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“I don’t care.” Three words came out in a raw, hoarse voice. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I said, touching a finger to her chin and nudging her gaze up to look at me. “I don’t know what happened. You can tell me or not tell me, either is fine, for now. But you need out of those clothes and you need to warm up. Can you do that for me?”
She was trembling so violently. “Why do you care? You hate me. You all do—you think I’m some horrible stuck-up slut who doesn’t give a shit about anyone.” The edge of misery dipped into a sea of anger.
“No,” I said. “I don’t. Maybe I did—maybe I was an asshole about it. You know, no maybe, I was. But you are none of those things, Siren, and right now…all I want to do is help you. Can you let me do that?”
“Fine,” she huffed, more defeated than defiant. Sliding off the counter, she was already tugging off her tie and then her shirt.
Pivoting, I focused on the shower to give her some privacy. The slap of wet clothes hitting the tile sent a number of inappropriate thoughts dancing through my head and into my blood.
Not the fucking time.
A minute later, she walked around me and I moved so she could still have my back as she got into the shower. Crouching, I collected the soaking wet clothes then stood. Only when I did, I caught sight of her in the mirror. The lean, almost too lean, shape of her seemed so fragile as she stood, one hand pressed against the tile as the hot water poured over her.
The shake of her shoulders, and the near-silent sobbing drove the stakes into my soul deeper and deeper. All I wanted to do was make this better for her. Fix it somehow. Forcing myself to turn away, I left the bathroom and took the clothes into a bag for the laundry later.
When I came back, she was sitting on the floor in the shower. Goddammit, Siren…
Yanking the curtain back, I shut off the water then reached in to pull her out. She didn’t protest, just wrapped her arms around me. Soaking my clothes or not, she seemed desperate for contact or maybe just a hug.
That settled it for me, I wrapped her up then sat down in the bathroom with the heater on and wrapped her up in a towel as much as I could while cradling her. When she began shaking with sobs all over again, I stroked her wet hair back.
When she fisted my shirt, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then another. Before I registered what she was doing, she tilted her tear-streaked face up to mine.
“What can I do, Siren?” I whispered. “Tell me how to make this right?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, and I found myself cradling her face and swiping away the tears with my thumbs. “It just hurts.”
“What hurts?” If I could just fix this for her.
“Everything,” she admitted, then she pressed forward and her lips were on mine. The ferociousness of the kiss caught me by surprise, but it was like dumping kerosene on a fire and all the pent-up frustration, worry, and even aggravation burst into flames.
I devoured her mouth as she fisted my shirt so tight it pulled against my shoulders. Her skin was so fucking soft and smooth under my hands. When she shifted to straddle my lap, I groaned at the pressure of her on my very erect cock.
“Siren,” I whispered in between sharp biting scrapes of her teeth over my lower lip and the sweet taste of her thrusting against my tongue. The salt of her tears lingered, but they, too, seemed to evaporate under the warmth of the kiss. The pressure of her breasts against my shirt beckoned. “Siren…”
“I want this,” she said, lifting her head to stare at me, and I stared back. Her pupils were blown, her face flushed and still blotchy from her tears.
“Kaitlin,” I cautioned. “I’m still…”
“What? My TA? My RA? My fucking stepbrother?” She swallowed hard and the tears shimmered in her eyes again. “I don’t need any of those, and in two days—how did you put it? You’ll be nothing. Outside of this school? We’ll be nothing.”
The verbal slap landed. Did I fucking deserve it? Probably. Still, my stomach dropped at the reminder. No.
The third one still applied. Even if it didn't? We would damn well still besomething.
"Look at me, Ramsey,” she said, straightening, and the pressure that put on my cock was exquisite torture. “Look at me and tell me you see a sister.”
I swept my gaze over her, from her damp hair to her tear-stained face to the tattoos decorating her arms and shoulders. There were more hidden along her abdomen and one on the curve of her breast. So many tattoos I wanted to map with my fingers and my tongue.
The pretty pale pink of her stiffened nipples beckoned to me, and there was a hint of blonde hair near her pussy that made me want to spread her out and explore every inch of her.
“No,” I admitted. “I just see you, Siren.”
“Do you want me?” The naked vulnerability in that question delivered the final blow.
Did I want her?
