One Bride for Five Brothers

Carefully, I reach out, fingers outstretched, my palm facing him. He doesn't flinch as I place my fingers just under his chin, then slowly let them fall along the skin of his thick neck to the space between his collarbones.

“I want to touch you,” I whisper. “I want to undress you. I want to feel your pulse.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows, hard. I feel his breath quicken under my palm.

“I'm scared to talk too,” I confess. “Every day, I was terrified to say those things to you… but then I couldn't stop. I had to tell you.”

He shakes his head tightly. I can almost hear him grinding his teeth. “Is this some kind of game?” he growls.

“It’s not a game!” I insist. I hear the desperation of my voice. “Every word… every image… it’s all completely true. All the things I could never say to you in real life… I've never said to anybody…”

He swallows again, and his eyes dart back and forth as he searches my eyes, as though trying to read me like a book. I don't hold anything back, I don't try to hide at all. I want him to see me plainly, to know this is really me, with nothing hidden.

“But why?”

“At first, I thought you might help me meet Kirkman. But as soon as we started to talk… I got carried away. I felt like I could tell you anything.”

He nods. His eyes are so hard and intense, I'm not sure if he's furious with me or what.

“Yes… I suppose I felt that way too,” he admits.

I dare to take another half step forward, close enough I feel the heat of him, the disturbance of the air as his chest rises and falls. With my eyes locked on his I let my fingers fumble at the buttons, unbuttoning his shirt little by little.

“I never thought I could do that sort of thing,” I whisper. “I never thought I could be so honest, even while I wasn't telling you who I was. In a funny way, it meant that I could be even more honest with you.”

August leans forward, his lips just millimeters from mine. My body aches to be closer to him, but I need to be sure.

“Tell me what you're thinking,” I ask. “I need to know.”

“Is there more?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“You have more to confess?”

I press my lips together, shaking my head. “I don't have more to confess. Do you?”

He tips his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

I smile.

“What were you doing in my room?”

“Your room —” he sucks his breath in suddenly, remembering. “Oh, I'm sorry. What an intrusion. I didn't know… I didn't think about —”

I put my fingers against his lips, quieting him. He bites back whatever he was going to say.

“No… don’t be sorry. I'm not mad. I'm just curious, I suppose? It made me feel… I don't even know what.”

“It did?” he raises his eyebrows.

I take a deep breath. The feeling is come back through me, sloshing through my belly like an overfilled wineglass.

“Do that for me,” I tell him. “Tell me with that was like. Show me.”

“I needed to send you a picture,” he begins, slowly. I hear him unbutton his pants but I don't look down. In a moment, I hear the soft whoosh as the fabric slides off his hips.

“You sent me a picture. Your panties. So exciting. Then you asked me to send you a picture.”