“Because you like difficult women.”
“Because I likeyou.”
And then he’s kissing me again as the colors in the sky continue to shift.
I take his glasses off again, and we make out until my lips are bruised, the sun lowering further and further, casting us eventually into darkness. He reaches under my dress, his warm hands cupping my thighs and my butt, and starts caressing my leg. One hand gets so close to where I want it, and after a while, I can’t bear it anymore?—
I take his hand and slide it under the band of my underwear.
He jolts and pulls away enough to meet my eyes.
“I want you to touch me,” I say, my voice soft and breathy. “I need it.”
“Anyone could walk up here.”
“I know.”
He swears under his breath, then slowly slides his fingertips further under the band of my underwear as he kisses me again. Sensation darts through me with every soft pass of his fingers. He’s taking his time, being thorough.
He brushes his lips against my neck as his fingers finally glide between my legs. He watches me while he does it, his eyes soaking me in as he traces me there, andoh God…
An inhuman sound escapes me, and a fire seems to light in him. He thrusts his finger inside of me and grazes his teeth lightly over my neck. “Tell me where it feels good, Nora. I want to make you feel good.”
I want that too.
It’s been so long since I’ve fully trusted myself with a man.
He slides in another finger, and I moan as he curls them slightly, nearly hitting the right spot but not quite.
“Up a little,” I say, and then I guide his hand. “There.”
And fuck, he really listens. His fingers rub me in exactly the right spot, moving in competent circles as he continues to kissme, the sun setting in honeyed layers of color across from us. It’s a beautiful moment. A transcendent moment, and I cannot think much beyond where I am now and who I’m with.
Thisis why I like to take things too far. Because in those stolen moments that never should have been yours, you can be truly yourself.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against my lips as his fingers play me as skillfully as he plays his guitar. Raw pleasure spirals through me as his lips lower to my neck, his fingers continuing their perfect rhythm.
“Cormac, I’m going to?—”
Before I finish the words, my body takes over, clenching around him, my mouth parting as pleasure surges through me. He kisses my open mouth, his free hand sifting through my hair, and in that moment, I feel so open to him, so vulnerable. But it’s not frightening. In fact, it feels good.
I try to get closer to him, burying my face into his neck, burrowing into him. I can feel his hardness against me, and part of me—the part that always wants to push the envelope until it’s torn—wants to suggest that we use the condom I totally filched from Pansy. Right here, where anyone could come across us.
Or maybe we could rent a room for a couple of hours.
I can already tell it would be good with him. It would be memorable.
Cormac might not know how to sweet talk a woman in a bar, but he knows how to touch a woman. He’s shockingly good at it. Better than anyone who’s touched me in years, maybe ever.
Cormac isn’t just some random guy, though. He’s mystepbrother, technically speaking. And if we have sex on top of this hill, then it’s the only thing I’m going to think about every time I see him. For the rest of my life. Every time he asks me to pass the carrots at the Thanksgiving table, I’ll think about straddling him on this bench…
My thoughts begin to spiral as panic grips me.
What the fuck am I doing?
This was supposed to be a show for José and Pansy, but they must have left town hours ago.
I pull away from Cormac. My eyes lock onto his—the soft gray nearly black now that the sun’s gone.
