Page 90 of Little Bird
She bends down and bites my lower lip as she slides back down, and I go limp with pure satisfaction. Her body is everything for me in this moment. A home that I’ve never had. A welcome that I’ve never felt. Before I can get used to it, though, she’s pulling off me again and exposing me, then swallowing me up once more, and when she lays down on top of me and speeds up, I think I might have entered Heaven.
Or Nirvana.
Or something even bigger than both of those.
I’ve also had enough of being patient. I grab her hips and hold her, then use the leverage to slam up into her. I’m tired of going slow. I need her harder, faster, deeper. I need to know what every inch of her feels like as she takes me.
I have to feel how badly she wants me, and that she needs me as much as I need her.
She groans loudly and claims my mouth, and now we’re groaning into each other as I take her, sharing breath as our bodies merge and become one. I flip her over and end up on top of her, but don’t stop kissing her. Instead I pull one of her legs up to her chest to open her up more and keep her against the bed, hammering into her with a need I’ve never experienced before. I want us to be one. God, I never want to stop being this close to her.
I need to get closer, I realize, but I don’t know how to do it.
I don’t know whether my heart could stand it if I did.
“Baby,” I pant, nearly lost already. “Fuck, baby.”
“Yes,” she chants. “Yes, yes, yes. Gabe, please.”
It’s the name that does me in this time. Something about my name on her tongue as she begs for more sends me over the edge, and I bury my face in her neck and come for her, my body giving up every drop for this girl who has somehow made the world seem very small and far away, because we’re the only two people who matter.
And Christ, she’s coming for me at the same time, her body spasming on mine and drawing me closer and closer to her as she follows me into the darkness.
I’m barely back in my own body again when there’s a pounding on the door, though, and it yanks me out of my stupor so quickly that I feel like I might throw up.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, although I know exactly what the fuck. I don’t have to ask.
Because there’s only one other person in this entire fucking house, and of course he would choose right now to come around hammering on my door like he has any fucking right to interrupt us.
I move slowly out of Taryn, desperate to keep from hurting her, and move toward the door, pulling on my pajamas as I go. I don’t say anything to Taryn. She knows we can’t be caught in this position, and I’m positive she’s already in hiding. When I pull open the door, my father is standing there, of course. Looking both jealous and put out at the same time.
His eyes flash over my shoulder to the bed behind me and then back to me, deeply suspicious, and I do my very best to look like I don’t know why he came to my room and looked at my bed like he expected to see anything other than rumpled sheets and my comforter thrown on the floor.
Yes, it reeks of sex in here and I’m positive my face is flushed and my hair standing on end. But that doesn’t mean I’ve had Taryn in my bed, fucking her to within an inch of her sanity. Why would it?
The girl is, after all, my stepsister. Ex-stepsister.
Only a truly depraved person would take a girl like that into his bed.
“What?” I ask sharply. “I was in bed.”
“By yourself?” he asks just as sharply.
I nearly stagger back at how abrupt it is, but stop myself just in time. What the fuck is his problem? If I had another girl in here, that would be none of his business, and honestly he wouldn’t even ask. He’s never asked about my girlfriends before.
“Yes,” I snap. “What’s it to you?”
“Doesn’t smell like you’ve been alone in here.”
I almost hit him. I swear to God, I’m going to hit him. Who in the fuck does he think he is, coming in here and smelling my fucking room? After what I saw of him and Taryn this morning, and what he knows I saw, he has the gall to come around here and act like he has any right to judge me or what I’m doing in my room—with or without Taryn?
“I don’t give a fuck what it smells like, Dad. This is my room, and I’ll do what I want in here. Do you need something?”
Too late, I realize that the smart thing would have been to say that I did have a girl in here, and that said girl was anyone other than Taryn. But it’s too late, now. Either he knows I’ve had Taryn or he doesn’t. I don’t really give a shit. Because honestly, I’m tired of him taking up all the space in the house and not leaving any for me. I’m tired of him blaming me for my mother’s death and for Helen leaving, and then treating me like I’m not welcome here, in my own home.
I’m fucking sick of my father acting like he and I aren’t family just because so many women have deserted us. At least he was an adult when they left.
I was a kid who didn’t understand why they didn’t stay, who then had to deal with his father disappearing on him, too.
