“You’re a liar.”
This isn’t the pronouncement of love that I expected. Normally he’s gentle and loving. Normally he tells me I’m the most important person in his world. Normally he practically begs for my hand in marriage right as he’s on the cusp of losing himself. And when he’s done, he says nothing more about it except when he’s being vague during arguments and wants to throw my refusal in my face.
I reach down and grab ahold of his bare ass and pull him toward me. He relents and slams back into me. The impact forces my back to arch with the waves of ecstasy that overtake me. The pad of his thumb puts pressure on my now swollen clit as he rubs feverishly. My lower belly warms, my legs tense, and it’s hard to breathe. I could let myself go in this moment, but I don’t. I always lose control well before Ryan does—sometimes even twice—and I’m so lost in myself that I don’t see him at his most vulnerable.
“I’m yours. Every bit of me is yours,” I whisper. “And when I marry you, it’s going to be when I’m ready. But I love you.”
His movements falter, and he blows out a ragged breath. He’s close, so close, and yet he’s trying his damnedest to push me over the edge first. But I won’t have it. I move my hand from his firm backside and lightly trail my fingers up his back. Gooseflesh erupts over his entire frame, making him shiver. He bites his lip and pauses before he starts up again, sliding in and out of my sensitive flesh. I place my hand over his that’s hooked around my shoulder. He breathes in deeply and shudders when I wrap my pinky around his. My hand still stings from my assault on the wooden board, but I do my best to ignore it. He loses himself, spiraling out of reality, and for just a brief moment, he’s lost in a place where everything is right with the world. It’s just us and there’s no danger and we’re as together as any two people can be.
“I’m yours.” I say it again and again until he regains himself long enough to flick at my tender skin and catapult me off the cliff of reason. In this moment I can’t think of much of anything except for wondering how life would be different if I changed my last name. Would life be better? Would it matter at all if I signed my name as Alexandra Stone?
I’m not sure anymore.
We clean up slowly and try to be quiet since Mom’s somewhere in the house. She knows we’re not celibate, but that doesn’t mean we need to rub her face in it. It never seems weird—his being my step-brother—until it comes to our mother.
“I gotta leave in a few,” he says as he slides his cut back on.
I nod my head and go about making the bed. He doesn’t care if it’s made or not, but I do. If I can’t leave, I want to at least be useful around the house. In the corner of the room, he struggles to get his boots on without bending over and using his hands. He’s a stubborn man, that’s for sure. He takes note of my silence and pauses with one boot on and one on its side beside him.
“Still making enchiladas for dinner?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying desperately to keep the sorrow from my voice. I thought we’d made progress. I thought we were moving in the right direction.
I thought wrong.
“You know you can’t come. The guys won’t allow it,” he says. But that’s a lie. I know Mom’s been on a few runs, and I’ve heard stories about others getting to go, too. He just doesn’t want me to go because I’m too fragile. I’m not tough enough to handle it.
“I know,” I say like the liar he’s accused me of being. I don’t want to argue anymore. I kind of just want him to leave so I can finish cleaning up and then make dinner like I’m expected to do.
“I’m going to regret this,” he says so quietly that I almost don’t hear it.
For a moment I think he’s talking about something else entirely, but then it clicks. My throat gets tight, and I can barely contain my excitement. He’s going to let me do something. Finally. Maybe I should have pitched a fit months ago—I could have skipped a lot of heartache. Overly excited, I spin around to face him so quickly that I lose my footing and fall back onto the bed.
“I love you.” I’m grinning as I say it.