Page 50 of Little Bird
I’m so turned on, I nearly come with the one word. Fuck me. People use my name daily, and it’s never been anything special. I went through a phase when I was younger where I actually fucking hated the name. But it somehow changes when it’s on her tongue, and I’ve never heard anything so hot. Everything inside me wants to keep this girl safe, keep her mine, and without thinking about it, I put a hand to her chin, tip her face up, and claim her mouth as my own. She’s sweet and sleepy and pliant, and I spread her lips with mine and sweep my tongue into her mouth, tasting every inch of her. The pureness of her mouth is nearly more than I can bear, and before I know it my hips are rocking against her, the friction of her belly against the head of my cock so perfect that I want to cry with it.
Then she begins to kiss me back, and I know I’m finished.
It’s not aggressive or overt, because she’s nearly unconscious with the ordeal she just went through, but the tip of her tongue touches mine and then reaches into my mouth, and she tilts her head to take my tongue deeper. Opens herself up to me as if she’s been waiting for this.
Waiting for me to come to her and show her my heart.
I feel a tear slip down my cheek and have to stifle a sob. I don’t stop thrusting, though, the movement slow and deep and intentional, and the thought enters my mind that I could have her right now. I could spread her legs, slip her shorts to the side, and taste the sweetness of her pussy. Cover her with my body and slide my cock so deep inside her that she was taking all of me.
And fuck, why does that sound like finally coming home?
The orgasm hits me long before I’m ready, catching me by surprise, and I groan and thrust against her, coming against her belly and desperately biting my lips to keep quiet. My spine flexes, pushing me hard against her, and I claim her mouth so hard I know it’ll leave bruises.
I don’t care.
I don’t give a single fuck, because for the first time in years, I can actually feel something.
And it’s a desire so deep, so hot, that I can barely contain it. This. This is what I’ve been searching for since Gabe’s mother died. And I’m finding it in the most unlikely place possible.
The moment the orgasm is done, I realize how stupid I am.
I’m in bed with my unconscious stepdaughter, kissing her and coming against her belly like I have any right to be here. My son is a few rooms down, and he may be sick.
Taryn is going to wake up in the morning covered in my release.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I slide out of bed so quickly I fall on the floor, then freeze, terrified that I might have woken her. I need to get her out of her clothes—God help me—and into something clean. And then I need to get the fuck out of here. I can’t stand the thought of her waking up while I’m in here.
Even worse: the thought of her remembering this in the morning.
I don’t know how I’ll face her if she does.
I don’t know how I’ll face Gabe.
Fuck me, I don’t even think I’ll be able to look at my own reflection in the mirror. Because I’ve crossed a boundary I should never have crossed. And I loved every second of it.
Gabe
I think my father has lost his mind.
“You what?” I ask sharply.
“I don’t think you should go out in the snow,” he repeats. “And I’m certainly not taking Taryn out there.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the words, then turn and look out the window. Yes, the snow is bad. The storm that started yesterday has increased its pace, and there’s at least 3 feet of the stuff sitting on the ground now. It’s piled up underneath the porch of the house and has reached halfway up the windows on the ground floor. I can’t even see the paddock in front of the barn anymore, and the barn itself is hazy through the still-falling snow. We didn’t expect the storm to hit as quickly as it did and sure as hell didn’t think it would drop this much snow this quickly, and that’s a problem. We didn’t prep the barn or the house. Didn’t get all the animals inside.
And that stash of wood I was so proud of two days ago? Yeah, it now seems woefully light compared to what we actually need. The electricity is still on so we have lights and heat, but we know from experience that it might cut out at any moment, and the two backup generators we have might not keep the whole house and barn warm. In that case, we’ll need the fireplaces to pick up the slack. My father and I were on our way out to chop as much wood as we could while it was still safe to do so when he decided that I shouldn’t go with him after all.
“And I don’t think you know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I say sharply. “We need another cord. Better if we can get two. You’re never going to be able to get that on your own.”
“Sure I will,” he says, sounding stubborn and idiotic as usual. “It might take me longer, but if it means you’re in the house where it’s warm and dry, it’s worth it.”
My mouth drops open, and I shake my head sharply, trying to get my brain to kick in. What the fuck is he talking about? If I’m in the house where it’s warm and dry? When there’s wood to be cut?
What?
“Who are you, and what have you done with my father?”
