Chapter Four
Shelby
"Are you feeling okay?" Shane asks as he loops my elbow with his, escorting me into the building of my childhood home. My step-uncles follow behind us. They're all a rough and tumble group, but Shane being the oldest always held the most reverence among them. I understand why. He’s scary, taller, with a scar slashed down the side of his cheek, the skin a soft shade of pink that I yearn to slip my tongue along the edges of. I’ve often asked him what happened, but he only ever shakes his head and tells me sweet girls like me don't need to know how evil the world really is. I hope to one day get it out of him.
"Shelby? Answer me—how are you feeling? Do I need to call a doctor and get something to counteract the drugs in your system?" Shane demands.
"No, I feel fine now." Turns out it only took being in my stepdad's presence to calm my nerves. "He must not have given me much, it feels like it's already worked its way out of my system."
"I've already sent an email to the company about the bad GPS battery fritzing out. They're overnighting a replacement," Gio hums as the elevator doors slide open. We packed in, and uncle Rafe closes the right iron door as Gio punches the button for the penthouse.
While they tried to make my childhood home into a home, after Mom died under suspicious circumstances it became more of a bunker and workspace than a cozy place to grow up. Shane insisted we keep the family tight, and no one was ever allowed over to visit. When I went to a friend's house in high school, Shane or one of my uncles was always posted outside to make sure I was safe. The parents of my friends never asked questions, no one ever did, probably because my stepdad and uncles looked so scary they didn't want to know the answer.
They gave me as normal a life as they could and I was always grateful for it. I did what I could to return the favor, making as many home-cooked meals as I could a week, knowing otherwise they would order takeout three times a day like college frat boys. Thankfully, Shane's mom—my adopted Italian grandmother—taught me how to cook all of Shane's favorite meals and they were each tattooed on my brain as my favorite way to spoil them once she was gone.
When we reached the penthouse, I angle for my bedroom. It has been kept in pristine condition since I left for my freshman year of college. I still sleep over almost every weekend. I love the sound of the men as they shuffle around the house after dinner, Gio retreating to the computer in his room, the soft tapping of his fingers on the keyboard lulling me to sleep many nights. Rafe can often be found on the balcony sipping scotch and puffing on a cigar while the sounds of Chicago carry on the breeze.
And Shane.
My Shane.
His bedroom is next to mine, but many nights he comes into my room and sits in the chair in the corner, reading a book, either to himself or out loud to me, until I fall asleep. He has a way of making me feel safe, always being attentive, always making me feel special when no one else ever has.
I love him, there is no doubt about that. And I’ve long gotten over the fact that my love, now that I’m a grown woman myself, definitely leans inappropriate. I don’t have time for shame, I only know that he makes me feel good, and I want to make him feel good in return.
"Will you read to me tonight?"
Shane towers over me by at least a foot, but he shifts his tall frame, bending to gaze into my eyes.
"Anything for you, baby girl."
I kick my canvas sneakers off near the door and head straight for my room. I don't bother to close the door. Hearing his heavy boot steps coming in behind me sends a thrill through my veins. I pull my body-con dress over my shoulders, hearing him huff at the sight of me in my thong and strappy black push-up bra. I toss the dress on the chair that he usually sits in and open one of the bureau drawers in search of something comfortable to wear to bed. I pull out one of Shane's old worn Cubs T-shirts. It's my favorite, worn soft with use. I chopped it off at the hem as a kid and wore it around the house, and now it's stretched over my heavy breasts, hardly covering them anymore. I developed quickly as a kid in high school, and in truth, the old shirt hardly fits anymore, but it's still my favorite. Turning away from him, I pull the straps of my bra over my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, slipping the Cubs shirt over my boobs and yanking it down softly to cover my nipples. The round swell of my breasts still peeks out from the cut hem, but after a night like tonight, I need the most comfortable item I own to be next to my skin. Preferably one that still smells like him.
"What are you doing to me?" comes his growl.
He's silhouetted in the moonlight coming in from the window, the silver hair at his temples and in his beard highlighted against his creamy bronze skin. I grow instantly wet, the thong doing little to hide my arousal.
"Baby girl," his eyes shift down my form, "I can smell how turned on you are."
"I've never been so turned on. Not with anyone." I move across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
When I reach him I trail my fingertip along the curve of his thick bicep and over his shoulder, down his taut pectoral muscle. I suck in a breath as the masculine scent of his skin washes over me again. My thighs flood with arousal as I shift back and forth, praying he'll touch me in a way that a father should never touch his daughter.
"Baby, I can't resist you when you touch me. And I sure as hell can't resist you when you look up at me like that."
"So don't resist me." I lean closer, dashing my nose along the edge of his neck and daring to dart my tongue out along the throbbing vein. "Please."
A guttural growl vibrates from his chest. And finally—the moment I've been waiting years for—he darts his fingertips along the roundness of my breast and pulls at my nipple through the thin cotton of my shirt. I suck in a breath, both of my nipples pebbling to hard peaks at his touch.
"This is wrong."
"Then why does it feel so good?” I whisper, kissing along his neck and then running my hand down the rock hard slab of his abdominals until I reach the belt at his waist. I hold the buckle gently, loosening the metal from its loop. He hums with pleasure, hips thrusting as he finds my nipples with both hands now. I throw my head back as my eyes fall closed, true pleasure coursing through my body for the first time ever.
"Tell me you're still a virgin, baby girl.”
"Yes," I hiss.
"Good." He bites down on his bottom lip, eyes perusing my aroused form. "I've been thinking about this moment for a long time."