Page 35 of The Older Brother
I like the way Saylor’s upper lip curls when she sleeps. She reminds me of those tiny, porcelain dolls my mom kept in a curio cabinet when I was a kid. Some of those dolls were angels. That’s what Saylor is. An angel.
What am I doing? I’m going to ruin her life if I keep this up. How am I supposed to infiltrate my father’s criminal behavior, spare my brother, report it all to my mystery handler—who is very muchnotsimply a parole officer—andbe present for Saylor? I can’t do it all. And I haven’t even factored in how any of this affects my mom, or Saylor’s mom. My father’s web is sticky, it’s hooked on so many lives, and even those who have broken away retain the remnants of once being a part of his world.
But Saylor is going to feel the blowback regardless. Her mother is my dad’s right hand. And they have so much history. There are things Saylor doesn’t know, doesn’tneedto know. I should give her up now while things are still new, before I get used to waking up with her in my bed.
But when she sleeps, she looks like an angel. And I like that.
Her phone buzzes on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed, stirring her awake. I should shut my eyes, pretend tostill be sleeping, but instead, I take in the way she stretches her arms above her head until her fingertips brush against the padded headboard. She rolls her head to the side as her eyes open, blinking slowly, her mouth curving into a faint but coy smile that I want to kiss raw.
“Good morning.” Her voice is gravely and soft.
“You’re getting a text message, I think,” I say, nodding across her body to her phone. I brought Miguel’s cord in from the truck last night so she could charge her phone. I was concerned that her mom was worried about her, but she never used it to call anyone. And until now, it doesn’t seem as if anyone has been looking for her.
The crisp white sheet slips from her chest as she rolls to her side to pick up her phone, exposing her fucking perfect breasts, and her nipples are puckered into hard pebbles from the cold air of the room.
Fuck it.
I curve into her body, pressing my cock against her bare hip while my mouth covers her tit and suckles on the cherry bud tip.
“Rowan, how am I . . .” She swallows her words with a gasp as my tongue flicks against the tip of her nipple.
“Go ahead, take care of whoever . . .thatis. I’ll just be over here, you know,” I smile against her breast and nip at her nipple one last time before urging her to roll on her side, so my cock has somewhere to go.
“It’s Caleb. He wants to know when you’re coming home.”
A low chuckle tickles my throat.
“I’ll call him later,” I say, snaking a hand under her arm so I can palm her breast.
“Did you tell him we were here together?” Her tone has a hint of panic. I’m a little surprised she cares.
“Are you worried about him finding out about us all of a sudden?” I question, distracting her by rolling her nipplebetween my finger and thumb, then sliding my other hand around her waist to slip between her legs.
“Rowan, don’t . . . wait a second.”
My hands freeze in their positions, and Saylor rolls on her side to face me. The puzzled expression denting her forehead makes my lungs suddenly feel heavy, so I scoot back a few inches to give her space.
“I’m sorry. I would never . . . I didn’t mean to presume that you wanted . . .” Fuck, I don’t know how to speak suddenly. I squeeze my eyes shut and bring my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not a creep. That’s what I’m trying to say. And we don’t have to do anything else, if you didn’t like . . .”
Nope. Not coming out any better.
Saylor’s hand moves to my face, resting on my cheek, and I’m relieved to see a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
“Last night was . . . everything. You aren’t a creep. And what you were doing now, I want that too. I’m pretty sure you could feel that.” Her cheeks blush, and it’s fucking cute as hell. I did feel it. She’s wet for me.
“Just, there are some words I need to get out first. Okay?” Her thumb brushes along my jawline, and somehow, that small gesture settles the pounding in my chest. Lying with her is calming.
“Anything you need. I’ll keep my hands in check. My eyes, however—” I suck in my bottom lip as my gaze drops to her breasts. Her smooth skin is begging for my touch. It’s too perfect. It needs the roughness of my hands, my whiskers scraping against it, my fingers digging in, teeth biting.
“Eyes up here, buddy,” she jokes, nudging my chin upward.
“Sorry,” I whisper, and the soft laugh it draws from her releases my breath, but only temporarily. Within seconds, the worry lines are back.
“The other day, in your garage . . . did you know Caleb was going to show up?” Her eyes scan mine, tiny shifts in her pupils as she studies me, like she’s dissecting my tells and uncovering clues. I won’t lie to her, not about this. There are too many other things that I must keep buried.
“I had a feeling about it, yeah. He saw you in the passenger seat when we left the garage,” I admit.
Her mouth bunches to one side.
