Save Me: a Stepbrother Romance (11 page)

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” I asked.

He looked into my eyes again, breathless, his chest rising and falling raggedly.  “I want to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

My fingers shook.  I needed to wrap them around his cock again.

“Then why won’t you kiss me?”

“Because it’s wrong,” he growled, sitting down with his head in his hands.  His chest rose and fell harshly, still out of breath.  “You’re weak right now.  You miss your boyfriend—as shitty as he is—and you’ve been crying, and then I come in and nearly fuck you, and it would be shitty of me to take advantage like that.  I’m not going to use you.”

“I don’t fucking miss Nate.”

“I still won’t use you.”

“Use me?”

Cal rested his head in his heads, his shoulders heaving as he caught his breath.  “It’s late.  You’re tired.  I shouldn’t be here.”

Despite myself, I snorted a laugh through the tears.  “You really are developing a moral compass, aren’t you, Gatlin?”

He smirked.  “What can I say, Nat.  I’m a changed man.”  He stood.  I could see the still see the huge bulge straining against his jeans, and the thought of what he might do with it once he got away from me and in private made my mouth water.  His legs seemed shaky.  “I need to go.”

“Don’t you want me?”

My voice sounded desperate, even to my ears.  He paused, battling with himself. 

“I will always want you, Natalie Harlow.”

The words sunk into me as deeply as the rich, dark sound of his voice. 

“Then I don’t know why you won’t stay.”

“Because it’s wrong, and I … I can’t think straight.  Not when you’re looking like that, and moving like that, and moaning like that.”

“What?  Like this?” 

It felt ridiculous, but I would do anything to keep him there.  I tilted my head and let out the most orgasmic moan I could conjure, fluttering my eyes closed and letting my lips part.  When I opened my eyes again, his whole body was shaking with the force it needed to stay where he was. 

His jaw was twitching.  His hands balled into fists.

“Yes,” he choked.  “Like—like that.” 

He stood in the middle of my bedroom, completely still except for his shaking hands.  The fists had gone white, and it looked like his nails where biting into his skin.  He couldn’t tear his gaze from me.  His jaw locked, and he forced himself to turn his head away.

“We can talk tomorrow,” he said shortly. 

He began making his way out of the room again.

“I don’t know why you’re suddenly such a gentleman,” I said, desperate to keep him in my bedroom as long as possible.  His head turned, pausing on the way out the door.  “You’ve tormented me my whole life.  Why did you hate me for so long?  Why change now?  Tell me that, Gatlin.  If this wasn’t just a conquest thing, then why have you hated me for so long?”

“I never hated you,” he said gruffly, his eyes downcast.

“Bullshit.  Then why did you harass me for so long?”

“Natalie,” he said weakly.  “Please.”

“You were obsessed with me, with making my life hell.  And now you want to fuck me?  Why, Gatlin?”

“Quit pretending like you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

He looked at me strangely.  “You really … you really don’t know why?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

He looked at me evenly for a few moments, his expression unreadable.  He opened the door and answered on the way out.

“Because I’ve always been in love with you,” he said.  “And I always will be.”

I couldn’t sleep.  I spent the whole night tossing and turning, trying to push the events of that night out of my bed. 

But it was impossible.  The sight of Cal’s muscles glistening with sweat as he punched Nate, the taste of his tongue in my mouth, the feel of his hard cock against me as he pushed me down on the bed….  It was all too much.  But what really stayed with me was the memory his deep voice.

“I will always want you, Natalie Harlow.”

Ugh.  It was too much for one night.  I pulled a pillow over my face and managed to force myself to sleep.

Until I was woken by the sounds of banging in the kitchen. 

My eyes fluttered open, pushing past the aching headache and the tiredness that sagged my eyes.  I thought Mom would be at work that morning, but maybe I was wrong.  I wrapped a robe around me and stumbled down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

They widened when I entered the kitchen.

Oh Jesus.  Not Mom.  Cal.

And he was wearing …

An apron?

“Morning, Nat,” he murmured from his place at the stove.  A wave of delicious scents hit me, and I realized the table was set with all sorts of food.  Eggs and bacon, a tall pitcher of orange juice, and even a steaming kettle of tea.  Cal glanced over and nodded at the table, motioning for me to sit. 

Was it for me?

Cal the Romantic. 

I guess there really is a first time for everything.

“You cook?” I asked as I took a seat.  “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Sure thing, Martha Stewart.”

He rolled his eyes, and a smile crept across his face.  God, I loved seeing him smile.  I watched the tattoos move with his muscles as he wiped down the counter, taking in how absolutely gorgeous he was. 

Which reminded me.  I picked up a spoon and shined it with my shirt until it was reflective, then grimaced.

“Gross,” I said, examining my reflection in the spoon.  “I look terrible.  I am so not a morning person.”

“Oh please,” Cal grunted.  “I told you.  You’re fucking beautiful.”

My heart fluttered.  I ignored it and stirred my tea, hoping he didn’t realize how much it affected me to hear him say something like that.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” I asked finally, keeping my gaze fixed on the swirling tea.  I couldn’t tell if I wanted to or not.  It would be humiliating, admitting that Cal made me so desperate for him.  But I couldn’t ignore it, not after he had me on my back with my legs spread.  I was pretty sure that was the point of no return.

“What do you want to do?” he said, placing a plate of toast down on the table and taking a seat.  “Talk or eat?”

“Both.”  I grabbed the toast, inhaling the delicious smell of crisp bread and warm butter.  God, I loved a man who could cook.  “You do the talking, I’ll do the eating.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  There was that playful glint in his eyes again.  Jesus, didn’t he know what that did to me?  Probably—that’s why he did it so much.

“You said you loved me.  Bullshit or not?”

He dropped the asshole act in an instant. 

“Never bullshit.  Not with you.”

“So you … you meant it?”

“Always.”

There was a moment of silence as I contemplated that, running a finger along the rim of the teacup. 

“So it wasn’t….”  I swallowed against the lump in my throat.  “It wasn’t just you trying to get into my pants, then?  You meant it?”

His jaw dropped. 

“You thought I was lying so I could fuck you?”

“Well, it was sudden, and you’ve acted like such an asshole to me before, and—”

“Natalie, I know you think I’m a fuckup, but I’m not
that
fucked up.”

My face burned red.  “I’m sorry.”

He sighed.  “It’s not your fault.  I don’t blame you for thinking the worst of me, not after you had to put up with … that kid.”

“Nate?”

His jaw locked, and he nodded shortly. 

I looked down at my tea again.

“I didn’t think anybody knew, you know,” I said, frowning.  “I thought I hid the bruises well enough.”

“Not from me, Nat.  I know you.  Even if you don’t want to be known.”

I could stop my lip from quivering.  It was a miracle he hadn’t run screaming if he really knew me.  I was the fucked up one here. 

“And that’s why you hit Nate?”

He grinned. 

“It did feel good to hit the bastard.  Wasn’t all altruistic.”

“And you’ll never fucking do it again.”

“Still have feelings for him?”

“No.  God, no.  But you can’t get in trouble.  Furst wants your ass in prison, and you know it.”

“You going soft on me, Harlow?”

I smiled into my tea.  “If you’ve appointed yourself as my personal bodyguard, I’m sure I’m fine.  You’re annoying as hell, but having you around has its perks.”

He snorted, slipping his hand over mine and interlocking our fingers.  It was such a simple motion, but it felt like Heaven.

“You have to promise you won’t do it again,” I said.  “I mean it.  I can’t have you in prison.  No more attempted murders, no matter how much he deserves it.”

Cal rolled his eyes, that long, exaggerated motion that made him almost as sassy as Jess.  But then he nodded.

“Thank you,” I breathed in relief. 

His cocky smile came back.

“So what do I get in return?”

“In … return?”

“Mm hmm.”  Cal leaned forward, and once again he was the seductive Casanova he had been last night.  His hooded eyes gazed into me.  “I made you a promise, so what are you going to give me in return?”

“I … um….”  My throat was dry.  My mother had given me a lot of home grown wisdom, but none of it covered when your dead sexy criminal stepbrother wanted to bang you on the kitchen table.  “What do you want from me?”

Cal smiled.

Oh God, I shouldn’t have asked that.

But instead of what I was expecting (“My face between your legs” or possibly “Your ankles on my shoulders”), he said: