The Step Brother

***

"Jace..." Willow's hesitant voice pierces the darkness of her bedroom. She says his name at the same moment she feels his hands moving further up her thighs, under her night gown, into dangerous territory. She hates how much she loves the feel of his hands on her. The effect her step brother has on her; her legs spread for him as if they have a mind of their own, betraying her words. "Please..."

"Please what?" He whispers back. His hands don't move any further but his fingers dare to stroke at the soft skin of her inner thighs.

"W-We can't keep doing this." She wishes so badly she could believe and follow through with these words. But he has a way of making her forget what's right and what's wrong.

Every night he sneaks into her bedroom like this, they escape together into a world of their own.

"All you have to do is tell me to stop." His voice is low, cautious. The moonlight pours into the bedroom from the window, illuminating the muscular bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

It's the same dance they play every night. A cat and mouse game that started a month or two ago since the Halloween party that's only been building and building to something unstoppable and all consuming. If it's not him initiating it, it's her. Regardless of how their day goes, they always find themselves in each other's beds once his dad and her mom go to sleep. Sometimes they do nothing but sleep, other times they whisper late into the night exchanging their secrets and stories, and nights like tonight, there's a hunger and desperation for the other that takes over.

When she doesn't say anything or push him away, his hands continue their path up her thighs. This movement forces her silk nightgown to raise up her stomach, revealing her white lace panties. His hands travel up more, leaving a trail of goosebumps along her skin. Through the thin fabric, he can see her nipples harden, which does nothing to help the erection in his pajama bottoms. He lets out a deep breath. It takes everything in him right now not to rip off the gown and have his way with her.

"Just tell me to stop." His voice is barely a whisper as he moves between her legs, his hands moving to either side of her head as he lowers himself down onto her small body while holding his weight. His lips brush against the base of her throat.

Her body responds to him automatically. Her legs wrapping around his waist, forcing their lower bodies tight against each other's. Her back arches into him, she tilts her head in order to allow him more access to her neck. She feels ashamed of the wants and desires filling her mind in that moment.

She doesn't tell him to stop. She can't. And he knows this.

"I need you, Low." His hot breath against her ear makes her shudder. Or maybe it's the use of the nickname only he calls her. "Please don't make me stop?"