He’s giving me his trust, hoping we can mend the division between us, but I know that’s impossible. No matter how wonderful he is. Maybe because of how wonderful he is.
Ezra’s nostrils flare, and his blue eyes are wider than normal. His breath quickens, and my heartbeat races, as if trying to match it. “Do you hate me?”
I blink and then realize the desire I thought I saw was just aggression.
Of course. Because Ezra isn’t gay, and if he were—well, if he were, he wouldn’t be fantasizing about me. He has everyone in the world to adore him.
He could be with anyone.
“Man, I’m exhausted.” I shrug and push open the door to the carriage house, striding up the steps to his bedroom. Footsteps follow and soon we stand before his room, and Ezra is opening the door. He flicks the switch on, flooding my vision of him with light. I try to chuckle and wave off the tension that soars through the room, but his eyes only narrow. I swallow hard, conscious of all the nerve endings in my body telling me he’s right across from me. He’s right before me. I could . . . touch him.
Warmth beats against my neck, and I want to scratch it. I shift my legs from side to side.
If anyone knew how I felt . . .
Sweat dampens my forehead. It’s warm in southern California and my body is clearly not capable of coping with that and a hot future brother at the same time. I stare into his eyes.
Up close, I can see the different shades of blue that make up his vibrant eyes. Ezra drops his eyes down, and I shake myself from studying the length of his lashes and the curve they make.
“We can’t go on like this,” Ezra says. “Not speaking to each other.”
“No?”
“We live together, Alec.”
“I’ll be returning to Kentucky soon enough. And you—you could rent an apartment anytime. Or buy an apartment. Or house. Mansion.” I frown, and Ezra chuckles.
“I’m not in a rush to leave,” he says.
“But maybe you want more privacy with Celia . . .”
A shadow crosses Ezra’s face, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, maybe I’ll leave.”
We’re silent for a moment, and I think about how this Ezra is much more than the Ezra I thought I knew. He’s not all about parties. He’s not all about drinking. He’s not even all about traveling, even though he’s always enthusiastic about the places he’s been to in his interviews. He’s kind and good and all sorts of wonderful instead.
I shouldn’t be standing here in front of him, praising him in my mind.
“But I’m not leaving yet,” Ezra says, and he’s once again frowning at me in a sort of solemn way that still completely turns me on. “Tell me what’s really going on, Alec.”
His voice is so warm and velvety, and his eyes are so gentle; I almost feel like I could tell him everything, and he would understand.
“I—” My breath hitches in my throat. He’s so close to me, and I want to pull his face into my hands. I want to suck on his lips. I want to kiss him. I want to do everything that is completely, utterly off-limits.
“Don’t think I would understand?” Ezra asks. The hurt look I’ve seen on his face too often is back again, and I shake my head violently.
I swallow hard, and my hands quiver. They want to touch him so badly. They want to grasp hold of his cotton t-shirt, thin enough that his defined muscles are showing, and slide around his waist. I want to bury myself in his arms. I want to nibble on his ears, and I want to grab hold of his dick until it grows hard.
Because I want to make him uncomfortable, I remind myself. Because I want his mother to break off the wedding with Dad. So that we will never see each other again.
I growl and grab hold of his face, waiting for him to punch me, for him to force me from the room so we never see each other again.
But our eyes lock, and I don’t see disgust there. Tentatively, my lips find his. I don’t want to hurt him—that’s never been my goal. But Ezra’s hands explore my hair, and the deep, enticing moan I hear just might be his.
My heart lurches, thrown off by Ezra’s actions. Does Ezra—does Ezra want men? Does he want me?
My mind swirls, and I try to pull away from him, but his hands tighten around my neck. Only then do I allow myself to relax. My shoulders sag, and I pull him more tightly toward me. My hand doesn’t need to drop to his pants. His cock is hard and throbbing, pressed against mine, and my heart soars.
“Oh, God.” Ezra’s moan is too loud, and we both draw our breath in. Our eyes find each other, and Ezra’s lips press against mine.
The door is shut, but I don’t need to ask him to know what he’s thinking. Our parents are in a bedroom, right on the other side of the hall. If they heard us . . .
I swallow hard, and sweat dampens my brow. Part of me wants to go. This isn’t about me coming on to a straight guy in order to drive a wedge in our parents’ marital plans. This is about me and Ezra, a man who is amazing, coming together.
And the only thing that will happen when we do will be that one of us gets hurt because that’s what always happens. Almost always. Dad taught me that.
I should leave the room and never speak with Ezra about whatever happened again. Pretend it didn’t happen.
“Alec.” His voice stops me, and I know I’m crazy to think that I can walk away from him.
“No documentary,” I say.
“Right.” Ezra’s foot taps a nervous rhythm, and he scratches the back of his neck. I avert my eyes, too tempted to gaze at his muscular arm and the way his cotton shirt tightens around it.
“I’ve never . . .” Ezra whispers.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I have.”
His eyes appraise me, and I shiver under his gaze. I reach out to touch him, and my arm trembles as I extend it before me. Approaching him is like approaching all my dreams.
I’m not sure if I pull him into his arms, or if he just steps into them, but the next moment my nerve endings are celebrating again. His body heats me in a way that could only be described as earthshattering.
The stubble on his cheeks brushes against mine, and I’m reminded this is the real Ezra, not the Ezra who appears clean-shaven and representing an image before all the world to be worshipped.
We stumble toward the bed, grasping hold of each other, not wanting to talk and do anything to ruin the moment and realize our actions are insane. At some point, he’ll come to his senses; at some point, he’ll want to wish this never happened, but that moment hasn’t happened yet, and for that I am completely, stupidly grateful.
I push Ezra onto the bed, and his eyes shine with a pleasure I want to equal and surpass in a dozen different ways. I want to make him smile. I want to make him feel good.
I want everything.
I return to kissing him because there’s nothing like that sense of closeness with him, and then my hands are free to roam around his amazing body.
He scrambles up and punches something on his iPod, and the room fills with music. Not his voice, but it’s something else which is light and airy and calming that says that this moment is all good.
Chapter Ten
Ezra
Alec is on my bed, moaning and writhing and acting like he does in my fantasies. Not a dream version of him. It’s him.
My heart tumbles in my chest, as if unsure whether to rejoice or wrench up tight, and my breath catches in my throat. He knows my secret—the one no one, especially him, was supposed to know.
He answers all my dreams, all my desires, but he also possesses the ability to hurt me like no other. And Alec—nice isn’t a word I would use to describe him. Cocky and arrogant and fucking gorgeous are more appropriate.
My eyes dart to the door, and the pleasure that swept me to places I shouldn’t visit abandons me. I should never have done this. He could sell my story to some tabloid. A male celebrity caught sleeping with his stepbrother-to-be must rate extra-juicy on the scale. God, I can’t even trust Alec to be nice. Even Caleb got his sexuality splattered al
l over the international headlines. And he was sleeping with someone he adored.
Alec could destroy me, and dread hollows out my stomach so that I feel like I consist only of my worry. I bite my lip and channel nonchalance. I sigh and stretch.
“Wow, dude. Guess I’m horny. Still prefer kissing girls though.” I laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about my lie. I stand on unsteady legs and approach the door.
Alec’s face crumples for a moment before a placid, bored expression smooths over his features. Maybe the steady, stoic look he normally has is indeed just a mask.
“You should go,” I say, and this time I avert my gaze because I don’t want to see his face. Don’t want to see disappointment or—my chest tightens at the thought—hatred reflected from his dark brown eyes.
My body stiffens, and I brace myself for the sound of sheets rustling and of his body sliding from my bed and out of my life, at least in this manner. I prepare myself to confine exploring my sexuality to electronic screens, password protected from the prying gaze of the outside world. My heartbeat quickens, and I keep my eyes shut, having no desire to see him stride away from me, driven away by lies even I don’t believe.
But the rustling never sounds, and the mattress does not shift with the absence of his weight. His masculine scent still wafts over me, and I turn my head toward him, not sure whether I’m conjuring up his presence, because surely, surely he wouldn’t be staying.
I lift my eyelids, and he’s there.
His eyes appraise me, and I want to wonder at the beauty of the dark brown color, strewn with amber and gold, and the way his lengthy black lashes frame them. I want to run my fingers over his firm jaw, and I want to pull his lips back to me, where they belong. But that’s ridiculous.
I swallow hard, and open my mouth to repeat that he should go, even though my body is screaming at me to be silent. I narrow my eyes, angry all the same that he’s making me kick him out.
“Ezra.” Alec’s voice halts me. “It’s okay.”
“I—”
“I won’t tell. You know that, right?” he asks, and his voice is urgent. He steps toward me, and my chest squeezes as he makes his way toward me, stopping so close to me his musky scent wafts over me and my breath quickens. He moves his hand tentatively over me, but the feel of his skin, as gentle as his touch is, still makes me want to moan with need.
I press my lips together, as if the gesture can extinguish the desire soaring through me. Finally, I cross my arms. “You’re speaking nonsense.”
“Am I?” His Kentucky accent rumbles in my ear as he steps toward me, invading my space. “You’re saying you don’t like me at all?”
“Um . . .” Not thatway, my mind screams at me to say, but my throat thickens around the lie. Sweat dots the back of my neck, and I step backward on unsteady legs.
My heart clunks against my ribs as I search my mind for something to say, anything that will brush away the past twenty minutes and the signals of lust and desire I must have emitted.
“Ezra,” he murmurs. “I mean it. I won’t tell.”
My back is too rigid, and I strive to look relaxed and not like he knows the secret that will destroy me. I flex my fingers gingerly.
He steps forward and pulls me into his arms. My heart lurches as our chests press together, and his warmth sends a pleasant jolt to each of my nerve endings. He touches my forehead with his. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
I squirm away because I know he’s lying, even though part of me is desperate to believe him. “You don’t even want our parents to be together.”
“Ezra.” He stretches his hand toward me, but his gaze shifts away.
“You can’t deny it.” My voice wobbles, and I don’t think I’m successful at keeping the disappointment from my voice, even as I strive to give the appearance of not caring.
“Look.” He shifts his legs. “That’s separate. But you—I wouldn’t hurt you. Believe me.”
I’m silent, and he narrows the gap between us.
“I’m not going to do anything to risk your career,” he says.
I know I should be shrugging him off, telling him he’s being silly because I was just experimenting, but I can’t form the words.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, and this time I let him pull me toward him again. I’m tired of lying to myself, to others, and now, in the privacy of my room, I allow his strong hands to brush over me, to soothe the rapid beating of my heart.
“Just experimenting,” I mumble.
His hands cease their exploration of my body, and I regret saying anything to halt his blissful progression. But then he nods, and everything is fine—everything is amazing—once again.
He drags me back to the bed. Our legs entwine, and our whole bodies work to get as close together as we possibly can. I let Alec kiss me, let him carry me to a whole different place.
“You know,” Alec says, and his grin is cocky, “I’m an expert in the scientific method.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“So I appreciate a man who wants to experiment,” he continues, and my shoulders relax into my mattress. His breath is hot, and his scent, a tantalizing mix of crisp citrus and amber, fills my body with craving.
I’m touching a man, not a woman, and I don’t need to worry about telling myself I’m enjoying this; I don’t need to worry about my cock deflating because my whole body is screaming how good and right it feels to finally—finally—be touching a guy.
It’s awesome and amazing that Alec, the man who stars in my dreams, is the guy I’m touching. And I’m trying not to think how strange it is that the man intent to be unfriendly to me is now the man bringing me such pleasure. Not gonna question it.
My erection strains against my pants, but when I reach down to adjust it, Alec’s hand touches mine.
“Let me.” His voice is steady and confident, and all I can do is nod. I scramble up and watch as he slides the zipper down and undresses me. My cock springs out, thick and rock hard. Pre-cum drips down, and he circles the head with his finger.
My whole body aches with want. I tear off his shirt, and glide my hands over his chest. I’ve seen him shirtless before, of course, lounging around in his swim trunks, but now my hands explore the hard ridges of his broad chest. He moans as I touch him, and my hand ventures to his nipples. I circle them with my hand and smile when his tawny peaks tighten. He breaths in tiny, urgent pants, and I flash a glance at the shut window.
I really, really don’t want our parents to hear.
“Quiet.” I whisper in his ear, but he takes the opportunity to put his hands on me and roll on top. I bite my lip to suppress a moan. When he pulls away to tear off his clothes, I raise my torso to meet him because any distance between us now is unthinkable.
This so isn’t an experiment.
His imposing, magnificent, naked form tempts me, and electricity sparks throughout my body. My hands explore his sculpted muscles, and I suck his golden, sun-kissed skin. The taste is salty and amazing. He thrusts his hardness against mine, straining with a desperation that is crazy hot.
“Ezra . . .” It’s my name he moans. My name and God’s.
His long fingers fumble on mine, and a smile stretches across my face. I trace his tattoo with my hands, a badge that signals his toughness, which I already adore.
I strive to remember the last time I was in bed with someone. Women with long, blond hair, the only variety whether they straightened or curled it, bleached it or left it just natural, meld together in my mind. Most of those encounters were with giggling fans crashing after parties, intent on creating a memory with a wild rock star, uninterested in anything more about me. Some of the encounters were with cooler, bored female celebrities, relieved when I didn’t seem to expect too much from them.
Alec’s tongue teases my lips, distracting me from my thoughts. I run my fingers over his stubble-shadowed face, memorizing the feel of his straight jaw. He gazes at me, and I think his expression is tender. I swallow hard
and avert my eyes because this is everything I’ve ever wanted, and I’m afraid he’ll know, that my eyes will reflect awe when they should reflect disinterest and simple curiosity.
But maybe I don’t care.
I pull his head forward and kiss him. My tongue brushes against his succulent lips, eliciting a deep moan. He seizes control, devouring my tongue, sucking and swirling on it. My heart rate speeds up. My legs weaken, and I nestle into the soft sheets, focusing only on the tantalizing taste of Alec’s tongue against mine.
I revel in the velvety-smooth texture of his skin and the heat of his breath against my face. My hands explore his body, warmed by the heat of his skin against mine.
He smirks at me and trails kisses down my chest. My cock twitches, and he grabs hold of it.
I’m on fire.
My cock thickens more than I thought possible, but Alec doesn’t seem the least bit daunted by it. He smirks at me and continues to glide his fingers around my pulsating erection.
And my heart twists because this feels so good, so right, but we can never be together. Even if I do come out, when we finish, Alec and I will still live together, and he will still be my stepbrother-to-be.
Chapter Eleven
Alec
His cock surges before me, thick and throbbing and ridiculously tempting. My fingertips skate across it, and when he writhes in pleasure, I increase my hold around his straining shaft. His back arches up, and his rose-colored nipples tighten into taut peaks. I bend down and lave the tip of his nipples with my tongue, keeping the motion of my hand on his cock slow and steady, gliding up and down. I suck on his nipple, kneading the other with my finger, and his breath quickens into convulsive gasps.
I press hot, open-mouthed kisses on his golden, satiny flesh. My hands roam over his chest, luxuriating in the warmth of his body. He thrusts his shaft into my hand, and I grin and crawl between his legs.
My Stepbrother the Rock Star (Men of Midnight Dreams Book 2) Page 7
