Free Brother's Keeper by Elizabeth Finn Page B

for answers. Rowan watches me, and I know she’s not up for my family this night. I answer the phone, thinking quickly of what to say. I lie to them, saying she’s in bed with a bad headache. She looks at me, appreciation showing in her eyes. I then lie again and say I’m tired and think I’ll go home for the night. My parents are not happy to hear this, but I’m adamant. Missing Christmas Eve dinner with my family is wrong, but I won’t leave her alone tonight. Her father is no doubt out drinking his sorrow away, and she certainly won’t be staying anywhere except with me. As we leave the house, I blow out the candles in the dining room, leaving the house pitch black. When he’s sober tomorrow morning, let him see what she did for him. If guilt is an emotion he is capable of, I hope he has a good serving of it tomorrow.
    When we get to my apartment, Rowan says good night and excuses herself to her bedroom. I hate that she is so depressed and miss her usual perky self. I finally go to bed, too, at nine o’clock. I’m not tired, but being here when she’s sad like this has put me in a depressed mood. I fall asleep miserable and helpless. But I wake in the middle of the night as she crawls into my bed.
    It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to be this close to her. I love it when she’s in bed with me. There is no doubt my feelings for her tend to lean to the sexual, even erotic, but they also run quite intensely to the compassionate and caring. I love comforting her and holding her as much as I enjoy imagining fucking her. She nestles in next to me and wraps her arms around me. I stroke her hair and rub her back as I feel her breath on my neck. And when my hand that has been caressing its way down her back finally reaches her waist, I can’t help but run my hand under her shirt to feel the skin of her lower back. It is smooth, and my hand glides over the contour of her shape. My hand travels to her waist and feeling my touch there makes her breath hitch. I can tell she is aroused and nervous. From my hold on her waist, I ease her hips toward mine, and the second it is done, I know I’ve made a mistake.
    My brain is screaming at me to stop, but the rest of me is refusing to listen to reason. She mindlessly shifts her top leg over mine and allows herself to get closer to me. I can feel the warmth between her legs against my rigid cock, separated only by a couple of thin layers of material. She pushes her hips toward me, trying to make the material disappear. I push forward, wanting her to feel my hard arousal. She does, and her body shudders when I press against the spot where I know her most sensitive bud lies hidden. I imagine we are unclothed and continue to slowly thrust against her. I can feel the cleft of her lips through the fabric, and my cock finds its place there. We move together, our arousal mounting. Her breathing is ragged and quick, and I’ve never enjoyed having my clothes on so much with a woman before.
    I want to make her come; hell, I want to come with her. But my brain is still screaming, chastising me and full out berating me for my stupidity. And at long last, after giving in for far too long, my brain finally get’s my body’s attention, and I’m stopped by a mere thread of impropriety. This is wrong. I know this is wrong, and I have to stop before we go too far. With agonizing willpower, I slow our movements. I sense her confusion and can offer her little explanation without hurting her.
    “Why did you stop?” It’s a whisper.
    There is no way of softening the blow. “You know we can’t.”
    She rolls away from me, sitting up to leave. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling myself up to straddle her from behind—my brain still screaming at me to stop touching her. I whisper into her ear. “Don’t go. I don’t want you to leave.”
    “I’m embarrassed. Please, just let me go.” And making one of the few right decisions since her first touch, I do, and I’m suddenly left