by Callie Rose
When he walks toward the bed, I swear my heart beats harder with every steps he takes.
“I’m just gonna steal one pillow, is that okay?” he asks in a quiet voice.
I nod and shift on the bed, allowing him to grab one of the pillows that are stacked neatly against the headboard. But before he can turn back toward the couch, I grab the end of the pillow and tug on it gently.
It’s not that I don’t want him to have it. Jesus, they’re his fucking pillows, he can have them all if he wants. But I don’t want him to go yet, and grabbing the pillow seems… safer than grabbing him.
He stops, turning to look down at me, his blue-gray eyes soft and enigmatic. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I release the pillow, half sitting up in the bed. “Just… not very tired.”
He nods, still watching me intently. I’ve gotten so used to this from him that sometimes I can’t tell when he’s watching me to read my lips and when he’s watching me for other reasons. Right now, his gaze seems heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“Did Lincoln tell you anything else before he left?” I ask. “Does he have a plan for what to do about his dad?”
“No. But he’ll think of something. I trust him.” He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, angling his body to face me.
“How long have you guys all known each other?”
I really am curious, but I’m also just anxious to keep him talking, to keep creating reasons for him to stay right where he is instead of crossing back to the couch.
“A long time. Since we were kids. We were all born and raised in Fox Hill. We’ve been going to school together for years.”
I nod. “Yeah, I can see that. You guys all act like brothers, almost.”
He snorts a laugh. “Well, two of us are.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes, smiling as I think of the twins and their strange, almost supernatural connection.
Silence falls between us for a moment, and we just watch each other in the quiet stillness of the room.
When I speak again, my voice is a little lower, a little softer. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
He adjusts his position on the bed, hooking one leg up on the mattress so he can turn toward me even more. “Shoot.”
“Have you always had a hard time hearing?”
I can see him hesitate for a second, deciding what to give up, which parts of himself to reveal. I brace myself to hear him say he choses option number two, to not answer, but instead he shakes his head lightly.
“No, not always. Since I was a little kid though.”
“And your parents know, I’m assuming.”
He cracks a smile. “Yeah, they know. And the guys know.”
“And that’s it?”
“No. A few of the teachers at Linwood know. Some other relatives.”
“And Iris.”
He pulls a face. “Yeah. She knew. I don’t know how the fuck she found out. I’m positive Lincoln didn’t tell her. Maybe she just saw something that tipped her off, like you did.” He shrugs lightly, lips tilting up sardonically. “The guys help me when they can. Sometimes I still miss things though. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“No, you’re really good.” I sit up straighter in the bed, leaning toward him a little. “You’re amazingly good. But…”
When I trail off, he lifts his eyebrows in question, prompting me to continue.
“Why?” I murmur. “I mean, you can obviously function just fine with whatever hearing loss you have. So why does it matter if people know or not? It doesn’t affect the way you navigate through life. It doesn’t hold you back.”
His face goes still, and for a moment, I think maybe I’ve just insulted him horribly. An apology is on the tip of my tongue when he speaks softly.
“No. It doesn’t hold me back. But if people knew about it, they would.” His gaze leaves my lips to focus on my eyes, and I see discomfort churning in the light gray depths of his irises. “They’d make judgements about me before they even knew me; they’d assume I need help or special treatment when I never even asked for it. It’s easier this way. People judge me for who I am, for what I do, not for one thing they think they know about me.”
His words hit me right in the chest, so true and so familiar that I could’ve spoken them myself.
That’s it.
That’s exactly it.
It’s the reason I don’t tell people about my childhood leukemia. The reason only my closest friends and neighbors back in Bayard know about it. As soon as people find out I had cancer, that becomes what defines me for them. I can never shake it. And I fucking hate it.
River is still looking at me, and I don’t know quite why I do it, but I reach up and tug down the tank top strap from my right shoulder.
That gets an immediate reaction from him. Heat and surprise flare in his eyes as he watches the movement, then his gaze darts back up to my face.
I don’t even have to look to find it. My fingers move to my port scar unerringly, tracing the small mark the way I’ve done hundreds of times before.
“Do you know what this is?” I ask.
He watches my lips, then glances back down at my upper chest, his brows furrowing slightly. “A scar?”
I breathe out a small laugh at his simple, honest answer. It’s true. That’s exactly what it is. But in the world I’ve lived in since age ten, the world I’ll always be a part of now whether I want to be or not, it’s so much more than that.
Anyone from that world would know exactly what this scar is from at a glance, and they’d know every moment of fatigue and drudgery and nausea that came with it.
The fact that River doesn’t know all of that means he likely hasn’t had a close encounter with cancer, and that makes me glad.
“It is a scar, yeah,” I say, scooting a little closer to him on the bed, allowing him to see it better.
I wear tank tops a lot, and I don’t honestly think about the scar that often or feel super self-conscious about it. But having his gaze fixed on it makes me feel vulnerable, exposed… and warm all over.
He looks his fill, and when his attention moves back to my face, I continue.
“I got cancer when I was ten. Leukemia. The scar is from something called a port-a-catheter. The doctors used it to administer my chemo treatments and do blood transfusions and stuff. It’s easier than using an IV needle every time.”
Because I’m conscious of his need to see my face as I speak, I don’t turn away or look down like I want to. Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on him, watching the micro-expressions that cross his features as he absorbs my words.
“You had… cancer?” he asks slowly, and I nod. He processes that too before adding, “But you’re okay now?”
“Yep. Cancer free for seven years.” I reach up unconsciously to brush my fingertips over the scar again.
“Does Linc know? Or Dax and Chase?”
I shake my head, the movement a little jerky. “No. It’s like you said, I don’t want people to assume I’m helpless or broken or something. So I usually don’t tell people. I hate seeing the expression on their faces change, you know? They either look at me with pity or with some weird kind of awe, like I’m so special for having beaten cancer.” I shrug, dropping my head a little. “I’m not. Lots of people have done it. And lots of people haven’t.”
River’s fingertips slip under my chin, tilting my head back up even as he ducks his own to keep his gaze on my lips. I grimace, annoyed at myself for making him work to catch the end of my words.
He moved a little closer to me while I was speaking, and now his gaze darts back and forth between my eyes, studying me so intently I feel naked. His fingertips leave my chin, but instead of drawing his hand back, he traces over the slightly raised scar with a light touch.
My heart stutters, and my whole body freezes. My lungs burn as they scream for more oxygen, and I force them to keep drawing in slow gulps of air.
“You should
tell them, Harlow,” he says softly. “They’ll understand. They won’t look at you differently. I promise.”
His touch is doing terrible, wonderful things to my body. My nipples have peaked beneath the thin material of my tank, and I’m suddenly having a hard time sitting still. I want to move. I want to rub my skin against his.
I want another kiss like he gave me last night.
But I don’t move. I stay absolutely still.
And my patience is rewarded.
His gaze shifts back up to my face, and even as he keeps his attention there, his fingers drift across the plane of my upper chest until they hook the fabric of my other strap. When he pushes that one off my shoulder, I suck in a deep breath.
I want this. Whatever might be about to happen, I crave it with my entire body and soul. But—
“Lincoln…?” I whisper.
“He knows.” River’s smile is confident and sexy as fuck. “We talked about it. He knows he’s not the only one who gets a claim on you.” He arches a brow, looking a little impressed. “He said you were the one who brought it up.”
“I… Yeah, I was.”
My mind still can’t quite believe I did that. That I asked for this. And that Lincoln agreed.
River must take the disbelief on my face for hesitance, because he stiffens a little and starts to pull away. But I chase his touch, scooting forward on the bed until I’m less than a foot away from him.
He smiles again, and his lips are still curved up in that smile when he leans forward and kisses me.
Holy shit. I thought he was a good kisser the few other times we did this, but now I’m starting to think he was holding back. His mouth moves against mine, tongue slipping out to lick the seam of my lips. When I open for him, he tastes my tongue with his, and when I think I can’t take any more, he moves his mouth down over the curve of my jaw and my neck.
God, this might be a really fucking bad idea.
Even though Lincoln is okay with it, it will complicate everything. What if things get awkward or weird? I need a place to stay for a while, and I can’t keep shuffling from house to house like some kind of vagrant.
But more than needing a place to stay, I’m starting to feel like I need these four boys in my life. Like my heart and soul shine brighter when they’re around. Like there were parts of me missing before I met them that I’m not sure I could live without now. And it’s terrifying to think of risking that, of taking the leap into something bigger and deeper than what we already have.
Because what if it all comes crumbling down?
Or what if it doesn’t?
What if this is the beginning of something incredible?
Those are all thoughts that filter through my brain even as my body moves like it’s got a will of its own. Unhampered by my mind’s fears and doubts, my fingers find the hem of River’s soft t-shirt and pull it up over his head. The sculpted muscles I ran my hands over last night are all there, still as gorgeous as ever, still begging for my touch.
Before I can reach for them though, River is lifting my tank top, dragging it up and off my body, and then he crawls up on the bed to settle between my legs. I lay back against the mattress as he kisses me again, and I can’t believe this is happening, but I sure as fuck don’t want to stop it.
My breasts are pressed against his chest, and I can feel him hard and hot between my legs. My panties are damp, and the feel of him rocking against my clit just makes me wetter.
When he pulls away, I’m breathing hard. I watch him crawl lower, peeling off my pajama bottoms and panties as he goes, and it’s like all the sexual tension that built up between us last night is pressing against my skin, demanding release.
He drops kisses all across my stomach, my hips, and my thighs, working his way closer to my pelvis at such a torturously slow pace that I think I might explode. When his tongue finally licks up my core and settles on my clit, I half sit up, grabbing two handfuls of his hair.
“Fuck. River!”
I’m not sure he caught the movement of my lips, but when he glances up at me, I’m sure it doesn’t matter. He gets the gist anyway.
His tongue is fucking amazing, and he reads my body like an open book, pushing hard until I’m almost at the edge and then backing off.
I’m beyond worrying about what this means anymore, giving myself a free pass for the moment from wondering if it’s a really stupid idea to get involved with multiple guys at once.
Because right now, it seems like the best damn idea I’ve ever had.
I come hard on River’s tongue, my back arching off the bed as my hips tilt and swirl, grinding against his face. Lincoln was inside me three times last night, and somehow, knowing that River is kissing the place where Linc and I were connected makes every bit of my orgasm more intense.
He slows the movements of his tongue but doesn’t stop until he feels my body relax completely, melting against the mattress in exhausted satisfaction. Then he crawls up and flops over onto the bed beside me, tugging me with him so my body drapes partway over his. I got his shirt off already, but he’s still wearing his shorts, and I can see the visible bulge of his cock straining against them.
I rise up on one elbow, lifting my head to gaze down at him as my hand slides over the washboard of his stomach to the waistband of his pants. He watches me, his gray eyes dark in the dim light, and when I lift and tug on the elastic, he helps me work them off.
Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe it’s real.
His cock is hot and hard and heavy in my hand as I wrap my fingers around him.
God, I want him. I want to feel him inside me so badly. But I’m a little terrified of it too. Of what it would mean for me and Linc. For me and the twins.
For me and all four of them.
I’m not ready for that step, so I don’t take it. Instead, I move down his body, planting kisses on his chest and abdomen as I do, until I reach his dick. I lick the underside all the way up to the tip, and I hear him groan above me. When I wrap my lips around the velvety head, he makes another noise.
Shit. A girl could get used to this.
His hand finds my hair, wrapping the long, dark strands around his fist to keep them out of my way as my head bobs up and down.
“Oh, fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck.”
His abs are contracting rhythmically as his hips rise up to meet my mouth. I’m not exactly the queen of blowjobs, but I like doing this to him. A lot. I try to figure out what turns him on the most, doing more of what draws the biggest responses out of him.
When I wrap my lips around just the tip and swirl my tongue over the smooth head of his dick, he makes an inarticulate noise in his throat. When I flick my tongue over the small slit at the end, his hips jerk. And when I use my hand and my mouth together, working his entire length, I feel him swell and thicken in my grasp.
“Oh shit, Low. I’m gonna… fuck!”
He sounds desperate.
Tortured almost.
Like he needs something so badly it’s almost killing him, but at the same time, he’s not ready for it.
I hollow my cheeks, picking up my pace as I drag the nails of my free hand down his side, over the firm muscles of his obliques. His whole body shudders beneath me, and he comes hard in my mouth. I swallow, doing my best to catch all of it, and when his body finally starts to relax, I release him from my mouth and glance up at him.
He’s gazing down the length of his body at me, his fingers still tangled in my hair. The look on his face makes arousal flare inside me all over again, and I crawl slowly back up the bed, letting my skin brush against his as I do.
The hand holding my hair releases it, and he palms the back of my head instead, bringing my lips to his. We’re both more relaxed, softer now, and I feel that in our kiss—a recognition that something fundamental has already changed between us.
It will never go back to the way it was.
But that’s okay. I don’t think I want it to.
&nbs
p; When our kiss breaks, I roll off of him and drape myself against his body, pressing our naked skin together. I crane my neck to look up at his face, then murmur, “You’re not still gonna sleep on the couch, are you?”
“Fuck no.”
He smiles, kisses my nose, and then reaches down to pull the covers over us, as if to show me he has no intention of leaving. Then he wraps his arms around me, keeping me nestled against his side.
“I won’t tell Linc or the other guys what you told me, Low,” he whispers. “But you should tell them. They won’t freak out or get weird, I promise. I know it’s easier keeping it a secret… but having people you trust know your secrets and still see you for you? That’s even better.”
I nod, because he’s right. I have that with my mom and Hunter, and it’s the only thing that’s helped me keep my sanity sometimes. Mom still worries about me, but that’s different than the pitying looks strangers give me when they hear I had childhood cancer. She went through it all with me, so she’s allowed to worry.
A moment later, River shifts our positions so he can lean over and turn off the bedside lamp. I end up curled on my side, the little spoon to his bigger one, as his arm steals around my waist, his palm resting on my stomach and his breath stirring my hair.
We fall asleep like that, our bodies molded together, and it might be even better than everything else that came before.
18
I half expect things to feel awkward in the bright light of morning, but they really don’t.
River wakes up slowly and kisses me thoroughly, and then we take turns in the bathroom getting ready. He grabs us some breakfast from the kitchen, and I don’t see either of his parents. As far as I know, they have no idea I slept over last night, but that can’t possibly last. Not once Mr. Black realizes I’m no longer staying under his roof, and not after I tell Mom I moved out.
But it’s not really worth stressing about until it happens—there are bigger, more important things to be stressing out about right now.
River’s phone vibrates a moment before Dax and Chase pull up outside. The two of us slip into the back seat, and I can feel the twins’ gazes on me—Dax through the rearview and Chase over his shoulder. I wonder if they know what happened between me and River last night, if they can see it on my skin somehow. I don’t look any different, but I feel different, like the change between the two of us set off a change in me too.
