Page 52 of Alpha On Top

Emery

Pulling up the sweatpantsJo had given me, I tugged the purple t-shirt over my head, and let it drape around my waist.

“You look incredible,” Porter said with a smile, his eyes twinkling like stars against a lusty background.

Turning my lips up into a disbelieving grin, I tempt some truth out of his comment. “In your mom's clothes . . . you think I look incredible?” Giggling, I sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking one leg under my thigh and running my bare foot back and forth against the carpet.

Porter was leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, arms wrapped over each other, forcing the muscles in his biceps to thicken and bulge like rocks under the surface.

My heart fluttered, knowing exactly what it felt like to have those strong arms curl around my body, touching me in all the right places. Everything about this man replaced my nerves with shivers and uncertainty with desire.

I stared at him, tracing the muscles I could see with my eyes, wondering if it would always feel this good to be with him. I felt safe, I felt adored, I felt things I had never experienced before with anyone else. Those flutters were magic, they were mind altering, because Porter had drawn them out.

All I wanted now was to be with this man. I thought I didn't need someone by my side to make me feel special; but I was wrong. Having someone didn't mean I had to change who I was, it didn't mean I would suddenly crave acceptance and not know how to be myself.

Having this man meant I could share the best parts of who I was with someone who would cherish me. And everyone deserves to have someone like that in their life; even him.

Running his hand through his hair to pull it off his eyes, his head tilted into his shoulder. “It's not the clothes, it's the person in them.” Stepping forward, he leaned down and thumbed my jaw, placing a tender kiss on my forehead. “Ready?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Knitting my brows, I fiddled with the strings on my pants. “What if your stepfather says something? What if he goes off again?”

“Don't worry about him, he might not even be here. My mom basically told him to get lost if he was going to keep being a dick.” Taking my hand, he helped me to my feet, letting his hand settle on the small of my back.

“What does your mom want to show us?”

Crooking his jaw, Porter shrugged. “I have no idea, but knowing her, it's probably something that's going to embarrass the hell out of me.” Laughing, his hand massaged the dip in my spine.

Another wave of arousal washed over my body, reigniting the heat in my core and the throb in my sex. His touch did things to me; great, wonderful, intoxicating things. Gentle or rough, my entire being only wanted more.

If I had the energy, I'd mount him again, straddling his waist and devouring his cock for a third time. Porter was the best kind of drug. A high that never ended and never left you alone.

The house was really warm and homey. It felt like a loving, caring family had lived there for ages. I knew that wasn't the truth. This wasn't the home Porter had grown up in, these weren't the walls that watched his childhood unfold, but you could still feel him here.

All the furniture looked used and worn, just like you would expect in a house with boys. I could see dings in the table as we walked through the kitchen, and light tears on the cushions from years of abuse. There were pictures of flowers all around us, mingling with happy faces of Porter and his brother when they were kids.

“Look at you,” I said with a smirk, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Weren't you a cute little kid.”

His lips crept up his face, igniting a bright smile. “Don't sound so surprised.” Pointing at himself, his jaw hardened, eyes holding steady. “Look at this face, as if I'm still not cute.”

Laughing, I turned back to the picture. “And this is your brother?”

Nodding, he stepped up to my side, his eyes set on the small boy, with dirty red hair behind the glass frame. “Yeah, that's Zander. Shit, I think I was ten and he was five in that picture.”

Looking up, there was a small frame with a picture of Jo, Porter, and Zander. They were on the beach, squinting with crooked smiles as the sun blinded them. “Where was this taken?”

“The Cape.” Porter plucked the picture off the wall and held it close to examine it. “We had a beach house there for years when I was kid.” Stroking the outside of the frame with his thumb, he kept his eyes on the image.

“Your mom said she used to be a nurse, how come she's not anymore?”

Porter stretched his arm up over my shoulder and placed the picture back. “My real dad died when I was three. My mother was working in the hospital at the time when the call came in that there had been an accident. Adult male, car veered off the road, major injuries. . .” Pausing, he stared off into space as he talked. “She had no idea it was my father. When they brought him in she froze, she couldn't think, she couldn't function. She watched him die on the table and she did nothing to help him. It changed her, she was never the same after that. She couldn't go back to work, she couldn't even look at me for months because all it did was make her cry.”

Touching his shoulder, I tilted my head. “That must have been so hard on her, to go through that, and then to lose your brother too. . .” Sadness crept over my face as tears swelled in my eyes. “I'm so sorry, Porter.”

Nodding, he ran his thumb over his bottom lip and looked down at the floor. “It hasn't been easy.” I watched him as he buried the emotions that were trying to take over his body. He wasn't going to allow himself to cry or be sad, and that hurt me.

He shouldn't have to hold it in, that wasn't fair. If he never let it out, he'd never be able to let it go.

Taking in a big breath of air, I decided to give him something from me. We came from different worlds, but we shared the same sadness. We weren't that different in a way, there was a common thread between us, braided in hurt and pain.

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