Page 39

Chapter 39

Tobias

I stood outside Amelia's bedroom door last night, fist raised, ready to knock, ready to fuck my name out of her mouth, but I couldn't do it. We hadn't talked about what happened before her mom dragged me out of the room, and I didn't want to assume anything because it's Amelia.

Sweet, fierce, and completely out of my league, Amelia.

And she deserves better than stolen moments and forbidden touches.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't hard as a rock for her the second she walked into the foyer tonight. My eyes had a mind of their own, trailing from her heels, up her legs, to the curve of her hips, and settling on the swell of her breasts—breasts that I've touched, tasted, and that were practically begging for my mouth again.

But my real weakness? The nape of her neck. That bare skin had me on my knees before she even said a word.

The drive to the restaurant was torture. Her scent was sweet and heady, wrapping around me like a drug I never wanted to quit. I was drowning in her, and I'd have happily let it take me under.

Then she started talking about Tate.

Fucking Tate.

Sure, I brought him up, and it's entirely my fault, but that doesn't change the fact that hearing her talk about him like he's an option set something off inside me.

What the hell made her think I'd ever be okay with that?

I can't share her. I won't share her.

But how is that ever going to end well between us? How can you claim someone you're not supposed to want in the first place? Someone you're not supposed to touch? The answers don't matter anymore because wanting Amelia isn't a choice.

We make it home in one piece, but my heart's pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to break out of my chest. I step inside first, leaving Amelia to linger behind with her mom and my dad, but the space between us is a live wire, crackling in the silence; however, everyone else seems blind to it.

"Right, you two, go get some sleep. You've got a long day tomorrow," Kayla says as she glances between us, her smile genuine for once, but she's completely clueless.

If she could see the way I've been looking at her daughter—the things I've been thinking about doing to her precious little girl—she'd have my balls mounted on the mantel before breakfast.

"As have we," she continues, facing my dad. "We have lunch with the Sheridans."

"Great. Can't wait to hear all about Clifford's digestion issues again," my dad mutters, his sarcasm as dry as the champagne he's been sipping all night, and I've never been more grateful that his life isn't mine."Goodnight, you two," my dad tosses out, already halfway up the stairs.

"We're heading downstairs to the game room," I cut in smoothly, glancing at Amelia for confirmation. "You coming?" I smirk, daring her to push back, to walk away, even though I already know she won't.

She rolls those chocolate-brown eyes in that exaggerated way that would piss me off if it weren't so fucking sexy and spins on her heel, leading the way downstairs, as far from our parents' room as we can possibly get.

"You know we actually need to get some sleep before tomorrow." She steps into the room first, and when I step in behind her, I quietly close the door. The lock clicks into place with a finality that makes us both freeze for a beat.

I'm keeping people out—and her in. At least until she tells me otherwise.

"If you'd rather go to bed, tell me now, Mills."

If you don't want my hands mapping every inch of your body… if you don't want me to taste the sounds you make when you come apart, walk away now.

She walks to the corner of the room like she's got all the time in the world before wrapping those delicate fingers around a pool cue. When she turns, her face is unreadable, but her eyes burn me alive.

The pool table stretches out before us, its midnight-blue felt perfectly matching the deep shade of the walls. I grab my cue, nodding toward the table with a slight tilt of my head.

"You wanna break?" I ask, though I already know her answer.

We've played many times before, although it's never felt like this.

"You ask every time and always get the same answer," she says, her voice carrying that edge I love.

"Why do you always want me to shoot my shot first?"

"Because I like knowing what I'm playing with rather than just hitting and hoping for the best."

The double meaning in her words hits me low in the gut. She's talking about us—about what's building between us, and fuck if that doesn't do things to me.

"Sometimes it can be fun not knowing which direction the balls will go. Adds a little excitement."

Her eyes darken, and she takes a step closer. "Tonight, I want to know exactly what I'm getting myself into."

She's wary, and I get it. This situation is heavy and complicated, no matter how you look at it.

"How about we ask each other a question for every ball we get in?"

This stopped being about playing pool the second she walked down those stairs. It's about stripping away our defenses, one truth at a time.

"Are you going to be honest?"

"Have I ever been anything else?" I let her see everything in my eyes. There's no point hiding it now.

The truth might burn us both, but I'm ready to light the match.

"Fine." That bottom lip disappears between her teeth, and my blood turns molten. "Go for it."

I nod, positioning myself behind the cue ball. My hands are steady, and the cue balances perfectly between my fingers. With a sharp crack, the break sends the balls scattering across the table, each one spinning off in a different direction.

"Your move, Firefly."

She leans forward, her eyes locking on mine, and I fight the urge to let my eyes drop to the swell of her breasts that have been teasing me all fucking night. She takes her shot, hitting a solid red ball clean and hard. It drops into the pocket, and she moves around to line up the next one.

"Why did you give up your flight ticket?"

"Because I wanted to ride with you."

She moves to my left, bending over for her next shot, and my eyes track the curve of her ass, imagining my hands there, gripping, claiming… Another ball drops in the pocket.

"Why do you hate Tate?"

"Because he wants you."

She misses her next shot, and thank fuck, because I've got questions burning holes in my chest. I line up the shot and watch as the ball easily rolls into the pocket. I straighten, meeting her gaze across the table.

"Did you ever have any intention of dating him?"

"No."

Another ball follows, and I ask the next question that's been clawing at me.

"Why did you make me believe you were going to call him over that night in your room?"

"Because I wanted to make you jealous."

"Why?"

"You didn't hit a ball in."

Fuck the game.

I stalk around the table until she's trapped between me and the edge, with nowhere to go.

"I don't care. Tell me."

"Because I was jealous."

"Of?"

I see it in her eyes. The exact moment something inside her breaks.

"The girl you brought home, the girl from the bar, anyone you wanted that wasn't me. Every single fucking person who got to have a piece of you while I had to want you in silence." Her confession punches the air from my lungs, leaving me wrecked. "My turn," she whispers, her voice breathless as I step closer, taking her cue and laying it on the table along with mine.

"Ask," I demand, though it feels more like begging.

However, at this point, I don't really care.

"Why did you bring me down here?"

"You know why. You wouldn't be down here with me if you didn't."

The words barely escape me before I claim her mouth, crashing against her lips with the desperation I've been holding back since I last tasted them. She gasps as I lift her onto the table—that sweet, addictive sound I've been dreaming about.

When her thighs spread for me, it's like coming home—like this space between her legs was created just for me, like we were always meant to fit together this way, no matter how many people try to tell us it's wrong.

I drag my mouth down her jaw, finding that sweet spot on her throat that makes her breath catch.

Her fingers twist in my hair, nails raking my scalp in a way that tears a growl from deep in my chest and drags my mouth back to hers, her kiss turning frantic.

"Can I touch you, Firefly?" I whisper, and when she nods, my hands slowly slide up her thighs. My fingers find the delicate lace at her hips, and I hook them under the fabric.

I step back just enough to drag her panties down her legs, tucking them into my pocket before pushing her dress up around her waist, and the sight of her bare makes my mouth go dry.

Usually, I'd drop to my knees and be face-deep in pussy as soon as the panties were off, but not tonight. Tonight, I need to watch her come undone—memorize the way those lashes flutter when she's close, how her moans get higher when she's about to come, the way she trembles when I hit just the right spot. All of it is mine to claim, mine to keep.

My hands glide over her skin, tracing slow, deliberate patterns on her inner thighs. The closer I get to where I know she needs me, the tighter my chest feels—like her pleasure is tied to every beat of my heart. When my fingers finally brush against her, her perfect lips part with a silent gasp that nearly shatters me. I slam my mouth onto hers, swallowing every desperate sound she makes as my thumb begins slow, torturous circles over her clit.

When I slide a finger inside her, the groan she lets out fucking wrecks me.

She's this wet for me.

"You're so beautiful, Amelia," I breathe out, yet the words don't feel like they're enough for what I'm trying to say—that she's everything. This moment is everything, and I've never wanted anyone the way I want her.

Raw instinct takes over, and I drop to my knees. My hands push her thighs wider, spreading her open for me as I look up at her, ready to worship her the way she deserves.

"Please, Tobias." I bite down on the soft skin of her inner thigh, marking her while my thumb continues its slow torture of her clit. "I need…" Her words dissolve into a gasp as my tongue moves closer to her center.

"Tell me you want my mouth on your pussy. I need to hear you say it."

I need to know she's as desperate for this as I am.

"I need it. I need your mouth."

Our eyes meet, and something fundamental shifts in my universe because nothing has ever felt this right.

"Hold on, Firefly."

I wrap my arms around her thighs and drag her to the edge of the table, positioning her exactly where I want her. Her scent hits me like a drug, and when I breathe her in, it floods my system until I'm high on her. One soft kiss against her clit, and my whole world narrows to the sight of her pussy pulsing in response, showing me how tightly she's wound.

She bucks against my mouth, her fingers white-knuckling the edge of the table. Every sound spilling from her lips drives me wild, and I already know I'll never get enough of her like this.

"Keep your eyes on me while I eat your pussy, baby. I need you to see how much I fucking love it."

I flatten my tongue, dragging it slowly over her swollen flesh, learning what makes her breath catch and what makes her thighs tremble. I can feel how badly she wants to let go, to grind herself against my face until she comes, but something's holding her back, making her fight against what her body's begging for.

"Wrap your legs around my neck and let your body move. My tongue's made for you, baby, so fucking use it."

I lower my hand to grip my cock through my jeans, seeking any relief from the painful ache of wanting her.

Fuck it.

Fumbling with my zipper one-handed, I free my cock from my pants and start to stroke myself.

"God, yes." Her moan cuts through me, and I nearly lose it right there.

The second I suck her clit into my mouth, her entire body arches off the table, grinding against me as she falls apart. Her fingers claw into my hair, pulling hard, while her thighs clamp around my head, holding me in place as she rides out her orgasm. I'm so close I can feel my release building, my hand working faster as I fist myself, but I force myself to stop. This isn't about me—not yet. Tucking myself away, I stand on shaky legs, my chest heaving as I take her in—flushed, breathless, and completely undone. The only thing I can think about is kissing herbecause as much as I need to come, I need her lips more.

She opens for me, and I fuck her greedy mouth with my tongue, making her taste how wet her pussy gets when it comes for me. When she pulls back, our eyes meet, and the world around us fades to nothing. That's when I feel it—a piece of myself slipping into her, a part of me I'll never get back and wouldn't take back even if she begged.

"My turn to taste you."

There are a thousand ways I want her—bent over this table, pressed against the wall, spread out beneath me—but right now, all I can think about is watching those perfect lips stretch around my dick.

"Lie back on the table, head over the edge, and don't even think about pulling your dress down."

She obeys without hesitation, stretching out across the blue surface like a sacrifice. Her ponytail dangles down, and my cock's already dripping when I open my jeans. Wrapping my hand around my length, every slide of my palm sends fire through my veins, but it's nothing compared to the way my body ignites when she lets out that desperate little whimper at the sight of me.

She reaches for me, and when she grips me with both hands, I have to slam my eyes shut to stop myself from blowing my load before she's even taken me into her mouth.

I suck in a ragged breath, my control hanging by a thread, and rip my T-shirt off. Her eyes rake over me, dark and hungry, and when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, I pulse in her grip, every inch of me aching to wreck her in the best possible way.

Looking down, I watch as Amelia's tongue darts out to taste the precum gathered at my tip, and I'm gone—ruined, completely fucking destroyed for anyone else, and I never want to find my way back.

"I'm gonna feed you my cock now, Mills." I lean down to kiss her again because it feels impossible not to.

The moment I push between her soft lips, the world stops spinning.

I lean over her, starting slow but only because I have to, letting her adjust to my size. When she relaxes, swallowing me deeper, I lose myself completely. My hips move in steady strokes while she sucks me like it's the only thing she's ever wanted, like I'm the only thing she craves.

"Open those legs wider for me, baby."

My gaze drops to her pussy, still wet and swollen from her orgasm, and I thrust deeper, chasing the edge that feels closer with every stroke of her tongue.

When her hand slides down to grip my balls, my head snaps back, and a sound tears from my chest that's pure fucking animal. "Fuck, look at you, Mills, taking your stepbrother's cock like you were made for it." Her nails dig into my thigh in warning, and I can't help but laugh darkly, because even with my cock buried in her throat, teasing her feels as natural as breathing.

"I'm close," I grind out, my voice shaking. "Tell me where you want it, baby." She answers by sucking harder, and my body lurches forward, palm slamming down on the table beside her. "Fuck, Amelia," I hiss through clenched teeth, and when she does it again, I know exactly what she wants.

Within seconds, my orgasm tears through me, and she takes everything I give her, her nails dragging across my thighs until I'm trembling above her.

When I try to pull back, she grips my cock, giving it one last slow lick that nearly brings me to my knees. "You're gonna kill me, Firefly."

After helping her up and fixing her dress, I pull her into my arms, pressing my lips to her forehead. I'm not even sure why I'm holding her like this, except that I need to feel her against me.

"You good?" My hands cradle her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw as I tilt her head to meet my gaze. I search her eyes, desperate to make sure there's no hint of regret, no second thoughts about what just happened.

"Yeah, but if you ever call yourself my stepbrother while I'm sucking you off again, I'll bite your dick off." She laughs, and I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in like a drug. "Are you okay?"

"You kidding? I just got the best damn head of my life. I'm fucking awesome."

The corner of her mouth twitches before she playfully slaps my chest, her palm resting over the white rose tattoo etched across my heart.

For a second, I feel the magnitude of everything she's come to mean to me. It's too much, too soon, so I force the moment back to playful. Because the alternative—acknowledging just how deep this runs—terrifies me.