Page 14 of Bordeaux Bombshell
“Wanna go upstairs?” Josh took my cup and chugged the rest before taking me by the hand.
Nodding, even though I really wanted to finish that drink and the liquid courage it contained, I let him pull me upstairs. Pushing open my bedroom door, he looked around, glancing approvingly at the walls before weaving his way to my bed, where he sat down with a thump and a laugh.
I followed him, perching on the edge as sudden nerves filled my stomach. “Josh?” I reached out a hand to stroke his arm, touching him tentatively. He was still looking around at the room. Now that I was paying attention, it was easy to see theslight glassiness in his gaze, the way his eyes didn’t quite focus on my face.
Suddenly queasy, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom next door, Josh’s half-hearted “Babe?” following me out of the room.
A minute later, after a nervous attempt to pee and a swig of mouthwash, I gave myself a little shake, ready to go in there and do the deed. To be done with the last barrier between me and adulthood.
“Josh?”
Sitting on the edge of my bed was not the gangly senior I expected.
“You want to tell me what that boy was doing in your room?” a familiar voice asked. The last person I expected to see glared at me from under his dark eyebrows, newly muscled arms braced against my coverlet.
Nerves switched to anger in an instant, all the softness I’d been trying for disappearing as I stomped across the room. “What the fuck, Nate? Where’s Josh?”
“Probably halfway home.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. I found him on your bed and told him to scram.” He pushed to his feet, trying to loom over me like always, but I wasn’t intimidated. “Why was he in here?”
“None of your business.” I took two steps and stopped, hands on hips, feet braced.
Nate narrowed his eyes and took a step toward me. “Youaremy business.”
I choked on a laugh, then gave him a shove. “No I’m not. Who made you the boss of me? Last time I checked, you weren’t actually my brother.”
“No. I’m definitely not your brother.”
My push had done nothing. His face was inches from mine, smirking. Each little twitch of his lips ratcheted up my anger.
“So I don’t have to tell you anything. I wouldn’t tell Kel either, so there.” My anger bubbled over, but the only thing I could think to do was stick my tongue out at him. It was weirdly satisfying, except it didn’t accomplish what I wanted.
“I suggest you put that tongue away.”
“Make me.”
When he reached for me, I assumed he was going to slap a hand across my mouth or forcefully shove my tongue back in. But he wrapped one hand behind my neck and the other around my waist, pulling me into him so hard and fast I stumbled.
His lips were on mine in the next breath, hard and insistent. He didn’t just steal my first kiss—he hijacked it. The tongue in question held captive by him, his own demanding entrance and punishing me for allowing it all at once.
I’d said it without thinking, following the instinct that always told me to fight him, goad him, say anything to get a reaction. Usually, he’d just roll his eyes or call me a baby. When we were kids, we’d gotten into our fair share of wrestling matches, always ending with me calling uncle or Kel intervening before we were spotted by a parental unit.
As his lips pulled more and more from me, an unfamiliar heat started building inside my belly, making me restless. I wanted to climb up his body or wrestle him. Unsure which would ease the building need to writhe, I grabbed his shirt and pulled myself closer, one leg hitching around his hips.
With a growl I’d never heard before, Nate lifted me up completely, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. My denim mini skirt bunched around my waist, exposing my pink Victoria’s Secret thong and the little it covered to the soft fabric of Nate’s T-shirt. He gripped the back of my thighs, squeezing and kneading the muscles in time to his lips against mine.
Everything was hot—his breath, my skin, the room, the fire inside me—as he backed us toward my bed. I couldn’t think. AllI could do was feel as Nate branded me, infected every cell in my body with the knowledge thatthiswas how you kissed.
I clawed at his back, wriggling and trying to get closer. Wanting to claim him in return, rub myself against him and cover him with signs saying “Property of Sydney Adams, do not touch.”
And just as the fire inside me verged on an explosion, he let go.
“If he can’t kiss you well enough to stop your incessant talking, he doesn’t deserve to.” The declaration came out with a growl and a menacing cracking of knuckles, and then he turned on his heel.
From my bed, instead of the exquisite release that had been within touching distance, I lay stunned as Nate walked out without another word.
