Chapter 40 #2
I spit again, this time directly onto his skin, for good measure before nudging inside.
With a curse under my breath, another inch slides in, my movement only stopped by a hand taking hold of my hip.
I expect him to call it, to end it here, but he shifts his body instead, angling his hips toward me.
His hands come to rest on the counter with mine on top of them, and I study the image staring back at us. Connor’s brow pinches with every inch that I push inside, pleasure and pressure fighting for dominance, which I try not to let feed my ego too much.
A rock of my hips tests the waters as my lips meet the skin just behind his ear to earn a whine from him. With that small sound of approval, I pull my hands from their place over his, letting them find his waist instead, and my fingertips dig into his skin as I feed his body the rest of my cock.
His hands reach behind him to find my waist, and my teeth find the lobe of his ear. A desperate groan floods the room as they graze against it, ricocheting off of the walls and bouncing back up at us from the porcelain of the sink.
In our reflection, Connor’s mouth drops open, his eyes falling closed as his cock grinds against the counter’s edge.
With every push of his hips, he squeezes my dick.
I don’t mean for my grip on him to falter, and I definitely don’t mean to fucking whimper the way that I do, but it’s already a tight fit, and every squeeze sends a bolt of heat straight through my body.
Bringing a hand to the back of his head, I take hold of the crown, yanking it backward. His mouth hangs open, his chest heaving, as his palm finds its way to my cheek.
“Riptide,” he pants.
Capturing his mouth with my own, I let that hand slide down his spine, landing at the image that I tattooed into it after my ill-conceived visit home.
I’m not sure that he’s even properly looked at it yet; he knows it’s from my sketch book, and I’m sure that he’s gotten glimpses in the mirror, but as far as really seeing it… I think he would have said something.
If he did ask about the praying mantis splayed out on his skin and ready to defend itself from attack, I’d tell him that I chose it just to fuck with him because he can’t stand bugs.
Truthfully, I chose it for him because like the mantis, he’s resilient. Through the pain that life has given him, he’s rebuilt himself over and over again. He’s bounced back and he’s held the trust in whatever it is that he believes in, that there is still good out there for him.
We can be that good for him.
I press down on the patch of ink, lowering his chest toward the sink as I let my palm trail down the length of his body. With a deep thrust of my hips, the pad of my thumb traces the tight ring behind him as it swallows my cock, and he buckles, grinding his hips against mine.
The corners of my mouth pull up at the all-familiar pulsing squeezing my shaft, each beat sending fire from my toes, right up to my scalp. With my eyes locked onto his in the mirror, his brow pinching desperately at the center, I lower my voice to a purr.
“Are you gonna come for me?” I ask him.
My hips punch against his, driving moans from his lips that I’m almost certain are loud enough to wake Jules, even through the door. A desperate look sent over his shoulder tells me that he can’t answer my question.
“If you want your name on my dick, you have to earn your place there,” I tease.
Reaching in front of him, I wrap a hand around Connor’s cock, stroking it while my lips capture his. The kiss, like each stroke of my hand, is languid and heated. Huffs of air hit my face as he whines, dissolving into a desperate groan when my teeth take hold of his lip.
“Tripp,” he chokes. “God, I— oh, god.”
“Make a fucking mess for me, Schepp,” I purr against his mouth.
And he does.
As his orgasm peaks, his body tenses and jets of cum shoot across the counter, some making contact with the wall behind it. I meet him at the peak, every stroke of my hand a pulse of my cock as I unload inside of him.
My lips trail down his neck and across his shoulders as I slowly pull out of him, the evidence of my visit seeping out of his ass as I do. It takes a minute, with his hands braced on the counters and my thumbs digging into his muscle, for his body to straighten.
“You okay?” I ask him, using my head to gesture toward his body.
Toward the ass that will probably be sore before we even hit the road.
He nods as he reaches for the roll of toilet paper, bunching it in his hand. “Irina’s gonna be here in…” his eyes move to the small novelty clock on the wall. “Minutes. Can you—”
“I got her,” I assure him.
Cupping his face, I press my lips to his, offering an affirmative dip of my chin before trekking to the living room. Jules is already on the couch, sipping from a mug when I reach her. She looks better, like maybe she managed to get some decent sleep in those few hours, and I’m grateful for it.
“Did we wake you?” I ask her, stopping to drop a kiss onto her head before moving toward the front door.
She shakes her head. “Aislin called to ask me about placing a dye order. She’s like those TV dads who don’t know what to do with the kids when Mom isn’t there. It sounded like you were having fun, though.”
A knowing smile tugs at her lips, my own pulling into a smirk as my brow arches.
As if timing her arrival to the second, the beaten-down sedan that Connor’s sister drives pulls in front of the house and Irina climbs out of it, a fast food bag in one hand and a large metal tumbler in the other.
“Where’s Connie?” She asks as she approaches.
My thumb jerks over my shoulder to direct her into the house.
She studies me, scanning head to toe as she pulls in a breath.
She never really wears it clearly on her face, but in the small ways that she does, I can tell that she’s annoyed by me.
Maybe apprehensive of my existence in her brother’s space; in his life.
I get it. When siblings live through what they did, there’s no chance they don’t grow up to be protective over each other. Time and distance don’t mean anything.
We’ve never had to share anything horrible, we’ve never lost anyone together, and still, I’d burn down the fucking world for my little brother. I’d tear anyone apart who ever tried to hurt him.
“Hey, I get it. I know,” I tell her, taking hold of her arm. “But you know us. We’re not strangers or roommates or random online connections.”
Her eyes move toward the house, her head shaking as she pulls in another breath. Not of anger, but to steady herself. Maybe to clear her thoughts.
“He’s the only family I have, and he gave up everything to be here for me,” she tells me. “He loves both of you so much and if that comes back to bite him, Tripp, I’m not a violent person, but I swear on our parents’ lives—”
“I get it,” I echo. “I told Edie’s husband once that if he ever hurt her, I’d find him anywhere in the world and feed him his own skin. I get it.”
“Six hours really isn’t that far of a drive.” She means to be threatening, but her resolve is cracking, and I can’t help but smile at it. “Grady has three kinds of knives and a crossbow that he uses for fun.”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod and a kiss to the side of her head as I wrap an arm around her neck, squeezing her. “We love him, too.”
Like Jules and Connor have had to do with me, we’ll have to earn Irina’s trust when it comes to her brother.
She’s lost enough. She’s seen him lose more.
We’re not playing checkers here, we’re playing chess, and if the prize at the end of the game is her full acceptance, I’m committed to winning it.
Pulling away from me with a playfully aggravated ‘yuck,’ which offers a glimmer of hope, she shoulders past me and into the house. When her brother finally rejoins us, freshly showered – again, we share a quiet breakfast together.
Our goodbyes are slow, with the Schepp siblings taking a few quiet moments away to talk. About what, I don’t know, and I’m not sure that it’s my place to. But they seem happy by the end of it, Connor in particular.
He seems lighter.