Chapter 14 — Under The Blanket #2
Reese's hand closed over me through my jeans.
The word hero died somewhere behind my teeth.
She leaned against my shoulder, all sweet weight and warm hair, and kissed the corner of my jaw so lightly it could have been an accident if accidents had tongues and intent.
Then her mouth found mine.
Not fully. Not safely. Just enough that her lips parted under the edge of the projector dark, her tongue sliding against mine in one slow, filthy stroke while her hand stayed hidden under the quilt.
I kissed her back because there was no version of me strong enough not to, and the tiny sound she swallowed from my mouth nearly ruined both of us.
"You okay?" she whispered.
"No."
Her fingers worked my belt under the blanket.
I turned my head a fraction. "Reese."
"Shh." Her mouth brushed my ear. "My dad is discussing dessert rescue. Be respectful."
That almost made me laugh.
Then she opened my zipper, slid her hand inside my boxers, and wrapped her warm fingers around my bare cock.
No laughter. No air. No world.
Just Reese's hand under a family quilt while her parents sat across the room watching old footage of children with sunburned shoulders and lake-wet hair.
She stroked once, slow and firm, her thumb dragging over the head where I was already wet.
My spine tried to leave my body.
On screen, younger Reese threw a water balloon at Gavin and missed. Gavin, in the present, objected to the angle of the footage. Melanie told him evidence was evidence. Patrick asked me something about the old Johnson outboard I used to keep at my dock.
Reese stroked me again.
"Still have it," I managed.
"Does it run?"
"If you talk to it nicely."
"Engines respond to respect," Patrick said.
Reese's shoulders shook against mine.
She was laughing silently, which should not have been as hot as it was.
It was the glee of a woman getting away with something wicked in the most trusted room in her life.
I looked down at her and found her eyes already on me, bright with pleasure, mischief, and something deeper that turned my chest tight.
She wasn't shy.
She wasn't being swept along.
She had built the trap, laid the blanket, waited for the room to darken, and put her hand exactly where she had always intended to put it.
My hand moved under the quilt.
Her breath hitched before I touched skin. Anticipation did that to her. I slid my palm along her thigh, under the hem of her shorts, up to the warm curve where thigh became hip. She spread her legs a little, not enough for anyone to notice, more than enough for me to understand.
I kissed her hair because I had to put my mouth somewhere that would not expose us.
Her hand tightened around my cock.
I found the edge of her panties.
Reese's eyes fluttered shut.
"Reese," Melanie said.
She opened them instantly. "Hmm?"
"Was this the year you won the sandcastle contest?"
My fingers slid beneath cotton and found her wet.
Reese smiled at her mother.
"Second place," she said, steady as a saint. "Tatum won because she added a moat and then called it infrastructure."
"That child has always been a lot," Patrick said.
Reese's pussy was slick against my fingers, hot and soft and already swollen. She shifted closer, her hand still moving on me, and I had to stare at the old footage like it contained state secrets.
I touched her slowly because fast would ruin us.
Her breath changed anyway.
The quilt hid my hand. The dark hid her face. The room hid nothing from my body. Every quiet slide of my fingers, every controlled stroke of her hand, every normal family sentence passing above us made the whole thing hotter and more dangerous than any closed bedroom had a right to be.
Gavin stood. "I'm getting another drink. Anybody?"
I froze.
Reese didn't.
She leaned forward just enough to block the blanket line, smiling up at her brother like she wasn't stroking my bare cock with pre-cum slick between her fingers.
"I'm good," she said. "Bring Nora one before she steals Dad's."
Nora, from the floor, said, "I heard that."
"Good," Reese said.
Gavin passed behind us and didn't notice a thing.
My fingers slid over Reese's clit.
She bit the inside of her cheek. I saw it. I felt the tremor run through her thigh.
I wanted to get her off right there.
I wanted to throw the blanket aside and put my mouth on her until the whole Madden house learned exactly what their daughter sounded like when she stopped pretending.
Instead, I stroked her once more, slow and deliberate, and Reese's hand faltered on my cock.
Her eyes found mine.
There was no joke in them now.
Need had burned through the mischief.
"Upstairs," she whispered.
"Now?"
"Now."
She withdrew her hand, careful and maddening, tucking me back into my jeans with the neat efficiency of a woman who had considered logistics. Then she smoothed the blanket, sat up, and looked at her mother.
"Mom, I'm going to show Luke the old albums in my room," she said. "The ones from the early summers. You stacked them in my closet, right?"
Melanie smiled without looking away from the screen. "Yes, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late."
Patrick glanced over, warm and completely trusting. "There are some good ones in there, Luke. Whole history of the circle."
"Can't wait," I said.
Reese stood, folding the quilt back over the couch as if nothing in the world had happened beneath it. Her cheeks were flushed. Her mouth was soft from mine. Her eyes held me with enough heat to make the floor feel unstable.
"Come on," she said.
I stood carefully.
Very carefully.
Then I followed Reese Madden toward the stairs while her family watched old footage of the lake and wished us goodnight.
***
Reese's bedroom door clicked shut behind us.
For one second, we both stood there listening.
The house held its breath. Downstairs, the home movie audio murmured through the floorboards, all distant laughter and tinny lake water. Patrick said something I couldn’t make out. Melanie answered. Normal voices. Normal night. Normal trust.
Reese turned the lock.
That small metallic click went straight through me.
Her room was warm and prepared.
I knew it before I knew how I knew it. The lamp on the nightstand was already on, turned low enough to make the room golden instead of bright.
The bed was made too carefully, duvet smooth, pillows arranged, not in the absent way people leave bedrooms when they run downstairs for family night.
It looked staged by a woman who had imagined exactly how a man would see her when he walked in.
There were no photo albums on the desk.
No boxes by the closet.
No reason for us to be here except the one standing barefoot by the door, smiling like she had been caught and liked it.
"There are no albums," I said.
"No," Reese said.
"You lied to your mother."
"I redirected my mother."
"That's not a legal distinction."
"It's in this room."
I crossed to her in three steps.
She met me halfway.
The kiss wasn't careful. The downstairs version of Reese, the one who had stayed quiet under the blanket while her parents talked about the lake, vanished the second my mouth hit hers.
She grabbed my shirt in both fists and pulled herself against me, tongue sliding deep, body hot and eager and done with every rule that had kept us upright.
I got my hands on her waist.
She made a sound into my mouth that would have carried if I had not swallowed it.
"Quiet," I said against her lips.
"I hate that word tonight."
"Your parents are downstairs."
"I know." She kissed me again, harder. "That's the point."
Jesus.
I backed her toward the bed, but she twisted at the last second and shoved me down onto it instead. I landed on my back, laughing under my breath because shock had nowhere else to go.
Reese climbed over me, knees on either side of my hips, hair falling around her face, eyes bright with triumph.
"I've wanted you in this room since I knew what wanting meant," she said.
My hands found her thighs. "Reese."
"No." Her smile softened, but the heat didn't. "Let me say it before I lose my nerve.
I love you. I've loved you forever. But tonight, I don't want to be sweet about it first. I want your hands on me.
I want your mouth. I want you looking at me like you finally understand I was never a little girl with a crush. "
My chest tightened.
She pulled her tank top over her head.
Whatever answer I had vanished.
Reese in lamplight was a problem there was no responsible solution for.
Golden skin. Full breasts heavy and bare, nipples tight from the room, the risk, my stare.
Soft waist. Strong thighs. The kind of curves a man didn't glance at and survive.
She was warm and real and sitting astride me in the bedroom she had grown up in while her parents talked one floor below us.
My hands rose to her breasts.
Her eyes fluttered, and her hips rolled over my hard cock.
"Yes," she breathed. "God. Yes. I've thought about your hands there so many times."
I sat up and put my mouth on her.
She clapped a hand over her own lips, too late to catch the first moan. It broke out of her, soft but real, and the sound made the walls feel thin.
I looked up.
She looked down, breathing hard through her nose, eyes enormous and glowing.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"No, you're not."
Her smile was wicked. "No, I'm not."
I sucked her nipple into my mouth again.
Her hand fisted in my hair.
The room narrowed to skin and breath. Reese rocked in my lap while I worshipped her breasts, taking my time because she deserved it and because every second made her less controlled.
Her body was responsive in a way that felt almost unfair.
A lick had her arching. A bite had her thighs tightening around my hips.
When I palmed the weight of one breast and drew the other deep into my mouth, she pressed her forehead to mine and trembled like she was holding back a storm.
"Luke," she whispered.
"What, baby?"
"Less careful."
That did something to me.
I rolled her under me.