Tempting

by Crystal Kaswell

  He pushes himself to his feet and slips into the hallway. His footsteps move toward his room.

  I push myself into my chair.

  Then Emma's footsteps are moving up the stairs and she's knocking on my open door. She peeks inside. "Kay. What happened?"

  "Grandma."

  She moves into my room and plants on the bed. "You want to talk about it?"

  I nod.

  And I do.

  I tell her a lot.

  But it's not enough.

  I'm still lying to her about Brendon.

  I'm still hiding a huge piece of myself from her. From everyone.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Kaylee

  I fall asleep with puffy eyes and a sore throat and I wake up lonely.

  As long as I keep this to myself, I'm alone.

  Brendon doesn't belong to me. He belongs to the version of Kaylee I convince him I am.

  But that isn't me.

  I need to tell him everything.

  Soon.

  Really, really soon.

  It's a beautiful morning. Soft light floods the room. It bounces off the TV, casting glare over the incomprehensible action movie.

  But it’s not like I’m paying attention.

  I'm sitting next to Brendon, turning over all my thoughts.

  Wanting more.

  More of... just more.

  I need to feel he's mine. Because I'm not ready to tell him. Not yet.

  My body is going to have to get this across.

  He turns toward me. Brings his hand to my chin and pulls me into a kiss.

  A deep, hard you're mine kind of kiss.

  An I love you kind of kiss.

  I've never said those words before. Not romantically.

  I'm still not sure exactly what it means to love someone.

  I press my lips to his. I tug at his t-shirt. "Emma's at work."

  He nods.

  "We could... I want to..." My cheeks flame. I'm still not good at this dirty talk thing.

  His expression shifts. The doubt in his eyes fades into something a lot more demanding. "Tell me what you want, angel."

  To be sure you're mine. I stare back into his eyes. I know exactly what I want. Now I have to ask for it.

  He stares back at me. "Well?"

  "I... I want to suck you off."

  His pupils dilate. "Fuck, Kay, you know how to bury the lead."

  My cheeks flush. "I'm sorry. I just. I've never, and—"

  "Don't fucking apologize." He slides his hand into my hair and pulls me into a slow, deep kiss. "I love how earnest you are."

  Love. The word does things to me. Things it didn't do yesterday.

  My confession nags at my throat.

  I want to tell him.

  I'm going to.

  Just... after this.

  I swear.

  He nips at my lips. "Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me."

  "Right back at you." I press my forehead to his nose so I won't have to look him in the eyes. "I've never... will you teach me?"

  He nods. "I like it rough."

  "Are you going to keep warning me?"

  "Probably." He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me off the couch with him.

  Brendon nods to the window. "You want the blinds closed?"

  I bite my lip. "No." We're blocks from the beach. People might walk by. They might see. But the thought doesn't scare me. It makes my sex clench. It makes my pulse race.

  "You want people to see you on your knees, angel?"

  I swallow hard. "Yes."

  He motions come here.

  I do.

  His lips crash into mine. It's a hard, hungry kiss. Need rises up from my stomach and pours from my lips to his.

  Right now, I need to feel he's mine.

  He breaks our kiss to pull my t-shirt over my head. Then he's undoing my bra and pushing the straps off my shoulders.

  Desire races through my body as Brendon cups my breasts.

  My eyes flutter closed as he draws circles around my nipples. His hands are strong, but they're gentle too. Every brush of his fingers sends another wave of desire straight to my core.

  "Brendon..." I grab onto his t-shirt.

  "Say it again, angel."

  "Brendon..." Right now, the only thing I know is that I want him touching me.

  He presses his hips against mine so I can feel his erection. Still, he keeps his focus on my chest as he toys with my nipples. His touch gets lighter and lighter until it's so light I can barely feel it. Then it's harder.

  Harder.

  Hard enough it hurts as much as it feels good.

  But it feels really fucking good.

  He drags his fingers over my collarbones. His eyes fix on mine.

  His voice is as demanding as his gaze. "On your knees."

  My sex clenches. I want to be on my knees for him. I want him in my mouth.

  I don't know how it's possible, but somehow, I'm even hotter.

  I lower myself onto my knees.

  Brendon's hand curls into my hair. "I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

  Yes. Hell yes. I nod.

  "Unzip my jeans and take out my cock."

  I bring my hands to the waistband of his jeans and unzip. My palm presses against his boxers. That's Brendon under that thin layer of cotton.

  Desire pools in my core. I want this more than I want to get off.

  I pull his jeans to his feet. Then the boxers.

  And that's Brendon, hard and ready for me.

  I take a moment to soak in the sight of him. He's thick. Long. My fingers go to the arrow-head shaped tip.

  He feels good in my hand.

  I lean in to brush my lips against him. At first, it's just a taste, and fuck does he taste good. Like skin and sweat and something distinctly him.

  "Open your mouth," he commands.

  I do.

  He brings his other hand to my head. "Keep your hands at your sides, angel. I'm in control here. If it's too much, tug on my wrist."

  "Yes." I press my palms into my sides and pull my lips apart.

  His holds my head in place as he shifts into my mouth. I run my tongue over his head, savoring every groan that falls off his lips.

  He tastes good and that's Brendon in my mouth.

  I want him.

  I want this.

  His grip tightens as he thrusts deeper. My lips stretch around him. My tongue presses against the underside of his tip.

  His pace stays slow, but, still, I have to relax my throat to keep from gagging.

  I have to press my palms into my hips to keep from reaching out to touch him.

  He looks down at me, his expression equal parts caring and ravenous. He runs his hand through my hair.

  It settles on the back of my head. "I'm going to come in that pretty mouth of yours."

  My sex clenches. I want that too.

  I nod, sucking on him. I suck harder. Harder. I need more of him. I need him coming in my mouth.

  Something in Brendon's expression shifts. Some animal part of him takes over as he presses his palm into the back of my head.

  His movements get harder. He thrusts into my mouth hard and fast. He thrusts deep enough I gag. But I fucking like it.

  I like how dirty I feel.

  I like being a vessel for his pleasure.

  Feeling like I'm his.

  I dig my nails into my skin to contain the desire building in my core. To keep from gagging.

  I look up at him. Watch his dark eyes fill with pleasure, his lips part with a groan.

  "Fuck, Kaylee." He tugs at my hair.

  His movements get harder, faster. He's close.

  And then he's there, filling my mouth. He tastes good and it feels good, knowing I brought Brendon all that pleasure.

  Once I'm sure he's spilled every drop, I swallow hard.

  He reaches down to take my hands. Then he pulls me up and presses my body against his.

  His lips find
mine. His tongue claims my mouth.

  He pushes my shorts to my knees as he breaks the kiss. "Sit on the couch and spread your legs."

  I stumble, falling back onto the soft couch. I've sat here a hundred times. No, a thousand.

  But never like this.

  Brendon's dark eyes light up as he takes a long look at me. He moves closer. Closer.

  Then he's kneeling in front of me.

  He pulls my shorts off my feet. His hands close around my thighs, just above my knees.

  In one swift motion, he pushes my legs apart. My knees press into the slick leather fabric of the couch. I fall onto the cushion.

  Brendon drags his lips up my inner thigh. Closer. Closer. Closer.

  There.

  His lips brush against me.

  My thighs fight his hands. I want more. I want all of him.

  But I also want to give myself to him.

  I want to be his.

  He teases me mercilessly. He blows hot air against my clit. Then cold. Then he's brushing his lips against me. Then it's slow flicks of his tongue, so soft I can barely feel them. He gets every inch of me.

  Pleasure builds in my core. I'm ready to overflow, but he's not pushing me toward the edge. He's only building my need.

  "Please." I tug at his hair.

  Still, he teases me. His tongue stays soft and slow. The pleasure is diffuse. It's everywhere. I feel good in a way that hurts. In a way that begs for release.

  "Brendon, please." I press my legs against his hands.

  His grip stays firm. He looks up at me, his brown eyes on fire. "You'll come when I say you come, angel."

  The edge to his voice makes my sex clench. I can't believe it, but I want him in control of my orgasm.

  I can't believe how much I'm willing to give myself to him.

  How deeply I trust him.

  Still, he teases me. I tug at his hair and press my thighs against his hands. It does nothing to contain how badly I need release. I'm wound up. I'm close. And I desperately need to go over the edge.

  It's like he can read me. His motions get harder. Faster. He takes his time ramping up his speed and pressure. The intensity makes it feel like hours pass.

  He goes faster.

  Harder.

  His soft, wet tongue is heaven.

  His fingers curl into my thighs as he licks me.

  The tension in my sex builds to a crescendo. Almost. So fucking close.

  There.

  With the next flick of his tongue, I unravel.

  I groan. I writhe. I tug his hair hard enough to rip it out.

  He holds me in place, still flicking his tongue against me. It's too much pressure. I can't take it.

  "Brendon." I try to press my legs against him, but his grip is too firm.

  I'm staying on this couch, his mouth on me, as long as he wants me here.

  Fuck, the pressure is intense. I can barely take it. But I can. As painful as it is, I don't want him to stop.

  He flicks his tongue against me. His motions get harder. Faster. It's still intense. It still hurts. But now the pleasure outweighs everything else.

  I get lost in the bliss growing inside me. A few more flicks of his tongue and I'm there.

  I scream his name as I go over the edge.

  I shake. I writhe. I tug at his hair.

  I feel my orgasm all the way in the tips of my toes.

  This time, Brendon releases me. He pushes himself up, takes my hands, and pulls me into his arms.

  His touch gets soft. Gentle.

  Like he thinks I'm his.

  But I'm not.

  Not until he knows every part of me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Kaylee

  Saturday night is busy. And I'm closing. I get caught up in the noise and the demands. I don't stop to rest or to think until I'm tallying my receipts. Even then, it takes all my mental energy to tap the numbers into my phone.

  The chatter of work drifts away on my ride home. I park my bike in the garage. Slip into the house. Climb the stairs as quietly as possible.

  All the lights are out except for the one in Brendon's bedroom.

  Emma's asleep.

  I'm about to slip into my room and find a way to stay busy—to keep that confession from rising up my throat, to keep my thoughts of Grandma stuffed into the box where they belong—when Brendon pulls his door open.

  He's standing there, one hand in the front pocket of his jeans, the other on the doorframe, his t-shirt hugging his shoulders just so.

  There's practically a beautiful distraction arrow pointing at his head. Like something in a cartoon.

  Already, the words are clawing at my throat.

  I need to tell him.

  I need him to know and to stay.

  To still love me.

  Does he love me now?

  I don't know. I'm sure he loves me as a friend, that he has for a long time, but this whole in love thing is new. Confusing.

  He reaches for me. His arm slides around my waist. In one quick motion, he pulls me inside his.

  He stares down at me with those intense, dark eyes. Right now, I know exactly what's in them. Affection. Trust. Need.

  His eyelids flutter together.

  He leans down.

  I rise to my tiptoes.

  Our lips brush. Just barely. But it's enough to fill my body with warmth. With need. With love.

  My fingers go slack. My bag hits the hardwood floor with a light thud. It's loud enough to wake Emma, but I don't care.

  I don't care about anything but getting my hands in his thick, dark hair.

  I don't care about anything but kissing him back.

  He tastes like whiskey. It shouldn't taste good, but it does. It tastes like him.

  I kiss him harder.

  Deeper.

  I shift my hips against his. Tug at his hair. Groan against his lips.

  He feels better than he tastes.

  He's everything I want.

  Well, almost.

  I can't risk that.

  But, then, I can't swallow this down much longer.

  I kiss him until my lips are numb. When I finally come up for air, he's staring back into my eyes.

  "Nice to see you too." He pulls the elastic band from my hair, undoing my ponytail. "Work good?"

  "Busy." I have to tell you something. I'm broken. I know you won't believe me, so let me explain. I rise to my tiptoes. Kiss him again. Anything to keep the words from spilling.

  He untucks my shirt. Undoes the top button. Then the next. His fingers brush my collarbones. My chest. My stomach.

  I need those hands on my body.

  I need one more time pressed against him—just in case he doesn't keep loving me.

  Just in case he runs away.

  I pull back with a heavy sigh. My eyes go straight to his. Brendon, I have to tell you something.

  It's been eating at me for weeks. Longer even. I wanted to tell him when it happened. I wanted to tell him the first time I had an ugly thought.

  I want him to save me from it.

  I know it doesn't work that way. I get it now. But there's still a part of me that thinks he can wipe everything away.

  No, I know he can.

  Just only for a little while.

  "You're thinking something." His fingertips skim my jawline.

  I'm thinking a lot. And it's all on the tip of my tongue. Either I go back to my room or I tell him. Those are the two options. I'm not sure which is worse.

  His palm presses against my cheek.

  Fuck, his skin against mine—

  The comfort of the gesture—

  I need that right now.

  And I need him to know.

  I stare back at him. "That I need a shower."

  He motions to his bathroom. "I'll join you."

  Yes. That's perfect.

  I nod. Follow him into the bathroom. Take my time stripping him out of every layer. He does the same.

  Then I step into th
e tub and I soak up every drop of him.

  After, we help each other towel dry and collapse in his bed.

  I shouldn't sleep here. I shouldn't even be here with Emma in the next room.

  But I can't tear myself away.

  It feels too good, having his warm, wet skin pressed against mine.

  He wraps his arms around me. One under the crook of my neck. The other over my waist, his palm resting on my stomach.

  I'm in his arms, my back against his chest, his breath warming my neck.

  I should be melting.

  I should be forgetting everything.

  But those words are screaming at me.

  Brendon, I have to tell you something.

  It's a simple enough start. Ominous, yeah, but simple.

  "Hey." He runs his fingers through my wet hair. They skim my ear. My neck. My shoulder. It's impossibly soft. Like he's trying to drive me crazy.

  "Hey yourself." I lean into his touch. My eyelids flutter together. Fuck, that feels good. He feels good. All of this—I can't lose it.

  But I can't keep hiding this.

  I need him to know.

  It should be simple. I need Brendon to know. So I tell him.

  But my mouth is sticky.

  My hands are numb.

  Everything is heavy.

  "Your grandma?" He traces a line down my arm, all the way to the tip of my index finger, then back up to my shoulder. It's slow. Sweet. Affectionate.

  He does it again, only this time he traces my middle finger.

  Then my ring.

  Then my pinkie.

  We lie in silence for minutes. Until I can't feel the bliss of his touch. Until I can't feel anything but the weight of this secret crushing my chest.

  It's everywhere. In the air. In the moonlight. In the soft cotton sheets. In his fingertips.

  On my lips.

  "Kay." His lips brush my ear. My neck. "Whatever it is, you don't have to talk about it."

  I nod.

  He kisses me again. It's a sweet kiss. Not I want you or I need you or I'm going to fuck you again.

  It's I love you.

  "But you can." He draws circles on my shoulder. "Anything."

  "I want to." I do. Really, I do. My desire is so big and bright it's casting everything else in glare. Every single one of my thoughts is tuned to this frequency.

  "Yeah?" He plants a kiss on my shoulder.

  "But I don't want you to look at me differently."