Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (4 page)

Still pulling the mystery woman up the stairs behind him, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“I have to call you something.”

“I’m…I’m, um…”

They got to the first landing and Weston stopped, letting her catch her breath. Moonlight streamed in from a small window whitening her skin, but making the contrast of her red lips and red hair more pronounced. She was ethereal and stunningly beautiful in the soft light.

“Don’t think too hard,” he teased.

“S-Samaria,” she answered, her voice breathless from the run from the ballroom. “My name’s Samaria.”

Like hell
, he thought. “Unusual.”

“From the bible,” she said, her breasts swelling with every deep breath she took. Her eyes, which he knew were light brown, appeared deep and dark as they stared up at him, and he couldn’t look away, not even if he’d wanted to.

“The bible?” he murmured.

“Samaria,” she whispered, “was a mountainous, central, region of ancient Israel, made notable by the story of the Good Samaritan.”

He leaned closer to her. “That’s
really
your name?”

Her tongue swept across her lips. “One of them.”

“I thought you were lying.”

She shook her head. “No. And you?”

Weston swallowed. He didn’t want her to know his name. He liked the anonymity between them, and he liked it even more that she’d given him what he guessed was her middle name, not her first. He decided to do the same.

“Stefan.”

“Stefan,” she whispered, tilting her head to the side and smiling, her white teeth shiny in the moonlight. “Like the king.”

He reached out to push a tendril of reddish hair behind her ear, letting his fingers rest tentatively on the soft skin of her face. “The king?”

“From ‘Sleeping Beauty,’” she murmured, in a dazed, breathless voice that made his blood rush and his cock twitch.

“Ah,” he said, smiling back at her and nodding slowly, as he recalled the Disney movie from his childhood. “Yes. That’s right.”

His smile faded as they stood there on the quiet landing, bathed in the moonlight, holding hands, facing each other. His other hand cupped the apple of her cheek, his palm gently flush against her warm skin as her lovely face tilted up to look at him. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, without asking, without warning, he dipped his head and kissed her.

***

Molly hadn’t been kissed by anyone but Dusty in ten years, which meant that Molly had never been kissed by anyone but Dusty ever. In her whole life.

Until now.

Stefan’s lips were firm and soft, and when they touched down on hers, Molly felt an instant rush of adrenaline that made her step forward, closer to the immediate source of excitement and pleasure. He untangled his hand from hers, dropping it to her waist, his fingers rolling and adjusting before spanning her hip and jerking her against his chest.

Molly’s eyes fluttered closed as his mouth gently trapped her upper lip, sucking lightly before loosening, only to take it back again. He sighed and she tasted the smoky, woodsy flavor of the scotch he’d been drinking, a smell so foreign and exotic to Molly, it suddenly occurred to her—again—that she was kissing an utter stranger in the moonlit back hallway of someone’s house when she was supposed to be at a reception.

For just a moment, she thought she should push against his chest and break off the kiss, withdraw her invitation, turn her back and walk quietly down the stairs. But then what? Even the thought made the heaviness of Dusty’s betrayal threaten to overtake her all over again. Thankfully, the touch of Stefan’s satin tongue running along the seam of her lips made them open like a flower to sunshine and all coherent thought scattered from her mind like fall leaves swept away by a sudden breeze.

Until now, Molly’s hands had been dangling loosely at her sides, but as her lips parted, she raised them to his shoulders and slid them forward until they met behind his neck, where her fingers entwined.

His hand tightened on her face, gently, but firmly, manipulating her head, tilting it until he had the angle he needed to sweep his tongue into her mouth to meet hers. Molly moaned softly, arching into him as darts of pleasure made her tremble with arousal, with want, with need, with
more
…and Stefan met her, stroke for stroke, the velvet heat of his tongue caressing hers as his arm wound around her bowed back to hold her flush against his body.

Through a haze of deep lust, Molly heard the sound of a door opening, and suddenly the staircase was illuminated from below.

Stefan stopped kissing her suddenly, drawing his lips back from hers, his eyes wide and primitive as he searched her face. His body still pushed aggressively into hers, and she felt the evidence of his arousal, probing the place that hid muscles deep inside which twitched and flexed with want.

His breathing was quick and shallow, and his chest crushed her breasts with every draw, making her nipples purse and pebble, pushing back against him with shameful want.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t care if she was behaving completely out of character.

She didn’t care if her actions were reckless and wanton.

She didn’t care right now if she’d regret this decision an hour from now.

None of it mattered.

Her body was totally primed for pleasure with this beautiful stranger, and he was the only thing keeping her crushing disappointment and heavy-heartedness at bay. Poised and prepared for more, there was simply no way Molly could turn back now.

“Take me upstairs,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he panted softly. “Okay.”

His hand drifted over her hip, dropping regretfully, and she loosened her hands from behind his neck. He paused, his palm still pressed intimately against her cheek, his eyes searching her face like she couldn’t possibly be real.

“Who are you?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “Really?”

She licked her lips and tilted her neck just slightly so that her mouth slipped under his hand. Letting her eyes flutter closed, she kissed his palm, her tongue slicking a hot path across his skin. When she looked at him, his lips had parted and he swallowed audibly, staring back at her with longing, as she whispered,

“It doesn’t matter.”

As he pulled her up the rest of the stairs to the third floor of Haverford Park, Weston fought the urge to talk to her, knowing that small talk would be a buzz-kill if the mutual goal here was anonymous sex. Still, he couldn’t help the fact that he was interested in finding out more. She dressed conservatively, and despite the forwardness of her words and actions, Weston had a feeling she was somehow out of her comfort zone.
Why? What had happened to her to make her want this, with him, tonight?
(Not that he was complaining.)
Wouldn’t it be ironic,
he thought,
if she was using him to take her mind off of someone, just like he was.

She’d far surpassed his expectations with the kiss they’d just shared. It was unusual for Weston to get completely hard from one kiss—it usually took a little more action than that. But damn if his cock hadn’t stood at attention, ready and willing, desperate for the hot, tight feeling of her hidden muscles clenched around him.

Around another corner, and then another, he finally pushed open the back-stairs door that led to the third floor linen room. Through the servant’s corridor and out a simple white door, they found themselves at the north end of the family gallery that housed the bedrooms of Weston, his four brothers, his parents, a sitting room, a game room, and two guest bedrooms for close family. The dark wood of the floor and walls glimmered from brass sconces that cast dreamy shadows on the Persian carpet that ran the length of the long hallway.

Without looking back at Samaria—a name he still questioned, despite her handy explanation of its origin—he walked briskly down the hall, past the guest rooms, past the sitting room, past Barrett’s room and the grand staircase, stopping at a dark wood door on the other side of the stairs. Her eyes were wide and curious as she looked up at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You really know your way around.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Are you a brother? Cousin?”

He shrugged. He couldn’t help feeling like revealing too much of themselves would ruin the moment and shatter the mystery that propelled them toward anonymous rebound sex in his bed. “Does it matter?”

“Nope,” she answered, her lovely face sad.

He looked down at their entwined fingers. He couldn’t explain why, but his heart clenched to realize that she was sad. He wondered why. He wondered who or what had made her sad, and had an insane urge to punch something for that brief moment. But when he looked back up, her face was impassive again, all sadness whisked away from her eyes.

He cleared his throat, turning the doorknob. “We can use my—er, um, this room.”

“Great,” she said, dropping his hand and walking inside.

***

As opposed to the austerity of the hallway, the room was warm and personal, with pale yellow walls, a large Persian carpet covering the hardwood floor, and a sitting area in front of a fireplace with two comfortable-looking leather chairs. A desk area had been built into one corner, and was covered haphazardly with open books and flanked by book cases. In the center of the room, large and slightly intimidating, was a King-sized bed, unmade, with white sheets, three pillows (two unused, one smooshed) and a dark blue comforter hanging half-off the bed.

If she had to guess, Molly would wager it was the room of a college student or maybe a graduate student. It didn’t have clothes strewn about or questionable smells wafting up from under the bed, which meant that it was an adult’s room, but there was something that felt young about the space, as though it belonged to someone who hadn’t totally established himself in the world quite yet.

She took a few steps toward the desk before looking back at Stefan, who’d closed the door and stood motionless in front of it with his hands on his hips. He was tall and handsome, but looked slightly uncertain, which made her smile—a small smile that barely lifted the corners of her mouth—as she meandered toward the desk.

The opened books were law books and other legal texts, including one entitled, “Studying for the Pennsylvania Bar.” Squinting in the dim light from a bedside lamp on the opposite side of the room, Molly leaned forward to read the LSAT score pinned to a bulletin board hanging over the desk. The score was from three years ago, and the letter read that Weston S. English had scored a 175 on the test.

“Wow,” she murmured.

Stefan crossed the room to see what had captured her attention. “Wow what?”

Molly looked up to find him much closer to her, and she swallowed nervously, gesturing to the bulletin board with her hand. “Whoever Weston English is, he’s really smart.”

“Why do you think so?” he asked, darting his eyes to the floor.

Was he hiding a smile? She thought she’d glimpsed one before he looked down.

“He scored a 175 on his LSATs,” she said. “The highest score is 180. He was almost perfect.”

“Almost,” said Stefan softly, staring down at his shiny black shoes.

“Do you know him?” asked Molly.

“Yeah.”

Molly nodded. Of course he did. They’d already established that Stefan was family. Whether he was Daisy’s family or Fitz’s family, he’d still know Fitz’s youngest brother, Weston English.

She turned her back to Stefan, trying to remember what she knew about Weston, but her mind came up blank. In the short chats she’d had with Daisy backstage, she’d gathered that Barrett English was the oldest of the English brothers and Daisy’s fiancé, Fitz, was the second oldest. She didn’t know very much about the three youngest brothers, though it occurred to her now that Stefan had very similar coloring to Fitz. Perhaps they were first cousins. She thought about asking him, but the reality was that she didn’t really want to know that much about Stefan. Keeping their tryst anonymous was part of the reason she was willing to go through with it at all.

Taking a few short steps to the bed, she sat down on the rumpled white sheets, and stared up at him.

He surprised her by approaching her quickly, wordlessly, and dropping to his knees before her in one smooth move. She gasped, waiting to see what he’d do next, but he reached for her shoe, unbuckling the strap and slipping it off her foot. He did the same to the other, and then ran his palm up the smooth inside of her leg, stopping at her knee, before sliding it back down.

“I think you’re beautiful.” His eyes were luminous as they looked up at her. “Tell me what you want.”

“Take off your jacket,” she murmured, as her heart throbbed with excitement and nerves.

Without looking away from her, he shrugged a little and it fell to the ground behind him. Smooth.

“What else?” he asked, his voice raspy and low.

Her breasts heaved against the black scoop neck of her dress, and she summoned all of her courage to ask for what she wanted. Taking a deep breath, she answered him on a breathy exhale.

“Take off the rest.”

He blinked at her. Once, twice. Then, with startling speed, he was on his feet, whipping off his tie, pulling at the snaps and buttons of his tuxedo shirt, and yanking his T-shirt off until he stood, bare chested and breathless, in front of her.

Molly stood, staring into his eyes and daring to flatten her hands on the solid, sinewed expanse of his chest. Standing on tiptoes, she tilted her neck, her mouth meeting his with perfect precision. After a surprised moment, his lips kicked into action, kissing her wildly, with abandon, their teeth clashing together as his fingers found the zipper on the back of her dress. He pulled it down with a satisfying
whoosh
, his nimble fingers unhooking her bra, as well. Still kissing her, his tongue lapping at hers with urgency, he pushed her dress off her shoulders and it sluiced down her body to land in a heap around her feet.

His arms clamped around her, crushing her bare breasts against the hard muscles of his chest, which twitched under the hard, sensitive skin of her erect nipples. Walking her backward, she felt the mattress against her thighs and fell back with Stefan’s body on top of hers. Dipping to accommodate their weight, Molly sighed at the feeling of his hard body pushing down on her softer one, and threaded her fingers through his hair, forcing his mouth to stay with hers. Their tongues tangled and licked, and when he sucked on hers, her already-wet sex flooded slick again. Instinctively, she arched up against his erection, and he slipped his hands under her shoulders to slide her completely onto the bed.

“Damn, this is hot,” he murmured, as his lips skated from her lips to her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth as his hand slid down to her breast, molding it with his palm as he rubbed the nipple with his thumb.

Molly gasped and whimpered, pushing her breast into his hand and turning her neck so he had better access to her ear. Her hands wound into his hair, flexing and releasing, and she moaned as he bit her ear again, prompting a low, growly chuckle in the back of his throat. The vibration against her own throat sent goosebumps coursing down her arms, and she slid one leg up the back of his which, she realized with some surprise and annoyance, still had pants on.

He leaned up on his elbows, kissing and licking his way down her neck until his mouth, hot and wet, hovered over the breast he’d plumped in his palm. Dropping his lips, he took the erect nipple into his mouth and sucked. Molly bucked off the bed, arching into his mouth as tendrils of pain and pleasure unfurled from her chest, teasing her skin and tripping her heart.

Releasing his badly-messed hair, she slid her hands down his bare back, only stopping when she reached his waist. Slipping her fingers to the front of his pants, she unbuttoned his pants and pulled at his zipper.

Stefan raised himself and slid back until his feet hit the floor. Molly raised herself on her elbows in time to watch him slip his pants off. He stood in plaid boxers tented in the front by a significant erection. He fell back to the bed, lying beside her on his side and took her other nipple into his mouth while his fingers traced her lips.

Molly opened her mouth, sucking two digits inside and mimicking the movements of his tongue on her breast, licking, sucking, laving her tongue around his fingers and moaning as the swirling in her stomach made her muscles start to clench in anticipation of—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Wes?”

Stefan jerked his neck up from her breasts, whipping his eyes to the door.

“Shit!” he whispered. Then, a little louder, “One minute.”

“Wes, what the hell are you doing? It’s time for pictures.”

“Jesus, Alex.” His voice was breathless. “I said to give me a minute.”
Molly stared up at him. His face was turned away from her, but his chest still propelled itself frantically into hers with every panted breath he took.

From the hallway, Molly heard chuckling. “Oh, shit! Wes, are you getting it on with someone in there?”

Stefan—or more accurately—Wes, finally turned from the door to look down at her face. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he flicked a glance at Molly’s swollen lips before finding her eyes again.

“My asshole brother,” he whispered, pursing his lips and shaking his head.

“You’re Weston English,” said Molly, feeling a little dizzy and a lot frustrated. Before Alex’s untimely interruption, she was about to have her first—of she hoped many—orgasm. She took a deep, shuddering breath, remaining motionless beneath him, as he stared back down at her.

“Weston
Stefan
English.”

“I see,” she said.

“And you are?”

“Molly McKenna. Molly
Samaria
McKenna. I’m a friend of Daisy’s.”

His eyes widened and a slow grin spread out across his face. “A friend… You’re a
guest.
You didn’t—”

“Crash?” If it hadn’t been so dark, he would’ve seen her blush. “You don’t know me at all, but I’m not really the wedding-crashing type.”

“I know you a little more than ‘not at all,’” he countered, rubbing his body against hers and leaning down to kiss her again.

Alex rapped on the door, louder this time. “Romper Room! Pictures!”

“God damn it, Alex!” Weston vaulted off of the bed and strode to the door, whipping it open. Molly scrambled to sit up, grasping for a sheet, which she clutched over her breasts. When she looked up at the door, she smiled with relief. Weston had only opened it a crack and was blocking Alex’s view entirely with his body. “What the fuck? I’m occupied. Give it a fucking rest. I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“Can you finish that fast?” teased Alex, still laughing.

“Fuck you, Alex,” answered Weston, slamming the door in his brother’s face and locking it before stalking back to the bed.

Leaning down, he picked up Molly’s black lace bra and stared at it regretfully for a moment before handing it to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, reaching for his pants.

“For what?” she asked, threading her arms through the straps and fastening the bra in the back.

He slipped the pants on and reached down for his T-shirt and her dress. “For not telling you who I was. For my fucking brother. For not getting to finish what we started. Take your pick.”