rest of it, to the swimming pool and you falling in, to me being there. Don't you want to know why?”

I keep shuffling, bending the stiff cards with my ferocity. All I can see right now are the glossy images of spades and clubs, diamonds and … hearts. Fucking hearts. If there was a manual override switch for the brain to push back the tender feelings of that particular organ, I'd be using it right now. I need to get my head together, my thoughts in order. I think the most important thing is to find some distance from Gilleon. Since that's not an option right now, we're going to try a different tactic. Me and him, we're going to watch a movie, eat our shitty room service food, and play Go Fish.

“Gill, I don't just want to know why; I
need
to know why. But truthfully, I'm a little pissed off right now. You were there, right there, right
fucking
there, and you didn't even let me come to enough to see your face.”

I stop shuffling and look up at him, trying to judge his reaction.

Gill looks right back at me and purses his lips, dark hair still wet but thankfully covered head to toe in clothing. I don't think I could take even an inch of bare chest at this moment.

“There's so much,” he says, but I'm already shaking my head.

“One thing at a time,” I tell him. “Answer me, please. I deserve that, at least, don't I?”

Gill stands there for a long moment and then reaches down to grab his shoulder holster, tucking the gun we snuck to the pool back into it. He made me carry the damn thing in the Saint Laurent. I'm keeping the purse as payment for all of this shit.

“When I first left, I was trapped, Regi. I couldn't have come to see you, no matter how I felt about the matter. After about a year, he let loose on the reigns enough that I was able to sneak away now and again. That night at the pool, that was the first night I got to see you since the day I left.”

“Who's
he
?” I ask, still looking at him as he moves between the beds and sets the guns on the nightstand between the two.

“Karl Rousseau,” he tells me without hesitation. “After that first year, I kept a close eye on you. I couldn't be with you or even talk to you, but I watched.”

“Do you know how creepy that is?” I ask, my voice raising as I toss the cards onto the white bedspread and watch them splay out into a sea of scattered symbols. “You
watched
me? So you stalked me then? You're a
stalker
?” I can't keep the edge of anger and confusion out of my voice. “I don't get it, Gill. I'm sorry, but I just don't. Stalking is for people too disillusioned to realize they'll never get what they want most. You had me, Gill. You
had
me—hook, line, and sinker. I was yours. So why run away and then come back just to watch?”