Page 39 of The Wrong Brother

Maybe Catherine is feeling the same way I am. She didn’t even notice that she put her dress on backward. It’s a short drive back to her place and her eyes are on me the whole time. She unlocks her storage unit and I get her bike and board put away while she stands close by, looking a little dazed. I take off the bike rack and open my trunk to store it.

“I saw your laundry bag. Do you want to wash it here?”

I shrug and bring the bag with me. There’s a new tension as we go up and I’m glad for the silence. I wasn’t expecting such a clear reaction from her. I was content to keep being affectionate, not putting too much pressure on her, but every touch makes me dizzy with desire and she seems to feel the same way. I don’t know how I should proceed.

Should we sit down and talk about it?

Should I ignore Mina and this vibe and give Catherine some space?

Fuck it. I’m not going into this with plans and set ideas. I’m not Griffin and this would be a bad point to start trying to be. I’m going to stick with how things feel in the moment. Feelings don’t usually fail me.

Once inside Catherine hangs her bag in a spot that looks designated for it in the closet. She gestures for me to follow her, still quiet, opening the hall closet that contains the washer and dryer. I dump the contents of my bag into the washer but forget the detergent. Catherine puts some in and the air around us feels strangely thick for such a mundane activity. Maybe I’m not as good at reading situations as everyone believes because I don’t know what is happening right now. I want too much to trust anything. It’s kind of freaking me out, fucking with my head.

Catherine is biting her lip and I gently nudge it free with my finger, running the rough pad over her plush skin. She looks up at me, those brushed denim eyes meeting mine, then her hands are under my shirt, pushing it up over my head as her fingers skim up my body. I help her, raising my arms, and everywhere she touches is on fire. She tosses my shirt into the washer while I struggle to control my nerves. Catherine turns back toward me and steps close, the tilt of her head feeling like an invitation. Hesitantly I touch the hem of her dress and she raises her arms in response, her eyes on mine. My fingers shake slightly as I run them up her body slowly along with her dress. She’s still staring intently and that contact feels as intimate as the touch of hands on bare skin. I can barely breathe.

Catherine gestures over her shoulder by tipping her chin and I walk around until I’m behind her, finally able to do what I’ve been thinking about all these years. I kiss a path from her neck down her back. She makes this tiny, barely audible whimpering noise before reaching back and unfastening her suit top. I think my lungs have stopped working. There’s no air in there and I can’t remember how to fix it. But this I can trust. This is entirely clear.

She shrugs her bikini top off, adding it to the washer and I keep my attention on her back. Running my hands down her smooth skin is enough to get me hard. I drop to my knees behind her, letting my lips follow her spine, my hands caressing down her legs. I want to talk to her, tell her how she makes me feel, and what I love about her body, but now that I’m here I can’t manage any words. I run my hand up the inside of her leg, lightly brushing the apex. Catherine gasps, a sound right out of my dreams. I trace my fingertip along the edge of her suit and then up inside, brushing silky skin and groaning at the feel of her. I crook that same finger to pull her bottoms down her legs. Fuck, Catherine is beyond even my best and most revisited fantasies.

She turns and my first look has me sitting back on my heels, physically knocked down by her beauty.

“Holy shit, Catherine,” I whisper, both because I’m struggling to speak and because this moment has an edge of reverence to it, like I’m somewhere sacred where I dare not raise my voice. I exhale shakily, dragging my eyes from toe to top. She looks a little nervous. Words now. Please, words. Touching her softly, I marvel at the feel of her smooth skin underneath my rough hands.

“These curves,” I tell her, letting my fingertips follow the swell of thigh and hip, “have always driven me crazy. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to touch them like this.” She blushes, dropping her eyes but still watching me. I kiss her hip bone and along her soft stomach. Her body is alluring in all its softness. I let myself take in her breasts as I touch them.

“Your skin,” I sigh, “I’ve never been able to paint you—I can’t do you justice. The rosy undertones, your golden freckles, the blue of these veins,” I use my fingers to highlight what I’m talking about, reveling in the feel of her, “you’re perfect.”

I cover her breasts, small enough to fit within my hands, squeezing lightly and she drops her head back, sighing. I bring my mouth to one rosy peak, sucking on it. God, she tastes sweet with a small tang of salt from the ocean. Then I pay her other nipple the same attention. It feels like one wrong move will have me waking up from a teenage fantasy and I’d do anything to stay in this dream.

I drop down onto my shins, facing a small triangle of golden curls and the heady scent of her arousal. I make a path with my finger and follow it with my tongue. Catherine’s fingers are in my hair and her taste is in my mouth. I want to drink her in, exploring every inch with lips and tongue but she tugs on my hair, pulling me up to stand. She presses her body against mine, kissing me. Our tongues dance and her hands explore boldly.

“Is that what I taste like?” she whispers against my lips.

I nod, darting my tongue out along her bottom lip. “Fucking delicious.”

She pushes down my board shorts, kneeling at my feet to take them off before putting them and her bottoms in the washer. She copies my earlier posture, sitting back and looking at me.

“How are you real? And how is this,” she strokes a hand down my erection, “because of me?”

I want to tell her that there have been very few erections that haven’t been because of her. I don’t. I think it would kill me if I ruined this right now with too-much-Rafferty-ness. I grab her from the floor, pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. When I place her on her feet next to the bed I notice the sand and salt in her hair. Fuck. Catherine hates mess.

“We didn’t rinse off after Tonggs.”

She shrugs, the movement of her shoulder doing good things to her breasts, and she smirks when she notices where I’m looking. “It’s laundry day. We can start them before we shower.”

“We shower? Do we get to be legitimate shower friends now?”

“Can we be sex friends first?”

I laugh loudly. She caught me completely off guard with that. We’re kissing, breath mingling and tongues dancing. I cup her ass and she rolls her hips against me. I pull back, groaning.

“Catherine, it’s been a very long time for me. I don’t want to be the reason this ends…prematurely.” She lays her hands flat against my chest and pushes me back. My legs hit the edge of the mattress and I fall backward.

“I’ll stay away from the big guy for now,” she winks, walking around the bed. I follow with my eyes, entranced by the sway of her hips and golden waves of hair. When she nears me I throw my arms up over my head, grab her legs and pull her toward the edge of the bed. Keeping my hands wrapped around her thighs I scoot my body backward.

“I have a better idea.”

I let my head fall back off the edge of the bed, between her legs, licking between her folds, teasing and tasting. I slide my hands around, exploring the soft contours of her ass. Every inch of Catherine is better than I ever dreamed. I let my hands roam up her body, ending with one breast for each palm.

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