I should step back. I should untangle my stepsister’slegs from around me and put some actualspacebetween us before we get caught like this.
I don’t.
For three more pounding heartbeats, I kiss her deep again, lingering in the way her tongue tangles urgently against mine, memorizing the exact pressure of her legs wrapped around me right now?—
Before I force myself to let go.
Pulling back is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
And the way her fingers catch in my shirt at the last second—like she doesn’t want to let go either—nearly kills me.
Harper’s yanking her shirt down and tugging at the hem like she can erase the last five minutes.
I’m checking everything:
Her hair: messy. Needs fixing.
Her lips: swollen. Can’t fix that.
Her shirt: twisted. She’s fixing it.
My hair: wrecked. I rake my hand through it.
My shirt: untucked. Tuck it in.
My breathing: ragged. Four counts in. Four counts out. Still too fast.
Mental checklist of evidence:
The fallen shirt: back in the washer. Check.
Our positions: separated. Check.
My obvious arousal: laundry basket covering it. Check.
But I can’t control my face. Can’t control the flush on my neck. Can’t control the way I’m looking at her.
If they catchus?—
“How do I look?” she asks. Her voice is wobbly, but her chin’s up, like she’s daring me to be honest.
I glance over and can’t look away, but this time, I’m not checking, just taking her in. Lips swollen. Cheeks flushed. Hair a mess. Shirt rumpled from my hands. She looks like sin in human form.
“Like you’ve been making out with your stepbrother.”
Her mouth drops open. “Caleb!”
But then she laughs. She tries to smother it with her hand, but the sound still slips out. We’re both panicked, but she finds a way to laugh anyway. God, I love that about her.
All I want is to make her laugh again. Today. Tomorrow. For fuckingever.And frankly, these stakes are a lot less heavy than most we’ve been facing lately.
So I push more. “Your lips are wrecked. Your shirt’s all twisted. You look like someone who just made a terrible decision in a laundry room.”
Footsteps sound on the floor overhead. Keys jingle.
Panic spikes.
Harper grabs a damp towel and presses it to her mouth like that’s going to help. I just stare at her, chest rising and falling like I’ve sprinted a mile.