Page 103 of Unwrapping Deviance

“Are you judging me?”

Christian’s frown deepens. “No!” He steps aside to let a woman pushing a stroller pass. “I just thought you guys would want kids.”

I stare at him, baffled by the sheer audacity of his assumption. “Because I’m a woman and inherently obligated to want children?”

He blinks at me like I’m crazy. “Because Daniel has always wanted kids.”

I say nothing. I can’t.

In the year I’ve known Daniel, he’s never mentioned kids. Granted, I never asked and never brought the topic up, but wetalked about everything. We stayed up until the sun rose talking about every random thought that passed our minds. He spent almost every night for two months in my bed, holding me, telling me stories after I woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t go back to bed.

But of course Daniel would want a family. He would make such an amazing Dad.

“I can’t have kids,” I tell Christian quietly. “I mean, I probably can, but...” I fidget with the paper bag in my hand. “People I love tend to die and a baby ... if I lose...”

His fingers are gentle, capturing my chin and tipping my face up. He lightly brushes my cheek with the back of his knuckles. His eyes are soft, understanding.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, sweetheart.”

I shake my head, needing him to understand. “I would love a baby...” I sneak a tongue across my dry lips. “But it would kill me if I...”

Christian kisses me.

It’s not hard or sexual. It’s barely more than the simple motions of two lips sharing a secret. It’s gentle and warm, and it lulls me to forget the pain in my chest for those few precious minutes.

When he anchors an arm around my middle and pulls me the rest of the way against his chest, I let him. I melt into him. I accept his distraction, his hand in my hair. His breath on my skin.

His breathing is as uneven as mine when he finally pulls back. His eyes are dark pools of desire that sends a flood of warmth through me.

“I want ice cream,” he murmurs, and it’s so random, so normal that I laugh.

“Ice cream sounds nice.”

He runs my pills to the bike while I wait under the cool shade of the pharmacy awning. I watch him stalk across the street with those long, powerful legs encased in black denim, tattoos on full display. He moves the way he pleasures — with purpose and animalistic magmatism. I’m not the only one to notice. Several women nearby turn their heads to watch him.

Christian isn’t mine. He never can be. I’m working on accepting that, but for a moment, just a tiny flicker of weakness, I pretend he could be. I imagine being able to keep him, to have him with me and Daniel at our apartment. To cook dinner with him at night, wake up with him in the morning. To cuddle on the couch ... and other things.

The sad part is, it’s not hard to imagine. It’s all so clear in my head. So tempting. I can easily see the three of us together. Building a home. I could without trying fall for both brothers. I could let them into my heart, let them take root in my soul and become my whole world just to watch them die.

But it’s more than that. Earlier proved that I’m not a good or fair person. I want Daniel and Christian all to myself.

Only myself.

Only me.

But they have to share me with each other. Only each other, but still. How can I expect them to only want me when I want both?

Damn it.

Christian jogs back to me, a dark coil hanging over his brow. Eyes fixed on me and only me, despite the small cluster of gorgeous women six feet away, sipping their lattes and watching him from the café patio.

He flashes me a wicked smirk that curls my toes in my slippers. My stomach flips dangerously right before I’m caught in the arm he hooks around my middle and yanked up against his chest.

“Kiss me, brat.”

I do, because, fuck, this man is killing me. I rake my fingers into his silky hair and drag his mouth to mine. His hands close into my ass. Oblivious or uncaring of the attention we’re getting.

“Christian.”

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