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He needs to know.
Iwant himto know.
And if it makes me a bad girl, then so be it.
Because he’s the one who taught me to be myself. And loving him is a part of me.
As to when I’ll do all this, I don’t know. I think I need a plan, a proper moment to make the big reveal. Like I did with my virginity thing.
Which is what I’m thinking about, instead of reading my book, when I see him.
At the window.
Smiling like crazy, I throw my book away and jump out of the bed to let him in. And as soon as his feet land on my bedroom floor, I bombard him with questions.
“How was it? Was it good? Did you have fun?” I hop up and down, hopefully keeping it down because my parents are sleeping just down the hall. “Please tell me you had fun. Because I think you had fun. Well, Ihopeyou had fun. I really want you to have had fun. Because Ireallywant you to go out with him again. I think this could be like a regular thing for you. Like brother-bonding time. And —”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you want this to be a regular thing?” he asks.
Which is fine.
It’s not as if his question is out of the ordinary.
Although I will say that it’s slightly weird. I mean, why wouldn’t I want this to be a regular thing for him? I want good things for him. I want him to have a good relationship with his brother. Who from what I’ve come to gather is trying really hard to make amends. He’s trying really hard to be friends with his younger brother whom he — inadvertently — abandoned while growing up.
But that’s not the issue here.
The issue is his tone and the look on his face.
It’s flat.
Blank. Or very carefully crafted to appear so.
I haven’t seen him do this in weeks now. Not since he came to get me in the woods.
So it gives me pause, his demeanor.
Still, I push through. “Uh, because he’s your brother. And I think he cares about you. And I think you care about him too. And I know what you’re going to say now. I know you’re going to deny it. But you do. And that’s because you didn’t leave. You wanted to quit working for your brother but you didn’t. You’re actually doing the work. You brought in your work the other day, when you came to see me, remember? Those files and stuff that you’d brought with you.”
He did.
A few days ago, Reign came in with a bunch of files.
I’d thought we’d go out like we usually do but he said he needed to read up on it and write a report — his words were, “a motherfucking report” — and so we’d stayed in. He said that the only way he could ever read these boring files — “coma-inducing piece of shit files” — was if I was there with him and if he got to look at my pretty face.
So that’s what we did.
He looked at my pretty face, along with occasionally — okay, frequently — kissing me and making me do things, like inch my nightie up to show him my panties; take my panties off so he could smell them and spin them around his large, dusky finger. While he wrote his report.
And whileIwas reading, when he’d let me.
It was the most fun I’d had reading.
Plus it led to the most mind-blowing sex ever.
