Unwritten Law (Steele Brothers 1)

Reed’s smile fills my head, and I realise, no, the wrongness is the only reason I’m still standing on this side of the door and not inside his apartment stripping him out of his clothes. My attraction to Reed is all him—not just his golden hair and toned muscles, but everything about him. From the gentle way he deals with his students and how he wants to be a better teacher to the way he bossed me around in bed last time.

If anything, I deserve credit for holding out until tonight to come back.

But if I do this—if I knock on his door again—there’s no turning back. It will blow up in my face eventually. It will make shit awkward, and we work together. It might only be for an hour once a week, but I’ll still have to see him when it’s over. I could end it now and stay his friend as Law, just hoping Reed never crosses paths with Anders, or I could say fuck it and have Reed while I can. I’m already gripping the edge, dangling over the rabbit hole. All I have to do is let go. Or climb out. One or the other.

This is the second time in a matter of weeks that I’m having a staring competition with Reed’s door.

With a deep breath, I knock. And there Reed is, wearing the hottest smirk I’ve ever seen. Morality, right and wrong, and the angel that’s too busy getting fucked by the devil all disappear.

The way Reed looks at me when I’m Anders has my pulse racing and my breathing shallow.

I grip Reed’s shirt and pull him close. Not a single word is spoken before our mouths meet and we make our stumbling journey past the kitchen and living room towards the back of his apartment to his bed. I read somewhere once that if you do something three times in a row it’s classed as a routine. Each time I’ve been in Reed’s apartment, we’ve fumbled our way around, too busy wrapped in each other to care about running into furniture.

“What do you want?” Reed asks and moves his lips to my neck. His hands reach under my shirt and press into my abs.

“I want …” I almost choke on the words. “I want you to …” What I really want is not to be nervous as fuck right now.

“Want me to fuck you?” he whispers.

I jolt away from him and take a few steps back.

“What’s wrong? I thought—like, it’s cool if you’re not into that. What we did last week was fine by me.” He reaches back and pulls off his shirt.

There’s so much I want to do to him and him to me. The two times I’ve been with Reed haven’t been enough, and I doubt this time will be either, but I need to treat every time like it’ll be the last, because I’m hoping I come to my senses soon.

But not tonight. No fucking way.

“Anders?” Reed snaps me out of my hesitance.

“Sorry. Thinking. Umm, I want you to fuck me.” My voice cracks halfway through, dammit.

“Are you sure about that? Why do I feel like you’re about to say ‘but’?”

“Confession time.” I run my hand over my hair and grip tight, practically pulling it out from the roots. “I don’t bottom. Like, ever.” Unfortunately for me, because of oversharing on Anders’ part, I know this is a partial truth about my brother. He used to—a long time ago—but not anymore. He can no longer give up that type of control. I shouldn’t know this, but I do, and it all weaves in with how I fucking got here, pretending to be someone I’m not.

“Never?” Reed asks.

“Why’s that so hard to believe?”

He shrugs. “You don’t seem very … toppy.”

“Thanks? I think?”

“Don’t mean anything by it. You just seem easy-going and up for anything, like your brother. Most guys who are exclusive tops are controlling and—”

“Are you about to get stereotypical on me?”

“I said most guys. Stereotypes exist for a reason. I do want to ask why you haven’t bottomed before and why you want to with me though.”

I must pull a face or visibly pale because he quickly backpedals.

“But the look on your face tells me you don’t want to share that information, and we’re supposed to be no strings attached, so I’ll shut my mouth. We don’t need to get into it.”

“The opportunity hasn’t presented itself.” Not a lie, but something Reed will probably see right through. That’s me talking, not Anders. What supposed twenty-eight-year-old gay man hasn’t had the opportunity? “I mean, guy wise. No one I’ve wanted to go there with.”

“You don’t even know me. Hell, I know your brother better than I know you at this point.”

This is going downhill. “And he talks about you. It’s as if I know you, and that’s good enough for me.” I reach out and pull him towards me, bending slightly at the knees. I’ve been hard since before I knocked on the door, and when I push against Reed, he groans. My head dips, my mouth going to his neck. He shudders under my warm breath on his skin.