Stepbrother Thief (34 page)

I take a deep breath and turn away, reaching up to rub the fog off the mirror. As soon as I do, I see that Gill's standing right behind me.

“Shit, Gill,” I gasp out as one of his strong arms encircles my waist and pulls me close. “Stop doing that.” I reach down to pry him off, but I find that I can't do it. Instead, my fingers curl around his wrist and my eyes close of their own accord. It feels too good to do this, to fall back into old habits. And it's easy, so easy. When Gill touches me, I can almost imagine that it's still that day, the day that my life stopped. I imagine for a moment what would've happened if he'd been there waiting for me, if I'd handed over the bag of baby goodies and smiled shyly at him.
So different … everything would've been so different.

I open my eyes up and move away. He lets me go, waiting as I turn around and look up into those bright blue eyes of his.

“I said I loved you,” I tell him, the words making me feel queasy. It's not easy to look somebody like Gilleon in the face and admit the most private thing in your heart. “I didn't say that we were a couple again. I didn't say that I'd take you back.”

“But you want to?” he asks me, taking a step closer, his boots squeaking on the wet floor. I back up, not because I'm afraid of Gilleon, but because I'm afraid of what I'll do if he touches me again.

“I haven't heard the whole story, Gill,” I admit, because that's a huge part of all this.

“But if you do, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'll spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Shit.

“You can't just barge in here and say things like that,” I mumble, running my hands down my damp cheeks, knowing as I do that they're tinged with a hint of pink—and I can't blame any of that color on the warmth still clinging to the bathroom. “I'm not a teenager anymore, Gill. I need more than blushes and butterflies.”

“I give you butterflies?” he asks with a small smirk, running his knuckles down my bare arm, knocking stray droplets of water from my skin with the motion. I shiver, can't help it. Gill's touch is … well, it's always made me feel like this. I spent the second year after he left trying to prove that it wasn't true. At the time, I'd only ever slept with one man, only ever kissed one man, so how did I know? But, as I soon discovered, nobody could make me feel like this, touch me like this, love me like this. It was a heartbreaking conclusion to have to come to; the one man I wanted would never be mine again.

Only … he could. Right now, the only person standing between us is
me.
Part of me wants to throw up my hands and say forget the past while the other part … can I ever really forgive and forget? Those scars will always be there, but can I live with them
and
with Gill at the same time?

“You know you do,” I tell him, unashamed. I take another step back, trying to put some space between us and end up bumping into the countertop. Gill follows me in, leaning down and brushing some wet strands of hair from my forehead.

“Listen to the rest of the story, Regi, and give me a chance. That's all I'm asking. When you know everything, all of the reasons why and how, then think about it. If you decide you don't want me, then I'll let you go.”

I snort and shake my head, trying not to let his nearness affect me. He's dressed in boots and jeans, and here I am in just a towel, warm and damp and wet from the shower. I feel a certain vulnerability standing before Gilleon like this, but I like it. I like it even though I shouldn't, even though I know he's dangerous, that he's teetering on the edge. I think I could save him, I do. Under normal circumstances, I'd be rolling my eyes: women who seek damaged men in order to fix them, usually not a story that ends well.

But Gill isn't just any man. He's my man, and he always has been. Since the moment we met, when I was sixteen and he was seventeen, I knew. For half my life, I've loved him.

“I can't see you giving up so easily,” I say as he runs his finger across my naked collarbone and I shiver again, goose bumps racing down my arms.

“Maybe you're right,” he says with a bemused smile, getting awfully close to the tucked edge of the towel. “But I'll at least try to leave you alone.”

“That's not creepy at all,” I say, trying to imagine him keeping an eye on me all these years. When I wept for him, he was there. When I ached, and I hurt, and I wanted to give up on everything, he was
right fucking there.
I know I couldn't have watched him from afar and never reached out. How and why he did it I'll never understand. Unless, of course, I let him finish his story and I listen, really listen, and keep an open mind, an open heart.

I take a deep breath as he reaches for the edge of the towel, pulling it open and letting it drop to the floor at my feet. I wrap my arms around my bare chest and close my eyes for a moment.

“I'll listen, Gill,” I tell him because I'd always planned to. “And I'll think about it, really think about it.”

“So there's a chance?” he asks me, and I nod.

“There's a chance.”

My voice comes out in a whisper as his arms slide down my sides and take hold of my hips, his mouth dipping to mine in a soft brush of lips that sends those pesky butterflies flapping around inside my belly.

“Say it again for me, Regina,” he whispers as he moves his mouth to my ear and nibbles on the lobe. I should be telling him to get out, to stop touching me, but I can't. I just can't. No matter what happens, I need this right now. I
need
it.

“Say what?” I ask, my fingers sliding under his shirt, greedily taking in the hard planes of his abs. If I'm in right now, I'm all in. Then, even if I decide to walk away, I can have this night for the rest of my life.

“That you love me,” he growls, his fingers tightening on my arms for a moment before he relaxes and breathes deep, leaning in so that our bodies press close—his warm, dry, clothed and mine, wet, shivering, naked. The contrast excites me enough that I feel like I should fight against it, the feelings so intense that I'm scared by the fact that they could backfire on me. But no. No, I'm saving those thoughts for later. Right now is only for … this.

“I still love you, Gilleon. And I never stopped. That's why it hurt so much, all these years.” I reach up and run my fingers along his smooth cheek, turning his face to mine so our lips can touch, so we can kiss long and deep and sensual, slow. We've been fucking lately, but we haven't been doing this, loving each other like this.

“God, I missed you, Regi,” he says, pulling back just long enough to speak the words before he reaches down and scoops me up into his arms. I don't stop kissing him as he carries me, running my mouth up the side of his jaw to his ear and enjoying the shiver I get in response. “I missed you so fucking much.”

Gill lays me down on the bed and stands up, pulling his shirt over his head and reaching down to remove his belt before climbing in between my legs, looking down at me with an arm on either side of my head. I can't help myself, finally giving into the wonder I felt after seeing him again for the first time. I touch his face, trace his lips, run my fingers up into his hair.

When Gilleon leans down to kiss me, I wrap my arms around his neck and drag him down so that our bodies are pressed close, naked chest to naked chest, the firm bulge of his erection brushing against me through his jeans. We don't rush things though, not this time, letting our hands roam, our mouths taste, our breathing even out until the pulsing pound of our heartbeats feels like it's in sync.

Gill pulls back, moving his mouth to my breast, running his tongue in a circle around my nipple before reaching up to knead and caress the tender flesh. His fingers scald my skin as they travel down and trace my ribs, making me realize that I'm holding my breath again. I let it out in a rush as he continues kissing down, across my belly and towards the patch of honey blonde hair between my legs.

I spread my knees as Gill runs his fingers up the insides of my thighs, drawing me open before he dips his mouth down and breathes hot against me, making me arch my back and bite my lower lip so hard it bleeds. No more words pass between us. We're beyond them now.

I moan, turning my head into the pillows to keep my voice down. Stars flicker across the insides of my eyelids as I bite the fabric and gasp at the sudden pressure of Gill's fingers gripping my hips tight. I realize why a moment later when he moves his lips over my clit, kissing me gently and testing the waters before increasing the pressure.

I'm so wet right now, so desperate to feel him inside of me again, but I don't push it. I wait, letting him circle my clit in slow, lazy whorls, drawing his mouth down to my opening and teasing me for a split second before working his way back up. By the time Gill's fingers slide inside of me, I'm lost, floating on a sea of pleasure, but sinking fast. I tighten around him, clamping down hard and feel him groan against my body, breath fluttering against the inside of my thigh.

My girlfriends back in Paris used to say that they thought oral sex was a step up from vaginal intercourse, an act of intimacy that wasn't acceptable during a one-night stand. Coming from the States where people act like oral isn't even sex at all (a sentiment I never echoed, by the way), I didn't really get it. I mean, it's sex, obviously, but is it really more intimate? In this moment with Gilleon, I see where they're coming from. I feel so open, so exposed, and I know he's there and he can see
everything,
and not just the physical bits. Gill's pleasuring me, watching me writhe and moan, but he isn't wrapped up in his own body, in the slide of his cock between my legs; all he's doing right now is watching. Looking. He's looking right at me.

I drag a pillow over my face to hide a scream as Gill's knuckles slam into me, his tattooed fingers disappearing between my legs as he continues working his tongue around my clit. Always patient, never rushed, Gill listens to the rhythm of my body, the pulsing ebbs of pleasure that radiate through me, and he holds steady until I'm gasping into the pillow, fireworks flickering and flashing behind my eyelids.

Without missing a beat, Gill sits up and unbuckles his pants, dragging the pillow away from my face and tossing it to the floor before he enters me in a slow, smooth motion, riding right through the blooming pleasure of my orgasm. His blue eyes look right into mine as he slides deep, rocking our hips together until I can feel him hit the end of me. Gilleon's just long enough to tease, not long enough to hurt.

I gasp and grab the sides of his face, pulling him in for a kiss, flickers of an old life riding through me like the last waves of pleasure from my orgasm. Our first time—and the many, many others that followed it—drift in and out of my mind as I wrap my legs around my first love and wonder how the hell I ever even considered saying no. Of course, it's hard to think when a fucking Adonis is gliding above you, muscles defined and taut, hard beneath my fingers, laced with sweat.

I pull Gill's head down to me, and he growls, biting his lip hard as I lick the sweat from the corded muscles of his throat, nibbling and tasting that spicy masculine sweetness, breathing in the bergamot scented perfection of him. In that moment, in that fucking moment, he is
mine.

You're my constant, Regi.

Gill's words ring in my head as I trail my hands over his muscular shoulders and down to his chest. Without having to say a single word, Gilleon knows what I want, rolling onto his back and letting me straddle him. All of that strength, all of that power, I want it beneath me, and I want to own it.

We lock gazes again as I position Gill's cock at my opening and slide down his shaft until our sweaty pelvises meet, my fingers splayed on his chest, his hands gripping my hips again. I start to move, slow at first, and then faster, grinding us together, my clit rubbing on his hot, hard body. The only sounds I can hear are our panting breaths and the slick slide of flesh in flesh, my wetness betraying my desire, the brightness in Gill's gaze betraying his.

Gill's hands tighten, squeezing hard enough that his grip almost hurts, but I know that's still just a tiny fraction of the power inside of him, that if he wanted to flip me over and fuck me, he could. But he wouldn't; he won't. I know that he can tell I need this, that I need to possess him, convince myself that he really could be mine again, that we could actually be together.

I shove some stray strands of blonde behind my shoulder as Gill moves his right hand over to my belly and up, palming my breast, cooling some of that sharp ache with his fingers as he runs his thumb over my hardened nipple. His touch is gentle at first, and growing rougher as the pleasure builds tight and tense between us.

It's my turn to watch Gill's face as he comes inside of me, his back arching, lifting me up off the bed like I'm weightless, flying, floating above him. Those stubborn blue eyes won't leave mine though, not even as his body spasms with pleasure. I bend down and bite his lip roughly, hard enough to draw the slight metallic tang of blood, refusing to slow the rhythm of my hips.

Our lovemaking takes a strange turn, from an emotional roller coaster to something … much more primal. Gill makes a face then, like a snarl, and pushes me off and over onto my back. I hit the pillows with a gasp, arching my spine as Gill kicks his boots off and tosses his pants to the floor, climbing between my legs and sliding his palm up my belly. I writhe under his touch, watching through half-hooded eyes as sweat drips down his chest, glistens on his tattooed right arm, on the gunshot scar on his shoulder.

“So beautiful,” I say, the words slipping past my lips before I can stop them. Gill rakes a hand through his dark hair and shakes his head.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he whispers, voice rough and dark as he slides our sweaty bodies together, fisting his fingers in my hair and kissing me hard, as hard as I just kissed him. I can still taste the blood dancing between our tongues, at war with the bright citrusy taste of him. My hips arch up and slide against Gill, finding him just as hard and ready for me as he was before.
Fuck.