Pete
Shit. She said yes.
She shoves the door closed behind me, and I freeze. I want to reach for her, but my family is about ten feet away from us on the other side of the door. “Do you need some shampoo or something?” I ask again. I reach behind her and shift the shower curtain. There’s still girly-smelling stuff in there from when Emily lived with us.
“I like your family,” she says, and then her arms wrap around my waist. She lays her head on my chest and nuzzles me with her nose, and my heart melts like it does every time she touches me.
“I’m glad.” I hold her close. I was a little worried they would scare her. It’s a lot of testosterone in one room. Luckily, Emily was here, too.
Finally, she pulls back from me. “Okay,” she breathes. “You can go.” She shoos me toward the door with a wave of her hands.
I kiss her, lingering a little too long on her lips, but she doesn’t pull away from me. I groan, pull back from her, and adjust my junk. I slip out the door and close it behind me, and then I hear the thumb lock click behind me. I lean my head against the door and breathe for a minute. But then I turn around and see Sam standing there. “Is that who I think it is?” he asks quietly. He has his shoulder hitched against the wall and his feet crossed.
“Who do you think it is?” I ask as I walk to the linen closet and take out clean sheets to put on the double bed in Logan’s old room.
“That’s the girl from that night,” he says quietly. He obviously doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. I asked my brothers to keep an eye on her. Of course he knows who she is. Paul or Matt would have told him.
I nod. He follows me into the bedroom and helps me strip the bed, and we start to put the clean sheets on.
“How did you end up with her?” he asks.
“She came looking for me when I got out,” I say. I can’t explain it any better than that. She’s the reason I was at the camp, after all. It’s true.
“You like her?” he asks as he tucks in a corner of the sheet.
I nod. “A lot,” I admit.
“Uh oh,” he breathes. His brow arches. “You’re in love with her.”
I nod, and a grin steals across my face. “A lot,” I say again.
Maggie walks into the room and lies down at my feet. “Cute dog,” he says.
“She’s a trained killer,” I say.
He laughs. “Tell me another one.”
“Try to get close to Reagan and see what happens,” I warn. I’m not kidding. That dog almost made me piss my pants that one night.
“I’d rather not,” he says. “So, you doing okay?” he asks.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. He looks up, shocked.
“For what?” His brow furrows.
“For ignoring you. For not answering your letters. For being mad at you when I told you to run.”
His mouth falls open, like he doesn’t know what to say next. “I should have stayed.”
“I didn’t want you to stay.” I heave in a deep breath. “I was jealous,” I admit. It hurts like f*cking hell, but it’s the truth. “You went off to college and started living the dream. And I wasn’t there.” We’d never, ever been separated before that.
He sits down on the edge of the bed. “We were pretty stupid to work with Bone when we knew it was wrong.”
I nod. “F*cking idiots.”
“We should have known better,” he says.
“Yep.” I sit down beside him.
“Do you want to kiss and make up now?” he says, grinning.
I reach over and hug him, knocking him to the bed in the process, and he wraps his arms around me. His grappling quickly becomes wrestling, and he pins me for a minute on the sheets. But we’re pretty evenly matched. I wiggle out of his hold and flip him over, and it’s my turn to be on top. He makes a noise because he knows I have him, and then he flips me over his head. I live for this shit, but then I hear Maggie. Sam freezes on top of me and looks down.
Shit. Maggie has her teeth bared at him, and she’s gnashing them. “You might want to let me up,” I warn.
“Is she going to bite me?” he asks.
“F*ck, I don’t know.” He lifts his hands and moves to the other side of the room. Maggie hops onto the bed, gets between me and him, and growls. “Mags,” I say, just like Reagan would. Maggie turns and slides her head under my hand. A laugh bursts from my throat. “Now that shit’s funny,” I say.
Sam doesn’t agree, if his scowl is any indication. “You cheated with a f*cking dog,” he says. But a grin breaks across his face.
I scratch Maggie behind the ears. She loves me. Already. “He’s all right, girl,” I tell her. She nuzzles my hand, her eyes going back and forth between Sam and me. “She can tell us apart. Ain’t that some shit?” I ask.
Sam backs out of the room, and I follow with Maggie at my heels. I sit down on the couch, and she drops at my feet and lays her head on her paws.
They still have the movie turned off, and I can tell they’re waiting to grill me.
“Did you two make up?” Paul asks, as he crosses one foot over his leg. He’s trying to be casual about it, but we both know there’s nothing casual when he’s being serious. And he’s serious about this.
“We tried, but then Pete sicced his dog on me,” Sam grouses. He sits down on the arm of the couch. Emily’s in Logan’s lap in the lazy chair, and Matt and Paul are on the other couch.
“Who’s the girl?” Paul asks, jerking his thumb toward the bathroom.
I look toward it, and my insides go soft just thinking about her. “Her name is Reagan. You don’t care if she spends the night, do you?”
Sam raises his hand like a teacher is calling on him in class. “She can sleep in my room.”
I throw a pillow at his head, but he ducks and it sails past him.
“Is that the Reagan?” Matt asks. He reaches for a can of nuts on the coffee table and pops a handful into his mouth.
“Yeah,” I reply. “But don’t mention that to her, will you?” They all know about the rape. “And don’t act like you pity her when she’s around, all right? She’s private about that stuff.”
“I don’t pity her,” Emily says. “I admire the hell out of her.” She steals Matt’s nuts by crawling into his lap and prying them from his hands. He bats at her fingers, but he’s playing. He f*cking loves Emily. We all do.
“Well, I think I love the hell out of her, so you guys be nice.”
My brothers freeze. All but Sam, and he’s busy trying to steal the can of nuts from Emily. She knocks him over the head with it, and he gives up, sulking.
“You love her?” Paul asks quietly.
I can’t bite back my grin. “Yeah.”
“He’s got the coochie disease,” Sam says. “You know, the one where you get some and can’t stop thinking about getting some more.”
I throw another pillow at his head. “We haven’t even done that,” I say quietly. I look toward the door. I don’t want her to hear me.
“You haven’t?” Matt asks. He walks over and sits down on top of Emily, who’s still in Logan’s lap, and steals the nuts back from her. She squirms under him and finally gives up. He holds out a cashew for her, and she opens her mouth like a baby bird so he can pop it in. Then he climbs off her.
“Nope.” God, they’re nosy. “She has an apartment across town, over near where Emily lives.”
“Oh, then we can take her home,” Emily chirps. But she’s already harassing Matt for the can of nuts again. He pins her down on the couch with his elbow and eats them while refusing to let her up. “Logan!” she whines, but she’s laughing.
Logan just smiles. She gets herself into these messes; she can get herself out.
“I want her to stay here,” I say, shaking my head at Emily. Matt lets her up, and she leans against him with her head on his shoulder. He likes to cuddle with her. She’s like a sister to all of us, and I hope Reagan will fit in as well as Emily does one day. But I really can’t imagine her wrestling with them the way Emily does.
“What happened to your eye?” Paul asks. My eye is still a little blue from when she hit me.
“Reagan hit me,” I admit. Logan grins.
“Marry her,” Logan says. “Marry her right away.”
I nod. “I think I might,” I say quietly. I watch their faces. They all look at me, and then Logan starts to laugh. He gets up and high-fives me.
“Thank God,” he says. “I thought Emily would be the only girl around her forever.”
“Emily’s not a girl,” Matt says, grimacing at the thought of it. She shoots him a heated glance. But she’s not a girl. Not to any of us.
“So, you guys will be nice to her, right?” I ask.
“Duh,” Sam says drolly as he walks into the kitchen and gets a beer. He brings one to me, but I shake my head. I’m going to have Reagan in my arms for the first time ever tonight, and I want to keep my head straight.
I hear the bathroom door open and get up. Reagan walks to stand beside me and whispers, “Which room is ours?” Her hair is loose and damp, hanging down over her shoulders. Her face is free of makeup, and she smells so damn good that I want to lick her. I adjust my junk, and Matt snickers. I scowl at him, and he nods toward the bedroom. It’s a subtle warning, but I take it. “It was nice to meet you, Reagan,” he says.
“You too,” she calls back, but I’m already ushering her toward our room. I wait for Maggie to walk into the room with us and then close and lock the door. She looks around. “I’m nervous,” she says quickly. She puts down her bag, and I notice she’s wearing the clothes she had on before.
“Do you need something to sleep in?” I ask.
She shakes her head and smiles shyly at me, avoiding my gaze. “Could you turn around for a second?” she asks.
I grin, and it makes me so f*cking happy that she asked. I hear a rustle of clothing and sheets behind me, and I look back to find her sliding between the sheets of the bed we’ll share. And she’s stark f*cking naked. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Going to bed,” she says, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. She rolls onto her side and rests her head in the palm of her hand, her elbow pointed toward the head of the bed. She pats the space beside her. “You coming?”
Her voice is shaking, so I know she’s not nearly as cool as she wants me to think.
I point toward the lump her body makes under the covers. “Are you naked under there?” I ask. I’m not sure I can stand sleeping next to her naked. I know I asked her to try it. But I’m not sure my nerves can take it.
She lifts the edge of the blanket and looks down. “I still have panties on,” she whispers.
Jesus Christ. I run a hand through my hair. “Okay,” I say slowly.
I kick off my shoes and sit down on the edge of the bed to pull my socks off. Then I shuck my jeans off quickly and pull my shirt over my head. I slide between the sheets in my boxers, trying to stay turned away from her so she won’t see how hard my dick is. The last thing I want to do is scare her.
I feel her fingertips on my arm and heave in a breath. “Jesus,” I say.
Her fingers still. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I croak.
She sits up. “You sure?” She clutches the covers to her chest.
“Yeah,” I bite out. Her fingers start to trace my tattoos again.
“Do you think you could give me a tattoo?” she asks.
Finally, a safe topic. “What do you want?” I ask. I roll over to face her.
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
I roll toward the nightstand and open the drawer. This used to be Logan’s room and he’s an artist, so there’s a drawer full of pens and markers. I pick up a few and lay them on the bed. “Roll over,” I say.
“Why?” Her brow furrows.
“Just trust me,” I say, and I motion for her to roll over again. She does, looking back at me over her shoulder as she moves to lie on her stomach. The blanket is hitched up nearly to her shoulders. “Can I pull this down a little?” I ask.
She nods and wraps her arm around the pillow, then rests her face on it. She smiles softly. “All right,” she says quietly. Her breaths are harsher now, though. And she has goose bumps on her arms and the back of her neck.
I uncap a pen and touch it to her back, drawing a quick little picture of a butterfly. “We can do a butterfly like this one.”
She looks back, rolling a little to look at what I drew, and I see the side of her naked breast. Good God. I scrub a hand down my face.
“I like it, but I was thinking more dainty, with vines. Maybe up my side.” She pushes the blankets lower, and I can see the indentations on top of her butt and the elastic of her panties.
“You want thorns?” I ask as I start to draw.
She shakes her head, giggling as I move my way up her side. “That tickles,” she laughs.
“Whatever you get, we’ll have Logan draw it so it’ll be spectacular. Then I can ink you.” I draw vines all the way up her side, and then put a flower on the side of her breast that I can see. I’m a guy. I can’t avoid touching it. It’s there. I want it. “Roll over just a little,” I say, and I give her a nudge.
“Why?” she asks. But she’s already covering her breasts with her hands as she rolls. I rearrange her fingertips over her left boob so I can finish my drawing. I think I catch a flash of her nipple, and I suck in a breath.
“So pretty,” I breathe.
“Can I see it?” she asks quietly.
“Not until I’m done.” She relaxes as I keep drawing across her stomach. But she’s still, so I nudge her again to get her to roll over. “We could give you a tramp stamp,” I say.
“What’s that?” She giggles.
“A tattoo right over your butt. They used to be really popular.” I start to write some words on top of her butt, and the elastic of her undies gets in my way. “Can I pull these down a little?” I ask quietly. I’m getting into dangerous territory, and I know it.
“Yeah,” she breathes. It’s no more than a puff of air, but it sounds like an air horn.
I fold her panties down so that I can see the tops of her butt cheeks. I smile as I draw. I f*cking love that she trusts me this much. “You definitely need a tattoo here,” I say. I rock my hips against the mattress, trying to adjust and ease some of the ache in my balls. It doesn’t work.
I give her my shirt to cover her boobs because I can’t stand to look at them plump around her fingertips when she rolls over. I’m too far gone. I gently turn her and lay the shirt over her boobs so I can see her belly. It’s flat, and her hips are curvy. I pull her panties down a little so I can draw down the side of her hip.
“You can take them off,” she whispers. Her words are soft but heavy. They fall on my ears like booms of thunder. I’m on my knees between her bent legs, and I look into her face.
“You sure?” I ask.
I can’t help but remember the last time I helped her with her panties, but I push those memories away, and I kiss the inside of her thigh before I pull her undies down her legs and toss them to the side. I draw across her hip, but I keep blankets bunched on the area where I’m not working. I kiss her belly button and dip my tongue inside. She squirms and eases out a breath.
“We should pierce you here,” I say. “You have the perfect belly for it.”
“Where else would you pierce me?” she asks. Her voice is quivering, and I f*cking love it. She’s so turned on that she rocks her hips up toward my face while I draw over the top of her curly short hairs, the ones that cover her mound. I pull the blankets lower and sift my fingers through her hair and dip into the wet crease. “Here,” I say.
“There?” she breathes, but she squirms against my hand, so I push a little harder. I very gently spread her legs and ease down between them, setting my pens to the side. “All done tattooing me?” she asks. She’s breathing like she just ran a five-minute mile.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask. I don’t want to do anything she doesn’t want.
“You’d have to come up here for that,” she says.
I strum my thumb across her *, spreading her open so I can see what I’m doing. “No,” I say. “I mean down here.”
She hisses out a breath. “Do you want to?” she asks. She adjusts the pillows behind her so that she’s sitting up a little more and raises her arms behind her head so she can watch me.
I laugh. “Oh yeah, I want to,” I say. Her * is all swollen, and I push the hood back with my thumb. I lean down and lick across it. I want to slide my finger inside her, but I’m afraid she’s not ready for that. I’m afraid of everything when it comes to her because I don’t want to mess this up. “I want to lick you until you come on my face,” I say.
She groans when my head dips, and I suckle her *. Her knees raise so she can rock against my mouth. I look up from where I’m working on her, and she draws her lower lip between her teeth as her eyes close.
“Pete,” she cries. I nod, and I keep sucking. She’s so wet, and I have her spread open and she trusts me and this is the most f*cking perfect thing I’ve ever done before in my life. “Pete,” she says again. Her fingers slide into my hair, and she pushes me a little to the left. I let up on my grip on her * and move over. She cries out when I latch onto her again, and she pushes my head, moving me closer to her. I hum against her *, and she cries out, her breaths ragged and choppy. “Pete,” she says again. “Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete,” she chants. Her eyes close and her head falls back, and then she breaks. I hold on and thread my fingers through hers when she tries to push my head away. I gentle my tongue, and she relaxes, her body pulsing as she does it. She comes on my face, and I f*cking love everything about it. She quivers and quakes and shakes and those noises she makes drive me wild. She pushes my forehead and whispers, “I can’t take anymore. Please, Pete.” She’s still shuddering though, and I push her all the way through it. When she’s finally still, I open her up with my thumbs and lick her from top to bottom, over and over. She’s so wet and she tastes so good and she still has these little aftershocks that quiver through her. I wipe my face on her inner thigh and crawl up her body. “Oh my God,” she moans. Her body is soft and lax under me. I kiss her, and I hope she can taste how f*cking happy she just made me. She lifts her head. “Do you do anything that’s not epic?” She laughs. It’s a happy sound, and I want to make her do it over and over.
“I’m an overachiever,” I say. I kiss her, drawing her lower lip between my teeth. I’m hard against her belly, and I’m afraid it will scare her.
“What about you, Pete?” she says. She reaches down my belly and slips her tentative fingers beneath my waistband, and her eyes open wide as she wraps her fingers around me and grips me tightly.
I bury my face in her neck. I’ll just let her touch me for a second. But a second is all it takes. “Oh shit,” I groan as my balls crawl up toward my body, and I spill into her hand. Her hand stills for a second, but her eyes close as she makes a happy sound and she grips me tighter. I thrust into her fist, which is now wet with the product of us. She doesn’t let go. Her hand is tight and sure. She rolls her thumb around the tip with every thrust of my hips. She’s touching me, and I look down between us and see that I made a god-awful mess on her belly. I still and look up into her face. She’s laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look quite so happy. She wraps me up with her clean hand and holds me tight against her. Her other is trapped between us, and she’s still holding onto my dick. I pull my hips back, trying to slide out of her grip, and hiss as she squeezes me tighter. I throw the shirt that’s over her tits to the side and lay my forehead against her naked skin, trying to catch my breath. “I’m sorry,” I say. I didn’t mean to do that.
She takes my face in her hands and lifts it so that I look at her. She’s grinning. “Are you kidding?” she laughs. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah, it kinda was,” I say. I kiss her. I can’t stop it. I have to. “We’re a mess,” I warn.
“I don’t care.” She giggles, and I have never, ever heard a happier sound.
“Are you all right?” I ask. What if she’s delirious from the stress of it?
She lays her head back against the pillow, her chest shaking with laughter. “I think I just came on your face,” she says. She giggles again.
I laugh, too. I can’t help it. It’s contagious—her happiness. She’s f*cking happy. And so am I.