Page 33 of Little Bird
“Right. More work. Let’s start with unpacking these boxes. I need to know what we have if I’m going to plan how we’re going to use it.”
Gabe gives me a mock salute, saying something about his captain, and we get to work.
After the awkward situation in the meadow, I would have thought we’d have trouble getting used to each other again, but it happens faster than a blink. Gabe unloads the boxes while I walk around the room making mental plans, and before I know it we’re spreading the decorations across the floor and deciding where we’re going to put everything. The tree stands to the side of the fireplace, where Gabe says it’s always stood, and we have strings of lights and tinsel for that, plus colorful bulbs and handmade decorations. There’s holly and bows, bells and pinecones, and a set of nutcrackers that range from large to small. Stuffed snowmen and Santa Claus figures, runners done in golds and greens and reds, and even a life-sized reindeer.
“This isn’t real, is it?” I ask doubtfully, staring at it.
“What would you do if it was?” Gabe asks, laughing.
I cast him a very jaded look. “Pray for its soul and smack whichever of you shot it.”
Gabe doubles over in laughter at this and pounds his knee with his hand. “I’d like to see you try. Besides, you know we don’t shoot anything around here. My father likes animals too much.”
I snort. “And you. You don’t think I’ve forgotten that family of squirrels you used to keep as pets, do you?” I move past him with garland wound around my arms and make for the ladder we’ve set up against the wall. This will look perfect wound around the rough beams of the ceiling.
Gabe beats me there, though, pushing past me to get to the ladder first, and I screech, indignant at the handling. I rush after him, practically climbing his back to get up the ladder first, and find myself at the top of the ladder with Gabe grabbing at my feet like he’s going to pull me back down. I’m laughing hysterically and kicking at him to get him off when the ladder slips out from under me and we all crash to the ground.
It should hurt. I should be crying with pain. But I land on top of Gabe, and hard as he is, he still breaks my fall.
It also becomes immediately obvious that he’s been enjoying the night just as much as I have. He’s hard as steel between my legs, and as I rear up to look at him, his hips tilt just enough to let me know exactly what he’s thinking. His cock pushes against my leg, and I gasp at the feel of him—and the memory of how he felt against my pussy the night our parents caught us making out. He was big then, and ready for me, but I was only sixteen and had no idea what I was doing.
Now that I have more experience, I know he’s bigger than I’m used to, and hard enough already to stretch me to capacity if we were to do anything. The thought has hot, wet heat rushing to my pussy, and I nearly gasp when he rocks his hips again.
“Don’t do that,” I whisper, my voice little more than a breath of pure longing.
Because fuck, I want him to do that again, though I know I shouldn’t. He’s my stepbrother, I chant silently. I grew up with this boy.
I mean, not really. But I may as well have. Our parents were married.
The problem is, something inside that thought makes this even hotter. I’ve been best friends and family to this boy. And yet he’s hard and wanting underneath me, and the wrongness of that is so right that I can hardly wrap my head around it.
“Stop doing what?” he asks, his voice husky and suggestive.
His mask has dropped now, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue. No secrets. Nothing hidden.
Which means I can see how badly he wants me, and how much he’s been trying to hide it from me.
And Jesus Christ, is it hard to remember why we’re not supposed to be doing anything. My heart is so full it hurts, the ache in my lower belly nearly killing me. I’ve wanted this boy since I was fifteen, and now that we’re here again, I’m realizing that I never stopped wanting him. I’ve been in New York City, miles away, and haven’t talked to him in four years, but he never left my mind. Not really.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for years and never realized it. I want to strip bare and stretch out before him, letting him have every part of me. I want him to hold me down and take me, claim my body with his own and make me forget that the rest of the world even exists. I want to hear him promise he’ll never let me leave again.
Instead, I hear a voice that doesn’t belong.
“I think they must be in here decorating.”
It’s Gunner, and he’s coming in the front door, talking to someone else. Gabe and I spring apart like we’re magnets being repelled from each other, and I land on my feet and head for the garland that fell when we broke the ladder. Gabe is up and trying to fix the ladder, and when I glance at him and meet his eyes, I see that the boy who let me see everything is gone. His eyes are dark and shuttered, his mouth drawn together.
The mask is back.
Before I can comment on that—though I don’t know what I’d even say—Gunner and Gabby are striding into the room, their eyes up on the ceiling and twin looks of disapproval on their faces.
When Gunner’s eyes come to me, though, I can see the shine of something in them. Tears? Maybe not. But emotion, nonetheless.
The man isn’t as uncaring as he pretends to be, and I wonder why the fuck he’s hiding that from me.
Gabby, on the other hand, has nothing but nastiness for what we’re doing.
“You broke the ladder?” she snaps. “Gabe, I expect better of you. Can’t you manage to do anything without breaking it?”
