His fingers begin a light, almost imperceptible stroke against my shoulder. I pretend not to notice, but my heart rate spikes.
“Am I doing this right?” he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. The soft words send a shiver down my spine.
“Yeah,” I manage.
As Frodo and the Fellowship leave Rivendell, Emmett removes his arm from the back of the couch and his hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing the way I showed yesterday. His palm is warm, his grip firm but gentle. My traitorous bodyresponds immediately—breath shortening, a slow heat building in my core.
I should stop this. Draw a line. Remind him I’m supposed to be teaching him, not being his test subject. But I can’t bring myself to pull back.
“You’re staring at me,” he murmurs without looking away from the screen. “Not the movie.”
“Just…evaluating your technique.”
His thumb traces slow circles on the back of my hand, and I bite back a gasp at the sensation.
“So. What comes next?” Emmett asks, turning to look at me. His green eyes are darker than usual, pupils dilated in the dim light. “In our lessons, I mean.”
The correct answer is to suggest practice with conversational topics, or maybe how to secure a second date. But the words that come out of my mouth surprise even me.
“Kissing,” I say. “That would be next.”
Emmett’s breath catches. For a long moment, he just looks at me, and I’m certain I’ve crossed a line, that he’ll laugh it off or get angry or pull away in disgust.
Then he nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat stupidly.
“Yeah.” His gaze drops to my lips, lingering on my lip ring. “Show me.”
This has gone so far beyond our original arrangement that I can barely remember what the point was supposed to be. But Ican’t back down now, not when he’s looking at me like that, not when curiosity and something darker are burning in his eyes.
I lean in, giving him every chance to change his mind. He doesn’t move away; if anything, he leans in to meet me. Our noses brush, breath mingling in the narrow space between us. Then his lips touch mine—just a ghost of contact, testing.
The tentative contact ignites something in me. I press forward, capturing his mouth more firmly. His lips are soft, yielding under mine. He tastes like red velvet. I expected awkwardness, hesitation, the fumbling of someone out of practice. Instead, he kisses with a focused intensity that takes my breath away.
My hand comes up to cup his jaw. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat—half surprise, half pleasure—and the vibration of it against my lips sends a jolt straight to my groin.
We break apart after a moment, both breathing hard. Emmett’s eyes are wide, his lips parted.
“That was…” he trails off, blinking. “You’re a great kisser. I’ve never…it’s never felt like that before.”
I can’t tell if he’s playing a role, using the techniques I taught him to flatter me, or if he genuinely means it. The uncertainty only fuels the fire building in my veins.
“We should…again,” I say, eloquence deserting me. “For practice.”
We lean in, meeting in the middle. This time, there’s nothing tentative about it. I trace his lower lip with my tongue, and he opens for me. The kiss deepens, turns wet and hot and consuming. My hands find his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Emmett shifts closer, his weight pressing me back against the arm of the couch. One of his hands slides into my hair, cupping the back of my head, while the other braces against my chest. The position is overwhelming—his body half covering mine, his warmth seeping through our clothes.
On screen, the Fellowship battles through Moria, but the sounds of swords and creatures fade into white noise compared to Emmett’s breathing, the wet sound of our mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, the thundering of my pulse in my ears.
This is wrong. We’re stepbrothers. This is supposed to be an educational arrangement, not…whatever this is becoming. But when Emmett makes a soft, desperate noise against my mouth, all rational thought evaporates. My hands slide under the hem of his shirt, finding warm skin and firm muscle beneath.
His thigh slips between mine, creating pressure where I need it most. I gasp into his mouth, hips bucking up. He responds by pressing down more firmly, and stars explode behind my eyelids.
We’re both hard—I can feel him against my hip, just as he must feel me against his thigh. The realization should shock me back to reality, but it only fans the flames higher. I want more. I want to see him come undone. I want—
The front door swings open without warning. “Boys! I brought some leftovers from—”
