by J. L. Beck
“And you’re a liar.” He takes a step closer, the heat of his body slamming into mine. His presence makes me dizzy. I don’t know if I should slap him or kiss him. I crave his touch, but at the same time, I don’t. This, whatever it is that’s taking place between us, is exhausting.
“Whatever, Vance. You’ll think whatever you want to, no matter how much I defend myself.” Refusing to give him even another moment of my time, I head toward the stairs. I’ve got a pile of homework to do and I want to get a little reading in before bed. Neither of those things will get done if I stand here trying to defend myself against someone who refuses to tell me what I’ve done wrong. I make it all of two steps before his warm hand is circling my arm and pulling me backward.
Bumping into his firm chest, I try and whirl around, but Vance is fast, and using his height and body he easily overpowers me. With both hands gripping onto my arms, he holds them behind my back, guiding me to the nearest wall, only releasing me once my face is pressed against the cream-colored wall.
“Did you think about me when he touched you?” His voice is thick, and I feel my pussy clenching around nothing. Why does he have to be so stupidly handsome, and why do I have to be attracted to him. He hates me, while I pretend to hate him because the alternative would be unbearable.
We can’t do this.
We shouldn’t be doing this.
“He didn’t touch me, and no, I never think about you,” I lie. Fuck it. I might as well live up to the name he keeps calling me.
I think about you all the time.
“Me either. I never think about you.” His fingers trail down my arm, and goosebumps follow in the wake of his touch. I want to lean into him, let him burn me, because I know if I give myself to him, he will, he’ll burn me so badly I won’t even recognize myself when he’s done with me. His hand drops to my hip, and my chest heaves, my lungs tightening. An entire zoo of butterflies take flight in my stomach.
Oh lord. “Did he touch you here?” Those devilish lips of his press against the shell of my ear, and I tip my head back against his firm chest, my eyes drifting closed while I give myself over to the pleasure of his touch. His deft fingers skim across the front of my yoga pants, and my burning hot center.
“Did he?” he mumbles against my skin, and it feels like I’m on fire, literal fire. He’s burning me with the tips of his fingers, branding my flesh with his mark.
“Are you wet with need for him, or is that all for me?”
“No,” I whisper, my body humming as he runs his finger over my bikini line and back to my hip, kneading the flesh there.
Something’s wrong with me, something’s very… I don’t even get to finish that thought because he’s slipping his hand into my pants, his fingers ghosting over the edge of my panties.
“Tell me to stop… God, please tell me to stop, Ava.”
Hunger vibrates from his chest. He wants me just as badly as I want him, and for some reason that gratifies me.
Knowing he wants me while hating me at the same time. It makes me feel powerful, like I actually stand a chance against him. Tension hangs thickly between us, and just like a rubber band snapping under pressure, Vance snaps, losing his ability to make the right choice. His fingers slip beneath my panties, and I suck in a greedy breath, feeling like I’ll never be able to breathe again.
“This is wrong...so wrong. But it feels so right, doesn’t it? Tell me it feels right.” His voice drags on, his lips sucking on a patch of skin beneath my ear.
“Yes,” I admit breathlessly, leaning into him even more, wishing there wasn’t any fabric at all between us. God, I want to feel him. Want him to touch me. Take from me. I want him to show me how much he hates me, but instead of his words, I want him to use his hands.
Without warning, he rips his hand from my red hot center and spins me around so we are face to face. Facing each other feels more intimate, and suddenly I’m self-conscious my eyes skating down to his well-defined chest.
“Don’t look away…” he coaxes with a hand under my chin, tipping my head back up, forcing my gaze to meet his. “I want you to look into my eyes when you fall apart. I want you to feel who owns your pleasure and your hate. So next time you’re with him, or anyone for that matter, you remember that it’s me that makes you feel this way, and that it will always be me.”
Releasing his hold on my chin, he moves it to my hip, holding me in place, while his other hand slips back beneath the waistband of my pants.
This time there’s an urgency to his touch, he doesn’t stop at my panties, his fingers move underneath the thin fabric like they belong there. Those thick digits slide through my already drenched folds and a wicked grin pulls at his lips.
“Of course you’re already wet,” he says triumphantly as if he knew I would be.
Part of me wants to put an end to this now, to push him away, to prove to him that I’m not as weak for his touch as he is for mine, but I can’t.
I just can’t. I can’t do anything but breathe, and feel, Lord, do I feel. I feel everything, all of him, every inch.
With his thumb, he circles my hardened nub while his finger finds its way to my entrance. It’s been so long since I let someone touch me here, since I felt like this. No, I never felt like this before. I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never felt like this before, not with anyone else. There’s no comparison, it’s like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.
My skin tingles everywhere he touches me. He’s like a thunderstorm, booming, big and powerful, but full of beauty, even in the wake of destruction. I’m so confused by what I’m feeling, by the way he makes me feel. I want to turn the emotions off, forget all about him, but I can’t. I can’t let him go any more than I can untangle our pasts.
My thoughts float away like clouds whisking through the air. I’m dizzy with need and when he inserts a second finger stretching me in a deliciously slow way before adding pressure to my clit, I know I’ll never be the same again.
It’s too much, too fast.
His fingers inside me.
My heavy pants.
My eyes flutter closed involuntarily, the sensations mounting.
“Open your eyes,” he orders, his fingers digging into my hip possessively. “How long have you been waiting for me to finger-fuck you? Days, weeks? How long have you wanted this, wanted me inside you, owning you?”
God, please, make him shut up.
“I hate you,” I murmur, wishing I had the strength to push him away. But I don’t, not physically or mentally. He has a hold on me, and I’m caught in his trap an unwilling victim to his hate, to his rage.
“I hate you more,” he growls, his lips so close he’s almost kissing me. We stare into each other’s eyes, his gaze is hard, but it’s brimming with need that definitely mirrors the thrusting his fingers are doing, going even deeper inside of me, curling and hitting a spot that no one else has ever hit before.
I have to concentrate hard to keep my eyes open. I want to close them so bad, let my head fall back against the wall, and just give in to the pleasure completely, but I won’t. I won’t give him that kind of power.
With his thumb on my clit, pressing down on the small bundle of nerves, he continues thrusting his fingers deep inside of me, his pace increasing, growing furious with each passing second. The sound of his fingers slipping through my arousal fills my ears. It’s erotic and reminds me further of how much I despise him.
Warmth gathers deep in my core, and I know I’m close. Judging by the grin tugging on his lips, he knows it too.
Bastard.
“Come, Ava…come all over my fingers. I want to feel you squeeze me.” His words set me off. My toes curl in my boots and my spine tingles. The impending climax claiming me with a vengeance. Unable to keep my eyes open a second longer, they close and roll to the back of my head, just as a loud moan rips from my throat.
My whole body tightens, my pussy squeezing his fingers like he wanted me to, but I don’t care, not that we crossed a line o
r that I listened to him.
Right now, I don’t care about anything. I feel like I’m high, my mind swarmed with endorphins, my muscles feeling as they went through a deep tissue massage or something. If I wasn’t exhausted before, I am now.
My knees wobble like a newborn baby fawn’s and almost give out underneath me as he releases me. Vance waits like the perfect gentleman until my pussy stops pulsing and the last tremors of my orgasm have rippled through me before he removes his hand and lets go of my hip. I nearly whimper at the loss of his touch but catch myself a second before I do.
I have to lean back against the wall to keep myself from falling over. Bringing a hand to my chest, I try and steady the muscle beating like crazy inside of it.
Somehow I will my eyes open and find that he is still standing in front of me, eyes gleaming with a noticeable boner pressing against his zipper. For some reason, I expected him to be gone by now, that maybe I had just made up this whole thing in my mind.
But there he is, staring at me recovering from an orgasm that he gave me.
“You’re welcome,” he says cockily, a smile ghosting his lips as he does that weird sexy thing guys do where they rub their thumb over their bottom lip. “Next time, I’ll expect you to return the favor.”
“Fuck you.” The words pass my lips on a whisper. I’m far too tired to fight with him right now. “And this won’t be happening again. You. Me. Us. Whatever it is. It’s done. I won’t let you do this again.”
He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side, studying me.
“Won’t or don’t want me to do it again? There’s a difference and just as I’ve always said, once a liar, always a liar. You want this, you want me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t feed off your biggest weakness. We’ll be through when I say we’re through.”
My mouth pops open to spit off another smart comment, but there’s no point, because he’s right I am a liar, and I want what we just did to happen again. I want his cock… his hand, his lips.
He doesn’t stick around to hear if I’ll say anything else, instead, he turns and jogs up the staircase leaving me alone with my treacherous body and thoughts.
I’m a liar, a big fat liar, because I’m falling for the bully, my stepbrother.
35
Vance
I can’t believe the fucker is this late. Clark is usually a stickler for being on time and he said he’d meet me here at eight. It’s almost nine and he hasn’t shown up, or even texted me for that matter. The party is in full swing around me. Fellow college students are partying away, dancing, drinking, hell, even a few are having sex.
Normally, I would be right in the middle of all of it, but I’m not in the mood today.
I haven't been in the mood for anything lately.
All I can think of is her. She’s in my head, under my skin, in my every single waking thought. The only reason I came here was to hang out with Clark and get shit faced, but instead I’ve been sitting on this couch, a piss warm beer in my hand for the last hour listening to Sarah drone on about how her family isn’t going to the Hamptons this winter because her grandmother broke her hip. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I’m seconds away from tossing my beer on her, just to see if it’ll make her shut up for a second.
Sarah’s voice edges my anger toward Clark up. Fucking asshole, standing me up.
He’s going to need to do some major ass kissing for me to let this one go, and his excuse, well it better be fucking epic. My gaze slips around the room. I see a couple football players I know, and a bunch of the douches from the baseball team. Most of them are Clark’s friends, not that they wouldn’t hang with me, but they aren’t really my kind of crowd.
Running a hand through my hair in frustration, I sigh. I should’ve just stayed home and harassed Ava, that would’ve been more fun than sitting here, alone, with Sarah. I’m about five seconds away from leaving the party and getting drunk on my own at my place when I spot him across the room heading toward me.
He weaves through the crowd, waving to me when he spots me. Relief floods me, thank fuck he’s finally here, and then I notice someone trailing close behind him. My blood turns to ice in my veins.
You have gotta be fucking kidding me.
They get closer and I realize that Ava is not only walking behind him, but that she’s also holding his hand.
She's holding his fucking hand.
As soon as Ava sees me, she pulls her hand out of Clark’s, as if she didn’t want me to see them together. Too fucking late.
“Sorry, man, I know I’m late. I had to talk this one into coming with me,” he says, hooking a thumb at Ava.
“You were supposed to be here an hour ago!” I yell in his face, rage taking over. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah scooting away from me. I’m sure I look like a douchebag right now.
“Woah, dude. Calm down.” Clark’s gaze widens as he lifts his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Sorry, okay? I’m here now. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal all of the sudden, it’s not like I haven’t been late before.”
“No, it’s not fucking okay. I’m not some slut who is going to sit here waiting for you. And speaking of sluts, what the fuck is she doing here?” I look past Clark, my eyes meeting Ava’s razor-sharp gaze. That backbone of hers is getting stronger and stronger, and for some stupid fucking reason, I’m proud of her, proud to see her standing so tall, a pretty little flower standing amongst the weeds.
“Van, sit down and shut up. You’re acting like an asshole. Even more so than usual.” He tries to brush me off with a joke, like I’m one of his fuck buddies or something and that only fuels my anger.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” I growl, getting up from the couch. Clark rolls his eyes at me as if I’m being dramatic and my barely restrained anger boils over. I shove at his shoulders and watch him stagger backward and into the crowd.
We’ve fought before, but nothing like this, and definitely not over a girl at that. His eyes go wide, his mouth popping open in shock like he can’t believe I just pushed him.
Believe it, buddy.
He looks at me like he’s expecting an apology, but he should know better than that.
I don’t apologize, not to anyone, and I’m certainly not gonna start with him. When I don’t say anything, his eyes narrow and shock gives way to anger. Curling my hands into fists, I prepare myself for a fight.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Me? That’s rich, Clark,” I scoff. “You ditched me for pussy.” My eyes cut to Ava’s as I say my next set of words. “And it's not even good pussy at that.”
I have to swallow down the bile that’s rising in my throat, burning a path of fire up my esophagus. Fuck. I’m an asshole. Glancing over at Ava, I see the hurt flashing in her eyes a moment before she spins around and walks away from us.
“Better run after her before she spreads her legs for someone else,” I taunt him, wanting him to punch me, to throttle me.
“Vance.” Clark’s tone holds a warning, but I’m too far gone to give a fuck.
Why the fuck is he sticking up for her anyway? To get in her pants? He could have his pick of any of the girls in this room, but no, he wants the one that’s embedded herself under my skin. The one that’s driving me insane. This isn’t just about him being late, this is so much more than that, but I’m not going to tell him that.
Fuck no.
“Get a grip,” he scoffs, and that’s when my last bit of restraint crumbles. Without thought, mercy or care, I clench my fist and slug my best friend in the jaw.
His head snaps to the side at impact as my knuckles graze his cheekbone. Pain flares through my hand and up my arm. My punch would have knocked out most guys, but not Clark. He doesn’t even straighten up all the way before swinging at me, his hit landing against the side of my face. Pain explodes across my cheek, and I relish in it. Using it to fuel my anger even further, I swing again for him, but he’s faster and instead gets me in the r
ibs.
The hit knocks the air from my lungs. Bastard. The crowd around us forms a small circle, people chanting both our names like we’re professional MMA fighters. The energy in the room reaches a dangerous high. I only manage to get one more hit in on him, a left hook to the nose before two guys grab onto me from behind, pulling me backward.
I pull my arms back, ready to pummel the bastards holding onto me when I see two more guys doing the same to Clark, making it so all we’re doing now is staring daggers at each other. Looking at Clark, I can see he’s pissed, like a bull in a china shop, ready to destroy, I’ve provoked him. But he provoked me too, bringing her here, antagonizing my anger.
He knows what she did to me, and how much it hurt, and still he brings her around, showing her off like she’s a trophy.
They separate us, dragging me out the front door before depositing my ass on the lawn.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. When they finally let go of me, I twist around, pushing up from the grass, lip curled, hands balled into tight fists, ready to fight. I’ll beat these asshole’s asses instead of Clark’s I tell myself. That is until I see that it's Remington and Thomas, two of North Woods biggest assholes staring back at me.
Maybe one of them I could handle, but two, no fucking way. Thomas is big, but he doesn’t have the stamina I know Remington does. I might be angry, but I’m not stupid.
“I don’t know what the hell that was between you and Clark in there, but you can’t just go around slugging people in the face. And I’ll warn you now, you’re not getting back inside the house until you chill out. If I have to separate you two again, I’ll kick both your asses.”
I’ve never seen Remington this pissed off before, there’s a vein bulging on the side of his neck and I get the feeling if Jules, his girlfriend, wasn’t standing five feet away, he would kick my ass, but since she is, I guess it’s my lucky day.
“What about Clark?” I ask, wondering if he’s getting the same treatment as me. Now that I’m away from Ava, her floral scent not sticking to my nostrils like honey I can actually think again.
