Part 59 (1/2)

He gets on top of me and slides his hands up my back, kneading the muscle. I twist and wriggle out of my s.h.i.+rt, and my bra, and lay there naked, sighing into the bed as he ma.s.sages my back. He runs his hands down my legs, and rubs my feet. I don't know how they end up so sore, but they do. It tickles a little and I can't help laughing. When I do, he smacks me lightly on the b.u.t.t and I laugh harder and wriggle out from under him, then spring on him. It's his turn. I get his boxers down and he's already hard for me, but I press his erection against his stomach and rub my belly against it as he pulls his s.h.i.+rt over his head. I slide up, so he can feel the heat between my legs, and bury my face in his soft hair and breathe deep.

My trick, he calls it. I sit up and slide my s.e.x along the length of his shaft, and the look on his face is priceless. He can't keep his hands off my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my a.s.s, my neck. He pulls me down and kisses me and rolls on top of me. Once he's on top he tickles my sides and grinds his c.o.c.k against me, kisses me hard. I want him now and he knows it, so he holds back, kisses my throat, nips and suck at the soft skin, starts working his way down. I groan and roll my hips, urging him on, but he slows, stops, slowly kisses his way across my collarbone from one side to the other before he shoves his face in my armpit and sniffs. I try to push him down, but he struggles.

I'm still laughing at he takes my nipple in his mouth, slides his arms around me and sucks. My s.e.x is throbbing, my thighs slick, but still he takes his time, making happy little noises as he sucks. s.h.i.+vers pa.s.s through me, but not from cold. I push on his head and he finally relents, licking down my middle to dive between my legs and softly lick my slit. With a groan I spread my legs and let my arms fall limp on the bed, close my eyes and savor the sensations as he slowly works his way around, tonguing and teasing the skin of my inner thighs before he gives me another lick, each touch making my c.l.i.t throb. Then his mouth as his finger slips inside, and I can't take it, I have to have him inside me.

He rises up, wipes his chin with his arm, slides on top of me and pushes his c.o.c.k into my s.e.x. I curl my fingers in his hair and savor the feeling of his shaft pus.h.i.+ng into my walls, the feeling of my body swallowing him. Somehow I feel surrounded and enveloped as I take him inside me and he puts his arms around me and I dig my fingers into his back. He always f.u.c.ks me harder when I scratch him, and tonight I want it hard. I'm celebrating. I urge him on with my legs, rake his back with my nails, moan and whimper and breathe in his ear, begging him to f.u.c.k me harder.

When he slows, he rolls and pulls me on top of him. I sit up and ride him hard, eyes closed, my nails digging into his chest as he holds my sides, steadies me as I ride. I could do this forever, but I'm so h.o.r.n.y I can't make myself slow down and savor it anymore. Soon I'm quivering, my back rounded as I lean over him, and he's taken over again, thrusting into me from below. He pulls me to him, holds me close and digs his heels into the bed, driving into me. When I come he almost loses his grip on me, for my thras.h.i.+ng. It's so intense all I can do is bunch up and squeak, the waves of pleasure too intense to breathe. He holds me tight as he finishes, throbbing inside me.

I go limp on top of him, let him slip out of me and snuggle up to his side. This is going to be one of those nights, and I want him to rest before we go again.

”I have something I really need to tell you,” I whisper.

”Yeah?”

”Victor. You're going to be a father.”

He sits up, and I rise up on my elbows.

”The test was positive. The one I took on Monday. I went to the doctor yesterday morning and they called me with the results. I'm pregnant.”

I'm not sure how he's going to react, but he whoops with joy, s.n.a.t.c.hes me up off the bed and flops me down, so I'm lying with my head at the foot of the bed, and kisses me hard, holding me tight. I reach down between his legs and stroke him, and he growls in my ear.

Round two is going to start a little early.

Thank you for reading Blackbird. I hope you enjoyed it!

Comments are welcome at For more information on current and upcoming books, please sign up for my newsletter here: eepurl.com/0qieT Copyright 2014 Abigail Graham Cover design by Cormar Covers All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief pa.s.sages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fas.h.i.+on, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner's trademark.

The information in this book is distributed on an ”as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or ent.i.ty with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Mockingbird A Stepbrother Romance by Abigail Graham ***

Copyright 2015, Abigail Graham Cover Designed by Mayhem Cover Creations mayhemcovercreations.com/ ***

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Chapter 1: Apollo.

I have a bad taste in my mouth.

Looking over the railing gives me vertigo. It's twenty stories down from the penthouse, not far by skysc.r.a.per standards, but far enough. The people down there on the sidewalk might be on another planet for how far away they are. I can see them moving, each dragging a long shadow in the afternoon light. It's seven o'clock and it'll be full dark soon. The city skyline takes the sun away from the ground faster than up here, nearer the clouds. A ba.s.so rumble rolls under my feet. The party is starting.

”What are you doing?”

I shouldn't have stopped to look. At the sound of her voice I almost drop the tray I'm carrying, perched on my upturned hand. I think I look ridiculous in this monkey suit; whoever chose red crushed velvet for the hotel livery deserves to die for crimes against fas.h.i.+on. I put on my best fake smile and my best dull please-don't-fire-me look. The heiress is staring me down with the fury only the offended wealthy can muster, and if I get fired I won't be able to steal that pretty necklace she's wearing.

Of course, I don't actually work here, but if she kicks up a storm and gets me 'fired' it would raise quite a few uncomfortable questions, such as what I'm doing here in the first place.

Just an honest thief, doing my job. Robbing the rich, giving to the poor... and myself. Mostly myself.

Veronica Maxwell is easy on the eyes. If I wasn't worried about her s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up the job, her fury would be almost endearing. She has a rosebud mouth given to petulant pouting, high cheekbones, flawless skin, and shocking blue eyes, captivating, ethereal, and without a spark of human decency. All I need is to hear her grating voice for confirmation that the rumors are true. You wouldn't know it from looking at her, but she is a total b.i.t.c.h.

She flicks her perfect platinum blonde hair over her bare shoulder and scowls at me.

”Well?”

”Sorry, ma'am. Just got caught up in the view. I don't get up here much-”

”Whatever. My guests are thirsty, get your a.s.s to work. If I have to talk to you once more I'll make sure-”

Oh my G.o.d, she's actually going to say 'I”ll make sure you never work in this town again.'

”-you never work in this town again. Am I understood?”

”Of course, ma'am.”

I hurry on, and mentally pat myself on the back for not looking at her t.i.ts. She has amazing t.i.ts. Fakes so good you can't tell they're not real, and she's not shy about showing off the goods, parading around in a skintight off the shoulder dress covered in blue sequins, so she looks like a voluptuous, stormy sea every time she moves. If it were any tighter it would explode when she sits down, and move the slit in her skirt two inches to the right and she'd be putting on a show when she sits down. As it is, every time she takes a step one long creamy leg sweeps the air, a matching blue pump clacking on the floor. If it wasn't for the att.i.tude I'd be won over by her looks.

If it wasn't for the att.i.tude.

Time to work.

The creme-de-la-creme is here. The net worth of this room must be in the billions. I feel like a kid in a candy store. Watches, bracelets, necklaces, you name it, it's all here. I spot an iPhone with a diamond case that retails for $500,000, other gadgets equally blinged out. I consider myself a connoisseur of the finer things but I will never get my head around a diamond-encrusted phone.

Just seems excessive, really.

The job here is simple. Right now, I'm killing time. I wander around with a tray of champagne flutes. When they've all be s.n.a.t.c.hed away and my tray is covered with empties, I go back and get more. If I was on the payroll I'd be making minimum wage plus very generous tips. Right now I'm just making tips. It would look out of place if I turned them down and hey, free money. Along the way I help myself to some goodies. My stupid crushed velvet tux has an extra dozen pockets sewn inside and by the time I make my first pa.s.s, half of them are full. A few wallets, mostly, and a watch.

Yeah, I'm good.

I've been learning this trade since I was nine years old. That's when my father took me in, after I lost my mother. I've been refining my skills ever since.

The party is jumping. There's a baccha.n.a.l atmosphere, the heart of a carnivale that never stops, only takes breaks for daylight. Smoke machines, lights, a DJ on the stage, you name it. Veronica has the top three floors of the hotel to herself, a ma.s.sive suite with its own dancing hall slash orgy room. The dancing here is not very polite, and the hostess is not wearing underwear, as I see very clearly when she sits down on a leather couch that costs as much as a car and makes a show of crossing her legs. She looks not at me but through me. I'm like one of the ferns planted in a pot by the door to her.

I need more booze. I thread through the crowd, gathering empties as I go, through a service entrance and into the warren of hallways that serves the hotel. The suite doesn't have one door, it has twenty. When you're dropping a year's pay for a good job every night for your stay, servants come as part of the package. I deposit my tray on a cart and grab another, hoisting it to my shoulder all professional like. Carrying a tray of stuff like this takes practice. My knack for balance comes from walking tightropes and practicing kicks and punches standing on poles.

My partner's comes from practice. She gives me a look as she pa.s.ses by, and the most subtle of nods.

Brenda, her name is.

You can put a treasure in a vault. You can bury it on a forbidden island, send it to the bottom of the sea or put it on a mountain, and the weakness will always be the same: Somebody knows where it is and how to find it. Any security system is only as strong as people, and people are, by nature, weak.