10. Ten
Ten
Sabrina
Paint-your-own pottery night has always been fun but this time I fidget with my lip-gloss tube while staring blankly at the next nesting doll I’m going to paint out of the set of four.
Everything’s been crazy in the days since the auction. I’m horrified by the events Naomi endured between her father trying to sell her and being held against her will. Her tragedy is real.
Meanwhile, my own drama seems imaginary. Sure, my sketchbook was out of place, and yeah, Ty gave off serious creeper vibes at the auction. But that’s it.
Thankfully everything worked out okay for Naomi. I hope for the same.
Hanging out with my girlfriends this evening marks the first time I’m away from my stepbrother’s watchful eye. Flame didn’t like the idea of me going alone, but I insisted I'd call when I got there and when I was heading home.
The laughter amongst friends helps me believe that everything will be fine. By the time we part ways, I’m fortified, prepared to resume my life, and eager for Ghost and Ruckus to get home so we can assess possible paths for a future together. I don’t want to be the only non-HEA from the auction.
I’ve convinced myself that there’s a way for my stepbrothers to get their promotion and have a life with me. Geez, stepping into the cool night air, I question if I’m being as dreamy as Betsy again.
Love does crazy things to your brain. Well, maybe not love… but hormones. Yes, hormones do crazy things.
The hairs on the back of my neck raise. I instinctively look across the street. Just as my gaze finds a man looking at me, or at something close to me, the man turns away and ducks around the corner.
Am I delusional to think it was Ty? With the man’s scarf pulled high, his knit hat barely above his eyes, and approximately a half-second assessment, I can’t be sure.
I’m supposed to call Flame, but my car is only a few spaces away. I pull my keys out of the front pocket of my purse, get in my car, and drive away. Then, giving myself a few seconds to catch my breath, I do something I never do—take out my phone and make a call while I’m driving.
All I tell Flame is that I’m calling as promised. Then I make up a bunch of things to ask him… eggnog versus cider, flocking versus tinsel, and even the question I despise but know Flame will have an opinion on… Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?
He’s a good sport and switches from his intense Peloton bike class to a scenic ride program so he can keep up with my chatter my entire drive home.
And he never makes me admit that I need—want—my big brother to protect me. I cherish that.
Once inside, I lock the door and check the other exterior doors while Flame finishes the ride and takes a shower.
I brew a cup of chamomile tea, but my skin still crawls. Logic tells me I’m being ridiculous. The man across the street wasn’t Ty. The cold weather explains his covered face. The quick duck behind the corner could’ve been a number of reasons. And he didn’t follow me. I’m safe.
“I’m heading to bed.” I stand up from my end of the couch. Flame is sprawled on the other end, watching the weather channel. Another blizzard is headed our way. Rough year.
He flashes his trademark grin. “Sweet dreams.”
Dreams. Right. My ceiling becomes a movie screen replaying every creepy moment with Ty. The way he touched me at the auction. His possessive grip. The hostile glares at my stepbrothers.
Two hours later, I’m still wide awake, clutching my comforter. I hop online and look up checklists related to relationships and sex. My eyes have been opened, and I like it. I want to see if a penis really can—
A crashing sound makes me bolt upright. My rational brain knows it’s the wind blowing tree limbs against the house. The enjoyment of the internet is gone. I don’t want to be alone.
Screw this. I pad down the hallway to Flame’s room, hesitating before knocking softly.
“Sabrina?” His voice is thick with sleep.
I crack open the door. The light from the hallway spotlights his bare chest as he props himself up on his elbows.
“I had a bad dream. Can I sleep in here?”
His brow furrows. “Sabrina…”
“Please?” I twist my hands together. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He runs a hand through his messy hair, clearly weighing the request. “It’s not a good idea.”
“I’ll behave if you will.” I try to lighten the mood and edge closer to the bed. And my attraction to him is tainting my words with a possible lie. I hope that he won’t behave.
What’s gotten into me? Am I worried about Ty or just looking for an excuse? My whole body is transforming around him. My nipples are sensitive. I’m more emotional. And I find myself believing I belong with Flame, with all of them. It’s weird. I need to keep that last part to myself.
A long sigh escapes him and he scoots over, patting the empty space on the mattress.
I crawl into his bed, and he surprises me by curling up behind me, pulling me into his chest. Does that count as misbehaving? His arm drapes over me, a comforting weight. “Sweet dreams, Sabrina,” he murmurs into my hair.
His warmth envelops me, and soon, I’ve drifted off, and am waking up to the faintest glow of sunlight creeping around his curtain. The only difference is the hardness pressing against my back.
He mumbles something I can’t make out. So he’s a sleep talker, good to know. Even better to know… he’s asleep, which gives me such a naughty idea, I agonize over it for at least four more mumblings from him, the last of which I swear he says, “Play nice. Daddy’s never done this.”
How can that singular barely discernable mumble spark an inferno in me? Daddy? He doesn’t have kids. Never done what? So many questions. Is it wrong to assume he’s dreaming about me?
I slowly and carefully roll onto my back then into him a little and reach over, my fingers brushing his cock, which has slid right through the fly of his boxers. So convenient.
Learning about penises should be on my checklist. They’re quite fascinating. And if I’m going to allow them in my body, I should have a little more experience in how they work.
And I should do it with consent. My voice of reason tries to break through the wanton wigglings that have taken over my entire body.
“Be my first, Babygirl.”
I freeze. That was completely coherent. Is he awake? Is he about to kick his perverted little stepsister out of his bed?
A few seconds of listening to his breaths and another incoherent babble, assure me he’s still out. It also gives me time to wonder… first what? He’s thirty. He always had a girlfriend until the last few years. Surely he’s not a virgin.
His cock twitches. Tentatively, I wrap my fingers around his shaft, my fingertip and thumb not quite touching. Girthy. Is it instinctive that my sex aches—in a good way?
Moans fill the air. “I’m in love, Babygirl.”
Please let him be dreaming about me. And please don’t let him wake up.
I can pretend I’m sleeping too. This is so wrong. I can’t blame this on the somnophilia that I read about on the internet.
Squeezing a little, I stroke my hand up and down. The movement of his hips in sync with my touch emboldens me. I need more.
I want to see it. And I fully accept that I might go to hell for this, or at the very least, he’ll never respect me again. But I scoot down, just enough that with my eyes being used to the dark, and the faint morning glow, I can see his erection.
I’m definitely in love.
I try different strokes, move my hand over his strained tip, and slick the pre-cum down his shaft while sorting out what makes him moan the loudest. If there’s any redeeming factor, it’s that I will only use my hand.
Somehow putting my mouth on him, or contorting myself to slide him into my sex, seems like it would be crossing a line. I’m also pretty sure that if things go south, this logic will fail me.
My entire body aches. I want to beg him to have sex with me, but I hate to make him break a promise to his brothers. The right thing to do would be to go back to my room and masturbate.
Yes. That’s the right thing to do. I don’t misbehave. I follow the rules, respect right and wrong.
But when I slide my fingers to the end of his shaft, dragging them through his wetness, so I can take it with me—because apparently part of me is terrible, I’m about to let go when his body stills.
He coughs, grumbles, grabs, possibly trying to fist his cock but my hand is in the way and he grabs me and guides my fingers back onto his shaft.
What’s happ—
I barely make out the streak of white before his cum splats on my face. Then again and again. My eyes, my mouth, my nose. I can’t see with my eyes squinted shut, but it’s clear what’s happening.
The only thing that’s not clear is if it’s normal to have this much cum.
Releasing my hand, he scampers to a sitting position. “What the—”
“I’m sorry.” I’m wiping my eyes while I roll for the edge of the bed but he grabs me, drawing me across his lap.
“Were you playing with me while I was sleeping?”
I’m no good at lying. “Not at first.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were dreaming, and I touched you, and—”
His body tenses. “How do you know I was dreaming?”
I close my eyes, but when I reopen them, I’m still draped across his lap, and the scent of his cum still fills my nostrils, which is reasonable given the status of my face. “You were talking in your sleep.”
He takes a slow, deep breath. “So now you know, Babygirl.”
Uhh… Know what? I consider asking, but I look into his eyes and understand that he doesn’t want to say it. He wants me to be his first. And it’s impossibly hotter to hear him use that nickname now that I’m certain he was dreaming about me.
His phone buzzes, bringing reality to the forefront. We glance at it on the nightstand. Ghost. Do they have cameras in here? How would he know to call? We’re so busted.
I wiggle but he won’t let me go. “I’ll call him back.”
My chest tightens. I push harder and get out of his hold, turn to him, and say, “I want to be your first, but I was out of line. We made a promise to Ghost and Ruckus.”
“We don’t have to tell them.” Desperation laces his words.
I get out of bed. “Do you think there’s a possibility that we can end up together?”
“Do you want that?”
“I’m worried about your bosses—”
“They don’t matter if they’re going to meddle in my personal life. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
My heart sinks even though I’m doing the right thing. “Then we can’t start this on a lie.”
Only a few more days and we can all be together.