Authors: Celia Loren
“I thought I was supposed to drive around so we didn’t come
back at the same time,” he says, his face expressionless.
“I thought I was,” I reply with a small shrug of my
shoulders.
He runs his hand through his hair. “Well,” he finally says,
and gestures toward the door. I force myself not to look at the body of the man
who just awoke such feelings in me, fixing my gaze straight ahead and walking
into the kitchen.
“Hey!” Austen says, looking up from the kitchen sink where
he’s just turning off the faucet. He looks over my shoulder in confusion as
Logan shuts the garage door behind us. “Oh, I thought you were with Maya.”
“No, I was. Logan and I just happened to get home at the
same time.”
“Yeah, I just went for a trail run,” Logan adds, explaining
away his sweaty appearance.
“Good cardio,” Austen agrees.
Logan clears his throat. “Well, I’ll be upstairs,” he says,
and walks toward the stairs. Austen watches him go for a second before quietly
walking up to me and sliding his arms around my waist.
“How’s Maya?” he whispers, kissing me softly on the cheek.
“She’s good,” I say lightly. Fuck. It’s one thing to lie to
my mom, but I feel way guiltier lying to Austen. His lips move to my mouth and
my already revved libido responds quickly. I grab his slightly stubbled cheeks
and kiss him hard back. He seems momentarily surprised, but then I feel his
arms wrap around my waist and his erection press into my thigh.
“Let’s go downstairs,” I gasp, pulling my mouth away. He
nods back with a grin.
There’s something wrong about this
, I think to
myself as I take his hand and lead him down the basement steps.
But I’m
feeling too high to care.
I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck as we reach
the carpeted basement floor. We stumble toward the couch and I tug my shirt
over my head and reach forward to relieve him of his. If he’s taken aback by my
aggressiveness, he’s not showing it. He’s matching my every move now, tugging
down his fly as I push my pants to the ground. I reach forward and wrap my hand
around his cock, feeling it twitch slightly in my hand as he groans. I’ve never
felt this needful before.
I sink to my knees and take him in my mouth. I don’t bother
warming him up, I’m already going fast, pulling him to the back of my throat
and swirling my tongue around his tip.
“Oh, fuck, Cat,” he moans. I move even faster, pressing my
lips firmly around his girth. “Stand up, stand up,” he orders me, his voice low
and harsh. I obey, and he turns me around, yanking my panties down to the tops
of my thighs and bending me over the armrest of the couch. I pant as I rest for
a second with my palms on the black leather. I hear the rip of a condom and his
hands on my ass, spreading my cheeks apart.
I feel his cock press into my opening and I whimper at the
intense pleasure of the sensation. I walk my feet out into a wider stance and
feel his hands move around to my hips, holding me in place as he drives inside
me. My fingers search for a grip on the smooth cushion as his dick hits me
right on my g-spot. He thrusts into me again and again and I bend my chest even
further down, stretching the limits of my flexibility.
“Harder, harder,” I beg. Maybe I want to be punished for
these conflicting feelings I have, maybe they’re wrong, but I don’t care. My
mind drifts unbidden to the feeling of Logan’s lips against mine, the smell of
his sweat as he pressed against me. Oh, god…I feel myself unspooling around
Austen’s cock as the memory of his brother’s kiss fills my brain.
I beat him to orgasm. I feel him still thrusting behind me
and try to steady myself against the couch as guilt begins to consume me. He
comes inside me with a cry and I feel him collapse forward on top of me. I
close my eyes as I feel him stir, softly trailing kisses along my spine.
“God, you’re sexy,” he whispers, his hands moving up my bare
stomach and cupping my breasts as he takes a deep breath. I try to take comfort
in his touch.
Thoughts aren’t a crime. I didn’t do anything wrong. I pulled
away when Logan kissed me.
Austen stands up and slowly pulls out. I straighten up,
feeling stiffness in my legs from being stretched over. I pull up my panties as
I turn around and see him emerging from the bathroom. I find myself unable to
make eye contact as he walks toward me. He reaches up, taking my chin between
his thumb and forefinger and tilting my head up so that I look at him.
“You don’t have to be ashamed,” he murmurs.
“I don’t?” I answer, my eyes widening with alarm. How does
he know?
“I like it when you’re aggressive,” he assures me. Oh, that.
I bury my head in his shoulder and he wraps his arms around me. “You alright?”
he whispers. I nod silently, willing myself not to think about Logan ever
again. Austen is so kind, so steady, so comforting. He is what I need. “I think
our parents will be home soon. They went out to a movie.”
“OK if I come back later tonight, after they go to bed?” I
ask as he steps back to find his shirt, and I do the same.
“Of course,” he says with a grin. Good. The best way not to
think about Logan is to spend more time with Austen. I won’t give my attraction
to Logan any room to breathe.
“Later, then,” I say with a smile as I button my pants and
move to the stairs. He gives me a parting nod and I hurry up the stairs and
then round the banister to the second floor. I glance toward Logan’s room. His
door is shut. I flop down onto my bed, wondering if I should call Maya and
confess to her what just happened. Would she judge me for it?
I hear the distant sound of a door close. A couple minutes
later, I recognize my mom’s footsteps coming up the stairs. I left Austen’s
room just in time. Her face peers around my slightly open door, her dark hair
swinging just above her shoulder.
“Hi,” I greet her, automatically mirroring the infectious
smile she’s wearing. She slips in and closes the door behind her. “You have a
good time?” She sighs happily and lies down on the bed next to me. I glance at her
profile, seeing how similar it is to mine.
“I hope you meet someone who makes you this happy someday,”
she murmurs. “Hey, let’s paint your room next weekend.” I nod slowly. Painting
is a sign, I think. A sign that we’re here for the long haul. She brought it up
when we first moved here, but I think she was waiting to actually go through
with it until she was sure things were working out. And as far as she knows,
they are. “What color do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I reply absentmindedly. “What do you think?”
“How about peach?”
I hate peach. “Sounds good.”
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