I flash Armani a wry smile at Mom’s familiar refrain and then pull him down the hall.
He pauses to look at a few family pictures hanging up. Mostly of my brothers in various athletic uniforms, of course. But there’s one of me at about eight years old, wearing a sparkly leotard and matching headband and a ridiculously high ponytail. I’d danced in a school performance that day. My parents hadn’t come, but one of the teachers took a picture of me and sent it to my mom. I’ll never know why she chose to hang it on the wall for Armani to see all these years later.
“This wall of pictures is like a shrine to your brothers and their sporting events.”
I nod because I am quite aware. “I was supposed to be another boy. The sonographer made a mistake when my mom was five months along, though at her next ultrasound they figured out I was actually a girl. My dad brought it up pretty much every day of my life.”
“His loss,” Armani says.
After another moment of browsing family memorabilia, I lead Armani the rest of the way down the hall.
“Closet, bathroom, Patrick and Sean’s room, my parents, and…” My heart flutters. The last door on the left is mine. I haven’t been in here since I went off to college and there’s no telling what my parents have done to it. “This is me. Or was. It’s probably storage now.”
But when I push the door open, I gasp to find that the tiny room is exactly the way I left it. Movie posters—Grease,The Breakfast Club, the 90s version ofRomeo and Juliet—are still taped up on either side of the window. In the corner, my twin bed is still dressed in mismatched green and white bedding, fairy lights thumbtacked over a photo and magazine collage. A hand-me-down chest of drawers and desk fill the rest of the cramped space.
“It’s tidy, at least,” I say, only minimally embarrassed.
I glance at Armani over my shoulder. His eyes are on the bed. He licks his lips, steps fully inside, and quietly closes the door. There’s no lock on it.
“So. This is the room where teenage Candi had all of her daydreams and fantasies.” He takes my chin in his hand and brings his lips a breath from mine. “I am very interested in hearing about those. Especially the fantasies.”
Do I want to have sex with Armani right now in my childhood bedroom? Yes. Yes, I do. But does the thought of getting caught horrify me? More than I can put into words. Having my parents or my brothers walk in on me and Armani would be a nightmare.
Lowering my voice, I remind him, “My parents are down the hall—”
He kisses me full and deep, cutting off my words with his clever tongue. It’s almost enough to make me forget where we are—not fully—but enough that I can enjoy the pleasure of his mouth on mine. He slowly backs me across the room until we’re lowering ourselves onto the bed, kissing me until I’m drunk on the sensations. He tugs my shirt up from where it’s tucked into my skirt and slips his hands up my back to gently stroke the line of my spine.
Gasping, I pull away and try to ignore the throbbing between my legs. “We should stop.”
“Have you ever had sex in this room?” he asks teasingly.
“Are you insane? Never!” I hiss. “I wasn’t allowed to have boys over, anyway. You’re the first.”
“You’re kidding. You didn’t even try to sneak anyone in through the window at night?”
Shaking my head, I hook a finger around his shirt collar and pull him in for another kiss.
“No. No one ever came over. All my friends were afraid of my dad and my brothers, and no boy ever liked me enough to take the chance. Plus, I wasn’t exactly proud of where I lived.”
Armani’s playful expression grows more serious. “They were cowards, then. I would have climbed through that window and risked getting my ass beat by your brothers any time.”
I feel a rush of warmth and then he’s kissing me again, nuzzling my neck, and my traitorous hands are all over him, squeezing his broad shoulders and his smooth back and the right ridges of his abs that I can feel through the front of his shirt.
“I want you,” I whisper.
“I wantyou. Tell me what fantasy I can bring to life,” he coaxes. “Let me make your dirtiest dreams come true.”
All the breath leaves my chest. Again, I pull away, but I don’t let go of him. In fact, I’m gripping his shoulders even tighter now. As if I’m afraid to let go, afraid my lust will blot out the last shred of self-control I’m clinging to.
“We’ll get caught,” I say.
“We’ll be quick.”
“Dinner will be ready any second,” I fret. “Mom’s very particular about the timing of her pot roast—”
“You and I both know we’ve got at least five, maybe ten more minutes.” He nips the side of my neck with his teeth. A burst of pleasure zings through me. “Tell me. Now.”
I’m buzzing with adrenaline and desire, from head to toe, so flooded with want that I can hardly think straight. My hand drops to the front of his pants. He’s hard as stone, thick and so hot that all I can think about is riding him. My voice trembles.
