Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

A heartbeat passes. Another as I try to bridle myself. Then I lean down, take her face in my hands, and kiss her like she’s the last thing I’ll ever taste. I kiss her with the power surging through my veins, with all the strength of my desire to protect her from this day. With all the want that’s burning through me—want of more than just her body. Want of days and nights, forgotten things like the weight of a woman’s body in my arms and the way the woods sound when the sun comes slanting through the trees like sheets of gold. Everything I long for, everything I can’t have, I pour into her mouth—and Cleo responds beautifully.

Her arms twine around my waist, pressing her soft belly against my bulge. I’m so damn hard, I just want to push myself against her until she spreads her legs and lets me in. Instead I slide my tongue into the softness of her mouth. Cleo gasps. It makes me smile around her lips, knowing that I can make my dirty girl gasp with just a slip of my tongue.

I explore her slowly, wrapping an arm around her back and cradling her head, so when I thrust my tongue into the hot, slick sanctuary of her mouth, she doesn’t have to work to stay upright.

I kiss her soft and slow, and longer, harder, until she’s gasping and my hand is squeezing her breast. Her back is pressed against the refrigerator, and I’m thrusting against her.

She’s rocking against me, too. She slides down the refrigerator door, and I take her in my arms and lay her on the floor. She’s panting. I can see her nipples poke out through her colorful t-shirt.

I kneel over her. “Do you want to be fucked on my kitchen floor?”

She starts to nod, and I crouch over her, pressing my lips against her temple even as I straddle her and rub my bulge against her softness.

“Know what I think would be better?” She blinks up at me, her eyes liquid and dreamy as I shift myself against her. “We’re going to do this sometime on the way there. I’m going to pick the spot.”

She pushes her pussy against my dick. “But it’s a—”

“A serious occasion?” I lift my hips off hers and work my hand into the elastic waistband of her leggings. “A sad one?” I ask, stroking her soft belly.

She nods. She looks down guiltily at my hand. My gaze rolls to her nipples, and when I don’t see their outline against her shirt, I help her up and lean her against the counter.

“Here...” I twist the top off the Snow Queen. I get a shot glass from the cabinet and fill it to the brim, then hold it out to Cleo. “I don’t think your sister would want you to have a shitty day. And you know what else I think?”

She takes the glass and shakes her head.

“I think you don’t have to feel like shit to commemorate someone who’s gone.” I think of Ly and his khakis and his button-up Polos with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms.

“You know why I ran for SGA, Cleo?”

She brings the vodka to her lips and holds it there. “No,” she whispers over the clear liquid.

“Because my brother loved rules and order. He was a dork who carried—” I swallow hard. “You know that calculator I had? That was his, and he loved that fucking thing. Our day school had a dress code, so we were all walking around like little CEOs but Lyon—he got off on that shit. He ironed his clothes and mine too, and Myra our housekeeper would always laugh at that. But he knew what he liked. He liked to feel like things were taken care of. He liked to be prepared. And when we started college he rushed, but he also went out for a spot on the USG Senate, because he loved that kind of shit. The boring shit? Lyon was all over that.”

She slams the shot back, then gives me a wide-eyed look, her lips caught somewhere between a sad smile and a surprised oval. “So you don’t like rules and order?”

I laugh. “Hell no, not those kinds of rules. I memorized Robert’s Rules of Order and it damn near killed me. That’s one of the things I did for Ly.”

“You ran for SGA for him.” Her lips tuck up, but it’s not a smile. It’s something more fragile.

I nod, and when I open my mouth to say something else, the words all lined up to come out are I’m more of a wood-chopping guy. Because—fuck me—I want her to fucking know.

For just this one dark moment in my spotless, stainless-and-granite kitchen, I want Cleo to know exactly who I am—and what my life is like. I want it so much I ache with it.

My jaw clamps shut, because I could never do that to her. I’ll do everything I can to ensure Cleo stays out of my sick mess. No one really earns this kind of hell on earth, but least of all Cleo.

Least of all Lyon.

I have to turn toward the sink so I don’t give myself away.

I suck a deep breath back and try to calm my racing pulse. Cleo must know because she doesn’t make a move toward me. She lets me have my space to mourn my brother, even though what I’m really doing is mourning her.

THE SECOND KELLAN AND I start down the stairs, a black cat streaks across the lawn, between the porch steps and Kellan’s Escalade. My first instinct is to lunge after it, because that’s the kind of spaz I am, but Kellan stops me with a squeeze of my fingers.

“Are you trying to catch her?” He grins.

“Possibly.” I giggle.

“Wait here.” He lets go of my hand and disappears into the house while I watch the yard for a black streak. I don’t see one, so when Kellan re-appears with a bowl of diced chicken and sets it on the corner of the porch, I sink down onto the top stair and figure we’re waiting for nothing.