Brant, age 25
There’s something different about her tonight.
June stands before a full-length mirror just inside her parents’ bedroom, wearing a silky, baby blue slip dress while clipping an earring back into place. I’m perched in the doorway, watching with measured fondness, when she tilts her head toward me.
A smile stretches, tender and real.
Her eyes glitter with unmistakable affection.
A piece of freshly blow-dried hair slips into her face, captivating me.
My hands are stuffed into my dress pants, my chest humming with something I can’t exactly pinpoint, as I murmur, “We’re about to sing Happy Birthday.”
It’s Andrew’s fifty-seventh birthday.
Naturally, he’s positioned at the grill in a full-on suit with a metal spatula in his hand and platypus slippers on his feet.
June’s smile only brightens, a flash of teeth following her hair flip. “Be right there,” she tells me. “You look really handsome, by the way.”
“Oh… thanks, Junebug.” Instinctively, I glance down at my classier attire, from dark gray slacks to a white dress shirt with navy pinstripes. The curls in my mop of hair are tamed with a little bit of product as a I run a hand through them. “So do you.”
“Handsome, huh?” Her nose crinkles with amusement as she tips her invisible hat to me. “I do look rather dapper.”
I laugh, ducking my head and mussing my hair again. “Pretty… you look really pretty.”
When I glance back up, she’s glowing.
Our eyes ignite with more than a cumbered flame, with more than the smoky tension filling the space between us.
I see dancing clouds and bright blue skies.
Rainbows and lullabies.
Toy elephants and kindred promises.
Deep within her crystalline stare, I see a love that burns stronger than any wicked firestorm threatening to torch us into cinders.
Maybe that’s what’s different tonight—our desire to maintain our precious bond feels bigger than our desire. That could be because we’re back in our old house, surrounded by wholesome memories, reminded of our childhood when we sweep down every hallway and turn every corner. Photographs litter the walls. Nostalgia thickens the air.
Theo feels closer than ever.
In the five days following our brush with temptation the prior weekend, I’ve been reflecting over Kip’s words of caution; advice borne from his own terrible tragedy:
“There are worse things than loving the wrong person. And that’s losing them.”
I’ll lose June by loving her the wrong way.
She’ll slip through the cracks of my fingers like gunpowder.
And Kip is right… I’ve lost too much already.
Luckily, June claims to not recall our heated rendezvous on Kip’s couch—and if she does, she’s been faking it well. I kept my promise, and haven’t dared remind her of the way she brazenly came on to me with lust in her eyes and wicked words on her tongue.
Words that have filtered through my brain on repeat all week.
… and are reappearing right at this very moment.
Damnit.
Doing a little twirl in front of the mirror, June curtsies before me, still smiling wide. “Okay, let’s go,” she says, floating over to me in her ballet flats and linking our hands together.
I try to ignore the heat that creeps up my arm when our fingers interlock, and I try to suppress the fuzzy feeling that zaps my heart when she glances up at me with that same sweet smile and doe eyes. Clicking my teeth, I ruefully pull free of her hold the moment we’re within eyesight of her parents.
It’s not really a party—it’s just the four of us. That’s what Andrew wanted for his birthday this year. He asked us to dress up, put on our “boogie shoes,” and leave our frowns behind.
When we glide out through the patio door, he’s already boogying.
The song September by Earth, Wind, and Fire is blasting through the speakers as Andrew and Samantha hop around the brick pavers, her in a satin red gown and him in his ridiculous slippers. He twirls her in a circle as she throws her head back with a laugh, then reaches for the discarded spatula and brings it to his mouth like a microphone. “Do you rememb-a?” he sings dramatically on the dip.
June cups a palm over her mouth, giggles spilling out and blending with the song. She grabs my hand again. “Dance with me,” she commands through a grin.
I’m pulled to the center of the patio along with the Baileys as June wraps an arm around my midsection and tucks her hand into mine. Yoshi sprints out behind us, hobbling on his old, stubby legs, barking up at us like he’s trying to sing along.
“You know I can’t dance, Junebug,” I tell her, my charmed smile letting her know that I’m still going to try.
Andrew sends us a wink as he dips Samantha again, almost dropping her.
We all laugh.
We all laugh so hard, our bellies ache, and June collapses against my chest, squeezing my hand as she clumsily shimmies us around the patio. Her muffled laughter vibrates through my dress shirt, sending warm tremors to my heart.
She looks up at me, chin propped against my chest. “I miss dancing,” she murmurs, her tone a little sad. A little wistful.
“I know.”
“Sometimes I think about when I was a kid, dancing on the big stage at all those spring recitals. No asthma, no heartbreak. It was only dancing.”
My hand splays along the middle of her back as I dip her. “It still can be.”
A smile creeps in as she swoops back up, our palms clamped together. Her eyes twinkle in the early evening haze. “Too many bad things have happened. There’s this black cloud following me around, and it’s not the same anymore…”
“Dancing is dancing, June.” I spin her in a clunky twirl.
“The black cloud is too big.”
She spins herself with far more grace, and as she falls back against me, her chest to mine, I whisper down at her, “Be bigger than it.”
June parts her lips with argument, but her words dissolve away when mine sink in. She blinks, her gaze fused with something hopeful.
“Honey, it’s one of your favorite songs,” Samantha pipes in, shaking us from the moment.
I let go of June, wondering if we were too close. Replaying the moment, questioning if we were looking at each other in all the wrong ways, or pressed together too intimately.
I wonder if the Baileys saw that look of longing in my eyes I’m certain I forgot to hide.
God, I hope not.
Scratching at the nape of my neck, June eases backward, pulling her attention off of me and zoning in on the song. Her face lights up with recognition.
Stand By Me by Ben E. King.
June danced to a rendition of it a few years back as she was just entering high school. It was always one of her favorite performances.
“I think I still remember the routine,” she says, skipping off into the grass and getting into one of her ballet positions.
When the next verse starts, she moves.
She floats and glides.
She dances.
The song drowns out, and all I see is June—a vision in pale indigo, skipping across clouds like a melodic bluebird.
Like she never lost her wings.
I inhale a choppy breath, clenching my fingers at my sides as my eyes drink her in. Her body bows, her legs leap and sway, her arms arc in the shape of a rainbow. She moves like pure poetry, and the smile etched onto her lips is the exclamation point.
June is so much more than a dancer.
She’s nature’s most exquisite choreography.
When the song ends, Andrew and Samantha clap joyously, their faces pinched with pride. Andrew whistles with his thumb and index finger, while Samantha clasps her hands in front of her, beaming with maternal admiration.
I know they saw what I saw—that reemerging spark.
And I hope she stokes it. I hope she keeps it warm.
June takes a dramatic bow, twirling one arm in a circle, then flipping her hair back with a bashful burst of laughter. Her gaze trails to me, eager for my reaction.
I clap.
I smile.
But everything she’s searching for is in the way I’m looking at her, like the whole world has fallen away, swallowed up by the love I feel.
She ducks her head.
“I’m not sure about you kids, but I’m ready for cake,” Andrew speaks up. He shoots me a quick glance. “Strawberry rhubarb, right?”
“Always,” I confirm. “With cream cheese frosting.”
I was in charge of his birthday cake this year.
I’m in charge of everyone’s birthday cake every year.
“I’ll never take Brant for grant-ed,” he winks, sweeping past me.
Wow.
I’m pretty sure the joke itself has secondhand embarrassment.
We all groan simultaneously as Samantha trails after him, giving my elbow a tender squeeze along the way. “I’ll fetch the plates.”
As they step into the kitchen through the sliding door, closing it behind them, June startles me by reaching over and wrapping her arms around my middle for a tight hug. Her cheek plants against my chest, and I hesitate briefly before stroking my fingers through her hair, hoping the Baileys aren’t watching through the drapes.
It’s just a hug, I tell myself.
Lilacs invade my senses, sweet and fragrant.
Soothing and healing.
I’m not sure if it’s coming from the bushes that line the back of the house, or from the woman in my arms, soft and delicate like a flower petal. “You always smell like springtime and lemon drops,” I say gently, kissing the top of her head. My eyes close with contentment as I breathe her in.
She sighs, her breath warming me through the cashmere of my shirt. “You always smell like spearmint and Ivory soap.”
Songbirds serenade us as we stand in the center of the patio, enmeshed in a potent embrace, breathing in perfect time, and swaying lightly, as if nature is singing just for us.
Then we say it at the same time: “Like home.”
We enter our shared apartment a few hours later, our bellies full of birthday cake, and laughter still ringing in our ears. June tosses her handbag to the countertop and slips out of her ballet flats. There’s a strange energy in the air hovering around us, and I wonder if she notices it, too, as she straightens in the entryway, lifting her eyes to me. She fiddles with her hair, twisting it over one shoulder, a tentative smile touching her lips.
I stare at her for a few beats, not really sure what to say. All I know is that I’m not ready to say goodnight yet. “Do you…” I swallow, popping my thumb over my shoulder. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
She doesn’t hesitate, still playing with her hair. “Sure.”
“Okay.” My own smile claims me, something almost shy, like I’m inviting a girl inside after a first date. Shaking my head, I clear my throat and saunter into the adjoined living room, sifting around the cushions for the remote and taking a seat.
June sits right next to me on the couch, her bare thigh pressed against my slacks as her slip dress rides up. I only spare the image a fleeting glance, refusing to recall the way her thighs were linked around me just five days ago as she whispered delicious, forbidden things into my ear.
Flustered by the memory, I shift away from her and start aimlessly scrolling through Netflix.
June inches closer. “Remember when Theo would recite movie lines before they were voiced, pissing everyone off, because he’d seen almost every movie ever created?”
Genuine laughter rumbles through me. “Yes. Drove us all nuts,” I recall fondly, leaning back against the cushions and ruffling my hair. “We’d always get up and leave halfway through the movie because it was so annoying. I think it was his way of secretly hoarding all the popcorn.”
“Oh my God, I bet you’re right,” June giggles, her temple falling to my shoulder. She pulls her feet up beside her, until she’s pressed fully into me. “He was such a rascal.”
“Yeah… I’d give anything to have him here right now, ruining whatever shitty movie we’re about to watch.”
“Me, too,” she sighs softly.
Instinct and an inherent need to feel her even closer has me wrapping an arm around her shoulders, tugging her to my frame. June curls into me with effortless ease, as if it’s where she’s always belonged. Her fine wisps of hair tickle my chin, her curves molding against me.
“Thank you for tonight,” she tells me, her voice muffled by my shirt. “I needed that. The dancing, the laughter, the family time. I can’t even remember the last time I felt so… burdenless.” She glances up at me. “You know?”
I nod as my fingers braid through her mane of hair. “Yeah, I know. I think we all needed it.”
“And this is the perfect end to a perfect day. Cozied up on the couch with you as we scroll through hundreds of different movies, finally deciding on something after we’re too tired to even watch it anymore.”
Another laugh slips out. “Happens every time,” I say, nuzzling into her. “Remember when our Netflix binges would always end in a tickle fight?”
She pinches my thigh, as if retaliating to the mere memory. “Yes. You were terrible—you knew all of my sensitive tickle spots, and I’d laugh so hard I’d almost pee.”
“Not my fault you’re so ticklish.” I give her arm a pinch.
June feigns pain. “Ouch.”
“You pinched me first.”
“I’ll pinch you again.” She does.
My hand travels down her arm, to her ribs, my fingers dancing lightly over her silk dress. She tenses up in anticipation, pressing further into me like she can crawl inside and escape the inevitable. “Don’t fight it, Junebug. You’re long overdue.”
“Brant, I swear—”
I tickle her. Hard and furiously, until she’s squealing and squirming, desperate for reprieve. As she nearly breaks free, my other hand grabs her by the waist and tosses her backward onto the couch, her hair splaying around her like a russet halo. High-pitched squeals morph into belly laughter as her legs try to kick me away, but I hold them down with my torso, trapping her beneath my weight. My fingers continue to dance and roam with the perfect amount of pressure, digging into her sensitive spots until she’s sliding down the edge of the couch, her dress riding up when my hands dip higher.
“Stop, stop, it’s too much,” she laughs, tears leaking from her eyes.
My own grin is wicked as my one hand hooks around her waist to keep her steady, while the other tickles her opposite side.
As her foot pulls free and presses against my outer thigh, as a means to push herself away from me, she slides back even more, still squirming and breathless, until her bare stomach is level with my face.
I notice.
The levity leaves me on a sharp breath.
Her dress is rolled up just below her breasts, her lacy white panties exposed and only inches away from me. June stills, winded as she comes down from the adrenaline high, glancing south to see why my roving fingers have stalled and are now curling around her hipbone.
I look up at her, and her smile fades, both of us absorbing the compromising position we’re in—June spread out beneath me, half-naked, one foot propped along my thigh while the other dangles off the side of the couch. Me, on my knees between her legs with my mouth hovering over her belly button, my hands latched around her hips. My fingertips dig into her, nearly bruising.
The mood shifts in an instant.
Dark, crackling tension swoops in, and June releases a little gasp laced with something dangerous. Her head falls back to the armrest, her body heaving below me with labored breaths. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t try to escape.
She just waits.
She waits, nearly trembling, as I lower my face to her creamy white skin, my eyelids fluttering closed as I inhale her citrus scent. My nose grazes the expanse of her stomach, skimming downward, over the hemline of her underwear, until the smell of lemon drops is replaced by the feminine musk between her legs seeping through the thin lace. A gravelly groan leaves me as my nose nuzzles into the juncture between her legs. Damp and hot. I breathe her in, still clutching at her hips so hard I’m afraid I’m going to hurt her.
June whimpers as her shaky hands make their way to my hair, fingers sifting. Nails grazing my scalp. Her pelvis jerks up, just slightly, like it’s instinct, like she’s silently begging me to sample her.
Her legs spread farther apart.
And I lose it.
I fucking lose it.
I trail my fingers underneath the hem of her panties, yanking them down past her knees.
Then I bend over and bury my face between her thighs.
June cries out.
She lets out a sharp, primal moan as her hips thrust up against my mouth and her nails carve into my scalp.
I feast on her.
Untamed. Untethered.
Hungry.
Her wetness rolls across my mouth as I plunge my tongue deep inside her, in and out, my groans mingling with her desperate mewls. After tugging her underwear all the way off, I glide one hand up her body, beneath the silk fabric of her dress, until I’m cupping her breast, while my other hand holds her firmly to me.
“Brant, oh God… oh my God…” she chants, panting and writhing beneath me. She hooks her leg along my upper back, the other dangling off the side of the couch.
I grab it, wrapping it around my shoulder until her bottom half is lifted off the cushion, her thighs clamping my face as she tugs at my hair.
As I palm her breast, tweaking her nipple, she arches into me, and I drag my mouth to her clit, flicking it with my tongue and sucking it between my teeth.
“Ooh,” she moans, thrusting harder against my face. “Oh, Brant… Brant… oh, shit…”
Jesus Christ, the noises she’s making. The way she’s panting my name as her body shamelessly thrashes and throbs under my tongue. The way she grips my hair, her spine arcing, her skin flushed bright pink while I eat her out.
I’m eating her out.
I’m eating her out like a fucking animal on my living room couch.
My cock is rock-hard and raging in the confines of my pants as her sweet nectar fills my mouth, her wetness pooling. I push two fingers inside her, pumping furiously while my name spills from her lips over and over, my tongue still working her to climax.
Still fucking her with my fingers, I use my other hand to unbuckle my belt and yank my zipper down, my erection aching for freedom. My tongue continues to punish her, laving and licking, as I wrap my hand around my dick and jerk myself while she unravels.
Her body tenses, bracing for release, and a tapered groan falls out of me as I murmur against her, “Fuck, June… you’re going to come all over my mouth, aren’t you?”
She shudders, bucking upward. “Y-Yes… God, yes… please, Brant, don’t stop…”
I stroke myself harder as she begs me, my own orgasm building. “Fuck,” I repeat, my body trembling with need as I curl my fingers inside her, still sucking her clit until I feel her peaking.
She’s gasping and panting. Clenching her thighs. Riding my face as I feast and suck and ravish her with my tongue and fingers.
And then a sharp cry catches in her throat, her breath hitching, her body vibrating with the swell of orgasm. I let go of myself to palm her outer thigh, holding her firmly against me as I continue to work her. She fists my hair at the roots and throws her head back over the armrest, a moan pouring out of her as she breaks.
As she comes.
June is coming on my mouth, on my fingers, drenching me with her release. Singing my name like it’s her favorite song.
When she deflates with a soft whimper, collapsing beneath me and draping the back of her arm over her forehead, she sucks in long, deep breaths, her body going limp. I raise my head, my lips and chin glazed with her climax. She’s never been more gorgeous, half-bare below me, her hair in disarray and her skin painted in blotches of pink flush.
She lifts up a little, our eyes locking.
The realization sinks into both of us that we just crossed a very dangerous, very intoxicating line, and I have no idea where to go from here.
June bites at her lip. Her glassy eyes travel south, to where my pants are pushed down my hips, landing on my red and angry erection. It hangs heavy between my legs, the tip glistening with precum. Pulsing with the need to be inside her.
I’m not sure if I should apologize or kiss her.
I’m not sure if I should take this further, or lock myself in my bedroom and jerk off with her honey still on my tongue.
Unrehearsed words start to spill out of me as I lower myself over her, until we’re face-to-face, and I’m brushing a piece of knotted hair from her eyes. “Shit… June, I—”
“Make love to me.”
Her words whip through me like a windstorm as our eyes tangle together, her hand trailing downward and wrapping around my cock. My eyes snap shut, forcing back the wave of pleasure that floods me the moment she fists me. I grit my teeth through a groan, then tug her dress all the way up her body, over her head, discarding it to the floor.
Moving back up to my knees, I gaze down at her.
Completely bare. Utterly vulnerable.
Her full breasts heave with each breath, her nipples pebbled and wanting. Lust glitters back at me in pools of light blue.
June.
My sweetest blessing and greatest sin.
I start unfastening my dress shirt, one painful button at a time, while June watches, her gaze dancing between my fingers and my thick erection. When I shrug the shirt off, I drape myself back over her, pressing our foreheads together as our lips hover a hair’s breadth apart. June’s arms link around my neck, her knees spreading like an illicit invitation. “I should look for a condom,” I mutter, my voice full of grit.
She shakes her head. “No. I want to feel you…” Her hands rove down my shoulder blades, soaking up the feel of my bare skin, then travel back up to muss my hair. “All of you.”
“Fuck, June…” I cradle her cheeks between my palms, my thumb dusting over her lips. Wide eyes stare back at me, gleaming with hunger and nerves. She’s nervous, I can tell. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
My words are cut short when she lifts up and crushes her mouth to mine. I melt into her, my eyes closing as a groan rumbles in my throat. Our tongues instantly twist and twine, delicious familiarity spurring us both, wrapping us in a blanket of lust and misdeed. Her release still coats my lips as I angle my face, tasting her deeper, my tongue filling every inch of her mouth. I only pull back to whisper raggedly, “Can you taste what I did to you?”
She whimpers, her legs coiling around my hips, then she sweeps her tongue along the roof of my mouth. “Yes,” she says in a squeaky breath. “Do it again.”
God.
My dick twitches at her command to make her come again, eager to slip inside. I drag my hands down her body, over her breasts, until I’m gripping her slim waist. Then I reach for my cock and slide the head over her wetness, still slick and needy. A moan slips out of me as my face falls into the crook of her neck. June’s hands make their way down my spine and land on my ass, squeezing hard, and it’s all I need to push inside, just a torturous inch. Just the tip.
She squirms beneath me, panting, her mewls vibrating in my ears.
Holy shit—she’s tight. So fucking tight. Fisting her hair and dragging my tongue up her collarbone to the sweet curve of her neck, I shove all the way inside with a satisfied moan.
Then I freeze with stunned shock.
A strangled gasp escapes her, and she bites down on my shoulder to stifle the pain.
No way.
I lift up as her head falls back.
Our eyes lock.
No fucking way.
I felt that.
I. Felt. That.
Like I just tore through a precious barrier that I had no right to breach.
An avalanche of conflicting emotions sink into me—
Horror.
Confusion.
Relief.
A sickening, animalistic rush that has my blood pumping hot and my hips starting to move against my own volition, despite the knowledge that I just stole June’s virginity.
June was a virgin.
Our eyes are still holding tight as I rasp, “How…”
She shakes her head a little, like she doesn’t want to address it. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to stop.
My forehead drops to hers again as my teeth clench. “I’ll go slow.”
“No, don’t,” she squeaks out.
Fuck. She shouldn’t say that when I’m sheathed inside her—knowing I’m the only man who’s ever been sheathed inside her. I rock my hips, forcing myself to go slow despite her request otherwise, then cup her face between my palms with our foreheads melded and noses kissing. My fingertips slip into her hair, my thumbs bruising her cheeks while our bodies move together. “Am I hurting you?” I muster, trying not to lose all control.
“No. Keep going.” Her nails are digging into the skin at the nape of my neck, her legs wrapped around me, tugging me close.
“God, you feel so good…”
I pick up speed. I can’t help it.
June’s body bows, her head dipping back, hair spilling over the side of the couch like a chocolate fountain. She pushes my head down toward her breasts as I pump into her faster, my mouth locking around a dusky nipple and sucking it into my mouth. She moans. She begs me to keep riding her. We’re dancing with the Devil, yet she’s the purest thing I’ve ever savored. A sweet, forbidden fruit.
And I’m drowning in her.
I’m succumbing to everything we are, and everything I never thought we’d be.
I clutch her hips for leverage as I rut into her, my teeth clamping around her breast and causing her to shudder. She’s mewing and scratching me, dragging her nails up and down my shoulders. I move back up, nibbling her earlobe and whispering, “Were you saving it for me, June?” My hand dips between our joined bodies, my fingers finding her clit. “Were you saving this for me?”
She cries out, thighs clenching tight. “Yes.”
“Fuck…”
My cock thrusts into her, our skin slapping together, our mutual moans growing louder as my mouth finds hers for a sloppy kiss. I curl a hand around the ivory expanse of her throat, squeezing gently, like I’m claiming what’s always been mine. My other hand still works her clit, guiding her to another orgasm—desperate for her to dive over this jagged, fucked-up cliff with me.
I should be making this magical for her. Carrying her to my bed and worshiping her beneath cool, clean sheets, until she’s sleepy and satiated, until sunrise douses us in a red-orange glow, until she’s wrapped up in my arms while divine deities sing her to sleep.
But this isn’t a watered-down fairytale.
This is messy, urgent… fucking hot.
I’m wrecking her with every furious thrust, my tongue knotting with hers, one hand wrapped around her throat as the other pulls another orgasm out of her.
My own release is mounting as I slam into her tight heat, grunting against her mouth, “I’m going to come in you.”
“Please,” she whimpers.
I tug her hair back. “You want my cum?”
Her body tenses, legs squeezing me in a vice-like grip. She starts to tremble with the onset of her second climax. “Yes, Brant, please…”
Smashing my lips to hers, I continue to rub her clit until she explodes underneath me; fireworks, embers, falling stars. She breaks apart, gasping and chanting my name, and I break right along with her. A moan of pleasure pours out of me and into her mouth, our tongues clumsily moving together as I ride out the ripples, emptying into her. My hands rise up to hug her face as my body shudders, finding more than just relief, more than a temporary satisfaction, as I sink unconditionally inside of her. Inside every immaculate inch of her; heart, body, soul.
And I don’t just sink.
I catapult head-first into the deep end.
June grazes her fingertips up my back, over my shoulders, and cradles them around my neck as her toes tickle down the underside of my legs. I collapse onto her with a frayed breath, catching myself on my elbows so I don’t crush her. Our lips are still hovering together, my eyes closed as I gather the courage to look into hers.
She gently presses a kiss to my mouth, our bodies slick and sticky. “Look at me, Brant,” she says, her voice cracked and worn from her cries of pleasure. “See me.”
My eyelids flutter, mimicking my worried heart. I hold her tighter. “Did… did I hurt you?”
“No.”
Opening my eyes all the way, I search for the truth in her wide-eyed gaze. But all I can focus on is the lone tear trickling down her cheek, collapsing onto the armrest of the couch. A frown claims me, my body tensing with concern, and I lift up.
She hisses a bit as I slide out of her, and the sound is like a dull dagger to my chest. The blinding desire dwindles into dread when I glance down to where our bodies were just joined, seeing my cum pooled between her legs, tinged red with her blood.
Horror sinks me.
I’m also coated in red, as if I’m spotlighted in sin.
Branded with crimson shame.
Pulling up all the way, I tug at my pants that are bunched around my calves, fastening them back into place. My face twists with guilt and apology as I gaze down at her, her knees still spread, thighs smeared with blood, body heaving with arduous breaths. “Hold on… I’ll—I’ll be right back,” I force out, forgoing my shirt as I sprint toward the single bathroom.
I return moments later with a warm rag.
June is sitting up, her knees now pressed together, lips trembling. “I’m okay, Brant,” she tells me as I approach. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not okay. God, I wrecked you…” Falling to my knees in front of her, I use one hand to gently part her legs. I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“Please… don’t be sorry. I wanted it as much as you did.”
As her thighs spread before me, revealing the evidence of my crime, my ribs ache with the weight of my grief. “I wasn’t gentle. I wasn’t kind.” I dab the damp towel to her juncture, wincing when she hisses again. “I did this to you.”
She asked me to make love to her, and instead, I fucked her raw and dirty on my couch. I made her bleed. I came inside of her with no protection, and I growled filthy things into her ear.
I’m a monster.
“Brant…” June leans forward, her eyes glistening, hair a matted mess. Mascara is streaked above her cheekbones. She clasps my jaw in her trembling palms as she pleads, “Don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”
“I regret how it happened,” I confess, still blotting the rag to her tender core. Trying to erase my infraction. “I should have made it special for you.”
“It was special.” Her fingertips graze along my stubbled jawline, whispering over my lips. “It was with you.”
With me.
Her adopted brother.
This is beyond fucked.
A lump sticks in my throat as I pull to a stand, taking her with me. June rises on wobbly legs, her eyes glazed with worry as she steps forward and presses herself against my bare chest. Skin on skin. My heart gallops as I cup the back of her head, her floral scent mingling with sex and sweat.
She whispers softly, “It was everything.”
Emotion races through me. Every emotion—regret, bliss, self-hatred, fear, and untouchable love. A love that has gone frighteningly off course; one that I’m not sure how to get back on track before we suffer an inevitable crash and go up in flames.
Kip’s words of warning follow me like a dark cloud as I guide June to my bedroom and slip into the bed beside her, pulling her close, spooning her tight, and falling into a tumultuous sleep.
“Those flames are going to spread… you have to be okay with letting the things around you burn, too.”
