Brother's Keeper (12 page)

I’m stunned as I wait for her and can hardly make sense of the night’s events, but a nagging thought won’t leave my mind. He was either home already when she arrived or she knew he was at the bar getting wasted. Either way, she chose to stay there. Under normal circumstances, I would be furious with her for disobeying my rules, but on this night I just feel guilty and responsible. Were it not for what she saw last night, she would have never felt the need to be away from me. Had I not been such a chicken shit and spoken to her when it happened, her embarrassment as well as mine would not have affected her decisions tonight.

When I hear the bathtub draining, I enter. She has her back to me and is drying herself. I again see the welts and beginnings of bruises all over her backside. I ask if there is anything I can do, and she just shakes her head. I get her pajamas from her room and bring them back for her. She makes no move to change in front of me, and ridiculously, I feel rejected at her modesty. After allowing her privacy to change, I help her into my bed, and then join her after showering and changing myself. She falls asleep quickly, but I don’t. I hate feeling so helpless and guilty. I want to talk to her but don’t want to disturb her. She must be exhausted and sore, and I can’t help but feel responsible for her. I finally get up and retreat to the window seat overlooking the back courtyard. The moon is nearly full, and I stare outside replaying the past twenty-four hours over and over and over.

*

I wake, and it is still dark. I’m alone in bed and wish he were with me. But he is there. As I look over toward the night sky out his back window, the blue hue from the large bright moon allows me to see his silhouette on the window seat. He is sitting parallel to the window with his feet up on the seat and his knees bent. His elbows and arms are slung on his bent knees, and he is staring off into the dark. He would have every right to be mad at me. I never should have stayed home, knowing that my father would be coming home drunk. I was actually contemplating calling Logan, but was having such a hard time actually picking up the phone to do it. My father wasn’t supposed to come home that early or in that foul a mood. He was raging from the second he stormed in through the doorway, and the nerve I was trying to build up to call Logan soon became the last thing on my mind.

I lie silently watching Logan. He is off in his own world, and I want to join him so badly. I start to crawl from bed and realize just how sore I am. Sleep has only served to allow my muscles to tighten and tense and my whole body hurts; I feel like one big bruise. As I move from the bed, Logan looks over at me, and shadowed from the light outside I’m not able to see the look on his face. He swings his legs over the side of the window seat to face me, and as I approach, the look on his face emerges. It is impossible to read. To my relief, he holds out his hands to me, and I step between his legs as he pulls me into his arms. Even as painful as I am right now, I still love the way it feels when he touches me. He offers me safety and security, and he knows how to be gentle. It is a constant and precious reminder of how amazing men can be.

He slings one leg up on the window seat and leans it against the window. He then pats the spot between his legs in invitation for me to sit. I turn with my back to him, and he helps me find my place there. I lean back into him and can feel his heart beating into me. He wraps his arms around me and clasps my hands in his. My butt is relieved to feel the thick padding on the window seat, and I’m comfortable in his arms.

After a long time of peaceful silence, I decide to say what should have been said a long while back. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” It's barely a whisper.

“For last night … for tonight … just … everything…”

“If you want to apologize for not leaving your house when you should have tonight, then I accept. If you want to apologize for what you saw last night, well … I can’t really accept.”

I’m suddenly confused. As is often the case, I can’t tell what his intent is. He must sense my confusion. “Last night wasn’t your fault, Row. You didn’t do anything wrong anymore than I did. Well … actually we were both wrong. I should have spoken to you about what happened last night and not waited like a coward, and you shouldn’t have sneaked off this morning—again. You do realize I hate it when you do that.”

His words aren’t the least bit angry, and he is only gently prodding me for my behavior. After more silence he continues. “What were you thinking when you saw me last night?”

My heart starts racing as I try to come up with something that doesn’t sound completely pathetic, but the only thoughts running through my mind are: how huge he is, how much I wish it was
my
hand wrapped around his cock, how much I want him to make love to me, how much I want to taste him, how huge he… oh yeah, covered that one.

As the gears are turning in my brain, he starts. “Okay. Since you’re being shy, I’ll start. I was confused at first, evidenced by the frozen Medusa syndrome, and then I was mortified you saw me in such a compromising position. Then I was self-conscious you wouldn’t like what you saw.” He trails off, offering no other explanation for his provocative final words.

Who couldn’t like the way he looks? He is beautiful. Not that I’ve seen that many men’s bodies, but the image of his balls, heavy between his legs, and his incredibly beautiful and incredibly large, rigid penis looked so perfect against his bare stomach. Even his own hand wrapped around his shaft made him look somehow powerful and virile. Just remembering the sight of him from the night before turns my body to fire, and I’m wet in an instant.

I imagine myself kneeling in front of him, cupping his heavy balls in one hand and wrapping my other hand around his girth. I imagine being able to please him and seeing his pleasure as he looks down at me. I want to take him in my mouth and taste him, and I want so much for him to touch the warm wet pulse between my legs and release me from it. I’m lost in my imaginings and the vision of his naked body when I realize he’s still waiting for an answer.

I’m only able to manage a weak, “I don’t know,” and feel pathetic, something I’ve gotten used to feeling around him. I want so much for him to know what I’m thinking, but could never bring myself to say it out loud. He could never want the same from me. While his body has responded to me in the past, it was nothing more than the passing effect of his comforting me. I can’t compare to the women who stare at him day in and day out. He is practically worshipped on campus, and there is nothing I could do to ever compete with them. I can’t even manage to talk around him half the time.

I as much feel him as hear him chuckling from behind me from my embarrassment as he leans down and whispers in my ear, “I was thinking of you when I was touching myself.”

If I thought my body was on fire before, it was about to tear apart at the seams now. The breath leaves my lungs as I revel in his words. I can’t help but spin around toward him in surprise and immediately wish I could take that move back as much for its desperation as for the fact my ass starts to throb immediately. He winces as he sees the pain on my face and gently reaches up, touches my face, and with a seductive smile, says, “Careful.”

He then pulls my bent leg to him up and over his own leg. He slides his hands gently under my bottom and lifts me to straddle him. The backs of my thighs rest on the tops of his, and he looks at me with his intense, dark eyes. I’m still unsure how to react and have no idea how to respond to his words. I’m stunned, and this glimmer of his reciprocation has me spinning. As he continues to look at me, he pulls my hips toward his, and I immediately feel his hard erection through his flannels. He rolls his hips up toward me to leave no question how his body is responding, and I can feel his warm breath on the side of my face and neck.

I look down, straining to see his bulge that is snug against my own cloth covered wetness but can’t see what I want to in the shadow of our bodies. He seems to know what I want and leans easily back against the wall behind him, opening up the shadow to the bright night sky. The size of his bulge makes my breath hitch, and I have to touch him. I reach slowly down, my breath coming in short ragged gasps, to the waist of his pants as he concentrates on me, hands relaxed at his sides. I’m waiting for him to stop me, but he doesn’t. He is not hiding his emotions, and the look of longing is easily read on his face. Still, he appears calm studying my every move. I pull out the waist of his pants, catching his underwear as well, and am almost surprised at how forcefully and immediately his freed cock comes thrusting upward from his pants.

I have to pull my own body further from him just to pull the waist of his pants and underwear as low as possible, wanting to see all of him. He continues to watch me as I stare at his beautiful body. He finally reaches to the rear of his hips, arching his pelvis toward me and sliding his pants and underwear down to his thighs with one smooth move.

He huskily whispers, “Touch me … now.” And I gasp loudly at his words.

I reach out to him. I’m tentative in my shyness, but when he feels my hand on him, he inhales sharply and orders, “More.” I slide my hand around the shaft of his cock, savoring the smooth veined skin and the look of my hand on him. His hands move to my hips in his arousal, and he pulls me back toward him. I stroke him, and he spits on his hand, interrupting me only long enough to wet his shaft for me. I continue stroking him, and his hands move up to my face. His fingers push into my mouth, and I instinctually suck and lick at them. He suddenly stops me, pulling my hands away from him. He reaches for my waist and pulls my tank top over my head. My already tight and hard nipples intensify at the feel of the material being pulled over them. I reach back for his cock, but he gently grabs my wrists, stopping me. He is focusing on my breasts, and I can’t help but look down at myself, feeling nervous.

I am small and self-conscious of my breasts. He senses my angst and gently urges, “Don’t be shy with me. I love your tits and have wanted to touch them and suck them for so long.”

At that, he releases my wrists and runs his hands up the sides of my waist and then around to the front and underneath them. He gently brushes his thumbs over my nipples, and I moan at his touch. He circles around each nipple, enticing me but not touching me where I want it so much. Finally, after much intense torture, he lowers his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth. I can feel his tongue moving over my skin and the suction of his mouth is intense. He grazes his teeth over the sensitized nipple, sending my body into shivers.

He moves to my other breast and continues with his erotic torture until I don’t think I can stand it anymore. The heated pulsing between my legs is mounting with his every touch, and I want his hands on me and in me. But he seems intent on making me wait, and the seductive smirk on his face tells me he’s enjoying every minute of my torment. Finally, once he’s finished with my breasts, he takes both my hands in his and spits into their palms.

He looks at me without timidity. “Make me come.”

I use my hands to stroke his length, and he makes no effort at hiding his building arousal. He takes my hands, lacing the fingers together and shows me how he wants it. I oblige and continue, mesmerized by his excitement. As he nears his climax, he struggles to not let his head fall back in ecstasy. He seems intent on locking my eyes with his and fights his impulse until he finally gives in and lets go of himself. His cum is released in surges I feel on my stomach and chest more than I am able to see. I reach down and touch my wet stomach, wanting to run my hand through his seed and feel it on my fingers. He lowers his head to my neck, and I listen as his breathing slows. I continue to stroke him while his breathing returns to normal.

When we are finally relaxed against one another again, I pick up my discarded tank top and leave him for the bathroom to wash up. For the first time in the light, I can see myself covered with his semen. I wash off my stomach with the washrag and can’t help but feel the satisfaction of what I’ve done to him. As I start to pull my shirt back on, he enters. He is hanging long and still very enlarged, and I’m still very much hungry for him.

*

As I catch her half in and half out of her shirt, I can’t help but taunt. “Why are you putting that on?”

Her brows furrow and she looks down at herself. “My shirt?”

“Yeah… You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” I can’t help but smirk back. She immediately blushes and stares at her feet not knowing how to react. I wish she knew how sexy her shyness was to me. Every blush, every furtive glance away, every time her huge, innocent eyes widen in astonishment, I go crazy—like now. Watching the way she studied my cock and her hand on it, watching her excitement over my arousal, had pushed me over the edge. I didn’t intend to allow myself to come before her, but it became quite apparent that if I was going to take my time with her, and I had every intention of taking my time, then I would have to break suit and allow my release first—and what a release. I’ve been craving this release since the first night she stayed here, and finally, after so much time together, she’s given it to me. I wanted it to last forever.

Her inexperienced hands and hesitance made me want to push her further and further. She fed off my arousal perfectly and with very little direction knew exactly what I wanted from her. She so easily pushed me to my limit. And now, I intend to push her to
her
limit.

As I approach her, she is nervous with excitement and unsure what to expect. I help her back out of her partially on tank top and drop it to the floor. I then pull out a thick folded towel from the linen closet, lead her to the edge of the bathtub, and kneel on the rug in front of the tub where she stands. I ease down her pants and help her step out of them. Her underwear is simple white cotton with eyelets, nothing you’d see on a woman who wanted to be seen in her panties, but Rowan has a way of being sexy without trying or wanting to be. I kiss her smooth and flat stomach from above her navel down to the area just above her panties before gently pulling them down. I realize, even though I’ve now seen the better portion of Rowan’s body, I’ve never seen her pussy before. I’ve spent much time fantasizing, and I realize upon first sight that my dreams haven’t done reality justice. She is softly haired and has a well-groomed bikini line. She’s stunning.