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“Oh,” she said.
Yeah. Oh. I felt exactly the same, except my oh was more of an oh damn, why had I done that? I hadn’t meant to do that. Whereas hers seemed like an oh, that was a delightful surprise.
Which made me unable to regret the move, especially when she bit out a small moan and ground back against me, riding me with the sweetest dry hump I’d ever experienced.
Jesus, oh Jesus, what was happening?
“Oh my God, wow,” she whispered, moving her mouth until her breath fell against my lips. “What do you think would happen if I kissed you? Like right now?”
I didn’t answer.
But I couldn’t.
Because it was a trick question.
I couldn’t say yes, you see. Then I’d be admitting I was cognizant enough to realize this was Teagan naked on top of me, touching me and talking about kissing. Teagan, the little girl I’d grown up with and spent most of my childhood trying to avoid. No way in a rational, thinking moment would I agree to kiss Teagan. At least, I didn’t think I would. But, fuck, I wanted to taste her right now. I didn’t care if she was most likely off-limits or not.
I wanted her.
I needed her.
She was Teagan. She had a way a breathing life into everyone around her. And I needed that after feeling broken and lifeless for so long.
“You gotta answer me, baby,” she coaxed, cupping my cheeks in her hands, making my entire body strain for more of that contact everywhere. “I’m not doing anything until I have your full permission.”
Damn, her mouth was like right there. Erase two inches and we’d already be kissing the fuck out of each other.
“Yes or no?” she murmured, running her fingers up from my cheeks and into my hair, which made me catch my breath and want to start spouting yes in every language I knew.
Until suddenly, she paused when her fingers encountered the scar hidden at the edge of my hairline. I could damn near feel her confused frown as she investigated the puckered surface.
I knew she knew what the two-inch wound was. At least, she should be familiar with the mark, since she’d been the one to give it to me when she was seven.
The girl hated being taunted, a lesson I’d learned at thirteen when she’d hit me with a gardening spade after I’d made fun of her hair when she’d cut it herself, butchering the blonde locks all to hell. I knew she hadn’t meant to hurt me as badly as she had when she’d cried harder than I did afterward. Then she’d held my hand all the way to the hospital and even into the ER room, where I’d gotten six stitches.
She continued dabbing at the scar another second before she gasped and went strangely still on top of me. Then she whispered, “JB?”
That’s when I remembered it hadn’t been my name she’d said when she’d first crawled into my tent.
2
JB
Ah, shit.
She’d come here to seduce Luke. Not me.
While I’d been grinding against her, wanting her, she’d been touching him, wanting him. I was such an idiot.
Mortification cloaked me like a rash. I refused to admit I felt rejected, or hurt, or upset about this, or even mildly jealous of my own brother, because then I’d have to admit I’d liked what she’d been doing, that I’d wanted her to keep doing it. But I hadn’t.
Had I?
God, yes. Yes, I had.
“Get off,” I rasped, needing her to stop sitting on my hard-on more than I needed my next breath, because no matter what I was feeling, it wasn’t a positive emotion, and I wasn’t going to stop feeling it until she was far, far away.
She must’ve agreed because she immediately scrambled off, cursing and kneeing me all over the place to escape.
