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31
Theresa
"Wh…what do you mean?" I stutter
"Exactly what I said." He lowers the zipper of his jeans, pulls his cock out and begins to stroke himself.Don’t look down, don’t!My gaze lowers to where he grips his dick at the base then proceeds to swipe his fingers up to the crown, repeatedly. The wet sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the space.
Heat flushes my cheeks and my shoulders tremble.What the hell am I doing here? Why did I come to his house in the first place? And damn it, I am already thinking of this as his house and not Xander’s. That’s okay, right? Isn’t this what Xander would have wanted? For me to marry his brother? Would Xander have been jealous? Why am I thinking of Xander when I am standing almost naked in front of his brother who is pleasuring himself, for my benefit? Get out of here. Go away, leave…until the wedding. You are going to see him at your wedding. You are going to marry him, and then…you are going to watch him get off every day, you are going to allow him to get you off, to fuck you as much as he wants.My scalp tingles. All of my pores seem to pop.
I turn to leave, and that’s when he growls, "On your knees."
I hesitate. He narrows his gaze.
"Now," he snaps. I blink.
I sink down and ignore the pain that shoots up my thighs when my knees connect with the wooden floor boards.
"Good girl, now crawl to me."
It doesn't even occur to me to refuse him. I lower my hands to the floor and begin to crawl to him. My heart begins to race, my pulse pounds at my temples, and my lower belly cramps with heat as I watch his gorgeous cock lengthen and throb, the head almost purple with desire as he continues to massage himself.
I pause in front of him and his actions speed up. The planes of his chest grow solid, the veins of his forearm stand out in relief, and a groan rips from his throat.
"Rise to your knees," he orders.
As soon as I do, he comes, shooting his cum across my breasts.
"Fuck," he growls, "that’s bloody hot." He reaches over and rubs the white, ropy strands into my skin.
I can’t move. Can’t take my gaze off the contrast between his dark skin and my pale flesh. He drags his fingers up my chest and locks his fingers around the nape of my neck. "Who do you belong to?" He hauls me up and places his forehead against mine, "Tell me, Sunshine, who do you belong to?"
I swallow. I want to say the words, want to tell him what he wants to hear, but I can’t.
"Tell me." His voice lowers in frustration, "Tell me, Sunshine."
"Xander," I say in a whisper, "I will always belong to Xander. You are just a substitute, someone to stand in for him. I couldn’t have him, so instead, I decided I would marry you and hold onto the man who looks so much like him, I—" I cough, for he’s tightened his hold around my throat. I try to draw in a breath and my lungs burn.Shit, what the hell am I doing? Why am I provoking him? Why is it that every time I see him I want to do something to aggravate him? What I’m saying isn’t even true.It’s as if I become a different person when I am with him—a more interesting person, someone who finds her backbone, someone who wants to stand up against him, someone who is falling in love with him.Hell!I rear back, but he doesn’t let me go. His grasp is so tight now that specks of black flicker at the edges of my vision.
"What did you say?" he asks in a soft voice.
I try to speak, but end up coughing.
"Damn you." He stares into my eyes, his own burning with pain and hurt and something else…something that seems like torment?
He releases me so suddenly that I collapse on the floor. I draw in a breath and the rush of oxygen to my starved lungs makes me almost black out again.
"Shit," he shakes his head, "did I hurt you?"
He reaches for me. I try to skitter away, but this time, he hauls me up and into his lap. He holds me to his chest. "Sorry, Sunshine," he murmurs, "didn’t mean to scare you like that. But the things you say… It’s like you know exactly how to get under my skin."
I curl up against him, absorbing the comfort that he offers me. We stay like that for a few seconds, then I nod toward the painting, "Did the two of you meet? Is that how he painted you?"
"We never met," his voice rumbles in his chest. "The first I realized that we were triplets was when Michael mentioned him to me."
"But you knew you had brothers, right? Your mother must have told you?"
"My mother didn’t tell me anything, except to stay away from the Sovranos. So naturally, the first thing I did when I left home was to find out everything I could about them."
"Then how?" I fix my gaze on the painting, on the images of Xander and the man who had to be Axel next to him on the canvas. "I don’t understand."
