Five Brothers, page 4
After what she’s trying to do to me, there’s no way in hell I trust her. Or my father. I hide that he now lives on Barony Lane, just a mile away with his girlfriend, and not in Atlanta like my brother and sister think. How else was I supposed to explain to them why their father suddenly doesn’t see them?
“My mother wants me to marry Jerome Watson.” It hurts to talk, the tears lodged in my throat. “A thirty-two-year-old corporate tax lawyer, whom I’ve met once, who’s looking for a pretty wife so he’ll want to fuck her over and over again, a healthy one who can take care of his house and stay knocked up for years to come, and a young one who’s too ignorant and naïve to challenge him.”
The tears keep coming, but I don’t feel sad. “I’m scared,” I breathe out. “I didn’t think making life better for the people around me would involve spending my life with someone I don’t love.”
I blink long and hard.
“But what does it matter, right?” I force a laugh. “Nothing I do will make a difference. May as well help my family and numb myself with pretty shoes and handbags while I’m at it.”
As if that will distract me from knowing I was sold, because contrary to what he and my mother discuss about my future, I’m neither ignorant nor naïve.
I toss the blanket down, wiping away the tears. Screw it. I’ll sleep in my car.
But then he’s there, his body pressing into my back and his hands squeezing my waist.
I gasp. “No.” I try to push his hands away.
No more. No more. I drop my head back into him, trying to push against him, but I’m not sure if I’m fighting to get free or fighting because I want to hit someone. Tears stream down my face, and I suck in breath after breath.
But then I feel it.
His shallow breaths against my temple. And his arms slowly slipping around my body, holding me to him.
Slow. Tight. Strong. Warm.
I go still, his heat covering my back as his chest rises and falls against my spine, and I relax just enough to feel him hold me up. One arm wraps around my stomach, the other hand reaches around to cup my cheek as he grazes his mouth over my hair.
“We’re not dead yet,” he murmurs over my skin at my temple.
And then he turns my head, and before I can see his face, his mouth covers mine, swallowing my whimper. His tongue dives into my mouth, and I can’t breathe as he holds me strong and keeps me locked against his body.
Fuck…
My lungs scream, and fire covers my skin. I gasp, pulling my mouth away and inhaling air, but it takes only a second before he’s fisting my hair and biting my neck.
I cry out, electricity coursing down my thighs and up to the top of my head. I close my eyes, my heart leaping into my throat as he forces my shirt over my head, my arms flying up as he tears the fabric off me.
Pulling his mouth off my skin, he holds my tummy, unzipping my skirt, and I look down, watching his hand in the dark. The same Jaeger bracelet they all wear—three thin straps of brown leather entwined—circles his wrist with the emblem of the snake wrapped around an hourglass in the middle.
My skirt drops, and he takes my hand, guiding it down between my thighs as he gently peels my panties off until the tips of my fingers touch my wet clit.
“Keep going,” he whispers, kissing my hair.
A light sweat covers my forehead, and I can’t move. I can’t even think.
He devours my neck and kneads my breast as heat rushes between my legs and covers my body. I pant, whimpering. “Oh God,” I moan. “Stop, stop, please. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”
But he thrusts into me from behind, his jeans creating delicious friction on my ass. Almost touching the sensitive skin deep inside.
I bite my bottom lip so hard, I feel a sharp pain.
And I can’t stop. I don’t even care. I pull my underwear all the way off before I lean back into him, resting my head against his chest and rubbing myself slowly, riding my hand and knowing that he’s watching.
I close my eyes again, loving the feel of his hands on me, and smelling his hot skin, which reminds me of wood and earth and fuel and grease. Loving how the Jaeger boys wear their work on their clothes, and don’t get their muscle any other way.
He grows harder, resting his chin on the top of my head as he just holds my right hip in one hand and grips my ass with the other.
I rub the nub, starting to feel the tingle. A little more. I suck in a breath. A little more. I like him watching me. His fingers curl into my skin, digging, pulling, wanting me to fuck myself harder.
“Ah,” I groan. “Ah.” I roll and bounce harder and faster, and then…
He growls, yanks me back into his body, and cuts off my breath again, kissing me.
But before I can come, he leads me down onto the couch, flat on my stomach, and comes down behind me. I immediately lift my knee, opening myself up, and listen to him rip off his belt.
I squeeze the couch in my fist, my stomach pressing into the cool leather.
His hand presses into the sofa, next to my shoulder, and I moan as his fingers glide down my spine.
I feel his breath on my ear. “Krisjen,” he whispers, and goose bumps cover my body. “Don’t tell Trace about this.”
Trace won’t care, but I nod anyway.
He works the head of his cock inside me, takes hold of me on both sides where my thighs meet my hips, and thrusts.
I stretch as he bottoms out, and I cry out for a moment before his hand comes over my mouth.
His chest heaves again and again against my back. And then he stops moving—breathing—and I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. His nose presses into my hair, and he inhales instead.
My pussy contracts around him, and I shift a little to ease the pressure. He’s so deep.
And then…he rises up, takes hold again, and pumps his hips. Again and again, slow at first, letting me adjust to him, and then he’s thrusting so fast and hard all I can do is hang on.
My hair sticks to my back, and I tighten my legs around him, loving the feel of his hands squeezing me. I said I came here because I had nothing else to do, but this is all I want to fucking do.
He grips my hips, sucks my shoulders, bites my back, and it’s so hard not to moan too loudly. I don’t care who sees. I just don’t want him stopping.
I feel my orgasm build again, push myself up on my elbows, and start backing into him. He leans over me as sweat trickles down my back, and I feel his hot breath in my hair.
I feel everything. The thick air on my skin. The clouds over the house. The leather underneath me, now damp with my sweat.
His hands holding me like I’m not dead yet.
Tears burn behind my eyelids, and I smile as he comes down, holding the front of my neck and pulling my head back to meet his. I grasp his hand, feeling the leather bands and warm metal around his wrist.
I arch my back, meeting each thrust as he pumps into me, and then I suck in air again and again until…my thighs course with heat, my insides burst open, and the orgasm explodes inside of me. I moan through his hand over my mouth, growing so fucking wet as it spreads through me. His body jerks in short, slow thrusts, and then he lets out a growl in my ear, and I feel him come inside me.
Oh God. I breathe hard. Oh God.
I inhale in and out, trying to calm down as I collapse onto the couch, exhausted.
But before I can catch my breath, I hear his voice in my ear.
“Someday,” he says as he squeezes my throat, “when you look, act, and smell like a pristine pair of fifteen-hundred-dollar heels, and you’re married to a lawyer or a banker who tastes like glue and parades you around like his little trophy…” He flicks his tongue over my ear, taunting me. “I can wonder if it’s my son he’s playing Daddy to.”
I round my eyes, my pussy clenching around his cock one more time as he pulls out and fastens up his jeans and belt.
I lie there for a second, my body already aching at his absence. But by the time I flip over and look around, he’s gone.
“Holy shit.” I scan the dark, empty living room. “Who the hell was that?”
2
Krisjen
I startle awake, not moving a muscle as I take in the sunlight coming through the windows. And the heat in the room.
I draw in a deep breath, immediately feeling the ache in my neck as my cheek and stomach press into the leather couch.
Leather couch.
Not my couch. I roll my eyes in every direction, taking in the room. The Jaegers’ living room.
And everything comes flooding back. “Oh shit.” I flip over, the blanket resting against my bare skin, and feel a crick in my neck from sleeping too hard.
I blink against the light streaming through the curtains. It’s morning. I pat the blanket, feeling my body underneath. I’m still naked. Shit, I fell sleep.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I hear Trace say, and see him walk across the foyer in a towel as he opens the door for Carissa, the girl from last night. “See you.”
She walks out, and I hurriedly search, finding my school shirt and pulling it on.
Fuck, where is my skirt? I search the floor.
Oh my God. What did I do?
“Is that Krisjen’s car?” he asks. Half of his body hangs out the open door, talking to someone, and I lean over, quickly feeling under the couch for the rest of my clothes.
The smell of bacon and coffee fills the air, making my mouth water, and it hits me that someone is cooking. Someone had to come downstairs and pass me, half-covered, on the couch. I clench my teeth.
Trace comes back inside, closes the door, and I lie back down, the blanket still covering my naked bottom half.
“Oh, hey.” He sees me on the couch.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I can’t seem to calm my breathing. “Um…” I search for words. “My tires. They’re flat. I wanted to wait for the rain to stop to call a tow truck.”
He sits down on the edge of the couch. “No, we’ll take care of them. I’m good for something, right?”
He looks down with a friendly vulnerability in his eyes that turns everyone to putty in his hands.
I’m a little mad at him, contrary to what I told…whichever one of his brothers last night.
Oh my God, I don’t even know who it was…
But I should be angrier at Trace. I’m just not. What happened after I left his room has overshadowed whatever happened before.
I fist the blanket, staring up at him but still feeling the other one inside of me.
He cocks his head. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I meant to be gone already.” I start to sit up. “I’ll be out of here soon.”
“You don’t have to rush.” He stops me. “Krisjen, don’t pay me any mind, okay? I’m a shithead.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Guilt nips at me, because I’m really glad I left his room last night. What happened afterward was certainly weird. Would I do it again? Yes.
“But you did come with me, right?” he asks, studying me. “Like you didn’t fake it all summer, right? You were just teasing me about that?”
I finally let out a chuckle. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t have the heart to burst his bubble. Honestly, I never really minded. I didn’t come with Milo, either. I just liked being touched. Being close to someone.
But last night…
On the couch…
That was something I didn’t know existed.
I have every confidence Trace will get better with time, but I don’t think it will ever be like that with us.
He stands up, tsking. “You’re so mean to me. I always had an orgasm with you.”
I snort, but as soon as he disappears into the kitchen, I scurry to find my skirt. I spot it on the side of the coffee table and grab it. Standing, I pull it on and zip it up.
Dallas rounds the banister just as I finish and slows as soon as he sees me. I go still.
His gaze never leaves mine as he heads past me, and while his eyes are the same color as Trace’s, they look completely different on Dallas.
I glance down, seeing the bracelet on his wrist. My stomach sinks. Whoever it was last night would probably still be wearing it this morning.
He enters the kitchen, and I bolt for the bathroom. Down the hall, into the half bath under the stairs. I close and lock the door, pulling up my skirt and sitting on the toilet.
Jesus Christ. How could I not stop him last night? At least to wear a condom? I’m sure I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen, but every single Jaeger sleeps around. Except Liv, of course.
I grab toilet paper and wipe, feeling the slickness between my legs as he leaves me. I clean myself up and flush, looking in the mirror.
I’m breathing hard again, but I just stare, letting myself process.
A bracelet. Bare chest against my back. Tall. He smelled amazing and tasted like meat with a hint of bourbon. And the beer he’d just swallowed.
He didn’t speak much above a whisper, he had rough hands, and there was so much heat on his tongue. All of the brothers could probably fit most of that description.
Fuck.
I look down at my body, not seeing any visible marks yet, but I feel them. An ache between my legs, some red on my neck from when he squeezed it. My arms are sore and my scalp hurts, but I’m not in pain. In fact, I fight not to smile as I feel all of it. Proof that he had me in his hands.
Could it have been Trace? He would’ve felt comfortable enough to go after me like that. None of the others have even looked at me twice. I didn’t see any tattoos, and Trace doesn’t have any yet, but then again, I didn’t see much of the man’s skin at all. Just the hands, wrists, maybe a forearm. Iron has a tattoo there. Would I have noticed it in the dark?
I grab someone’s brush on the edge of the sink and smooth out my hair, then take the tube of toothpaste and put some on my finger, wiping it over my teeth and rinsing.
I have to leave. If it was Dallas, he won’t be kind about it this morning. God, please let it not be Dallas. He hates Saints. He’s never been civil to me, let alone kind. As far as he’s concerned, we’re good for one thing.
And I really hope I didn’t give that one thing to him last night.
I head out of the bathroom, fold the blanket in the living room, and search the coffee table for my keys.
But they’re not there.
Spinning around, I scan the floor and then drop down on all fours, looking under the couch. Nothing. Did someone pick them up?
I hear Trace’s laugh, followed by Dallas’s cursing. There’s at least one other person in there, cooking. I groan, smoothing out my clothes and hair as I inch around the corner to look in the kitchen.
Army stands at the stove, flipping bacon with a dish towel hanging out of his back jeans pocket, the sun making his dark brown hair and the skin on his back look golden. The tentacles of the octopus tattoo drape over his shoulder blade.
His one-year-old son, Dex, jumps up and down as he stands on Trace’s lap, the half-eaten Cheerios and banana left at his high chair. His new white sneakers with the black Nike symbol are always on his feet because he’s just learned to walk, and his uncles couldn’t wait for all the new doors that was going to open. Soccer, climbing trees, walking dogs…But I think it’ll be a few years before he’s ready for any of that. Doesn’t stop them from buying him shoes, though.
My keys sit on the counter, and I can feel Dallas’s eyes on me as he takes a seat at the table. I move toward Army, reaching around him at the stove. “Excuse me.”
He glances over his shoulder, seeing me as I snatch my keys back and turn to leave. I don’t know how they ended up in here.
But Trace pulls me to the table. “Sit.”
I pull away. “Stop.”
“I’ll fix your tires after breakfast,” he says. “Stay and eat.”
“I can handle it myself.” I head out of the kitchen. “I don’t need your help.”
“I fixed her tires already.”
I look up, seeing Iron head into the kitchen. He meets my eyes, sweat covering his neck and chest, and I don’t realize I’m frozen until my lungs ache from no air. He walks around me, to the table, and I stand there for a second.
How did he know I had a problem with my tires? I guess that explains how my keys weren’t where I left them.
But before I can say thank you, I hear Dallas.
“You fixed her tires?”
I can hear the disgust in his voice.
“Her grandfather is sending you to prison for forty-two months, Iron. Forty, if you behave yourself, which you won’t.”
“Maybe fixing his granddaughter’s car will win him some points,” Trace jokes, and grabs my arm, hauling me over.
I fall onto the seat next to him but immediately pop back up.
I’m not staying.
“This isn’t funny!” I hear Dallas yell. He glares at me from the other side of the table. “Get the fuck out of here. Macon says no girls at the table anyway.”
“Clay eats at the table,” Trace points out.
“Clay’s more to Liv than just a piece of ass!” Dallas cocks an eyebrow at me. “Unfortunately.”
“Jesus, enough,” Army growls at him. “Goddammit. I’m sick of your shit.” He dumps the plate of bacon on the table. “I want some peace at this table for once.”
Dallas opens his mouth.
“Shut up,” Army barks again before Dallas can argue more.
The table falls silent as Army puts his kid back in his high chair and everyone starts loading their plates. It’s almost comical how they fight nonstop, and Dallas just insulted me several times in the span of thirty seconds, but I still see them as more of a family than I’ve ever witnessed before. I’ve seen them eat more meals together in the six months I’ve known them than my family has in my entire life.
