“Uh, Paige? What are you doing.”
I lightly kiss his navel, feeling the muscles there ripple under my lips before I look up at him with my eyes hooded; “I think you know.”
He raises an eyebrow, a grin starting to spread across his lips; “You sure?”
“Just...just tell me what feels good.”
The bulge in his pajama pants is throbbing and hot under my touch as I run my fingers across it before I slide them up and into the waistband.
It’s now or never, because after this, there’s no going back.
I tug.
Oh my God.
He’s huge, thick and throbbing and almost pulsing at it pops out when I tug his pajamas down. OK, I mean again, it’s not like I’ve got any frame of reference here, but holy crap is he big.
That fits inside of people? Holy shit.
I slowly bring my hand up and with a small gasp, I start to wrap my fingers around him. He’s burning hot to the touch, and the combination of silky soft and hard as iron is fascinating to me as I start to slowly stroke my hand up and down him.
Ok, where do I even start with this? Kissing? Kissing is good. He groans when I press my lips to the underside of it, and when I dart my tongue out to gently lick it, he moans; “Yeah, just like that.”
His words embolden me, and I start to feel braver as I move my mouth up to the crown at the top and open my lips. I let my mouth slowly slide over the head, wrapping my lips around that pulsing crown and sucking gently.
Knox hisses, tossing his head back; “Just like that.”
“Is that ok?” I say softly, pulling away from him and looking up into his eyes.
“Paige, that’s fucking amazing.”
I’ve got this; I can do this.
I wrap my lips around him once again and start to suck again, this time stroking him with my hand as I swirl my tongue around the head. He’s groaning under my touch, his hips bucking slowly and his hand slides gently into my hair as I slowly suck and tease him.
I get into a rhythm of sliding my lips and my hands up and down him, getting him wetter and harder than I could ever imagine it getting. He leans up suddenly, and I gasp as I feel his hands running down over my bare back to cup my ass.
“Mmm, what are you-!” I whimper as I feel his hand delve under the fabric of my panties and down between my legs to find me wet and ready for him. I muffle my own cries by wrapping my lips back around his cock and sucking hard as he slides a finger into me and starts to thumb my clit.
My mind is a whirlwind as I bob my lips faster and faster up and down his shaft, stroking him and moaning into him as I feel his fingers sliding rhythmically in and out of me, coaxing me higher and making me whimper around him. There’s something so hot about this, so decadently forbidden, with the added dirtiness of our parents being downstairs that has my mind spinning out of control in no time.
Knox groans and slowly reaches down to pull my head up from his lap. I pout as I look up at him; “Was it OK? Do you want me to stop?”
He grins; “Paige, I don’t think I could ever want you to stop doing that,” I blush, feeling my lips pull into a grin; “But if you keep doing that, I’m going to come really soon.”
For some bizarre reason, an old piece of horrible graffiti I saw once in the Music Hall bathroom comes to mind; “Spitters are quitters.” It’s crude, and gross, but I do know one thing; I’m no quitter.
And I want it.
He gasps as I just lick my lips and then engulf his head again, swirling my tongue around him faster as my hand starts to pump the rest of him. He groans as he leans back over me, his fingers going right for my clit and rubbing me there in tempo with my own mouth on him. I whimper, feeling the electricity of it roaring through me, and knowing that I’m so turned on already that I’m going to topple over that edge so quickly.
Knox groans deeply and he suddenly swells up even bigger between my lips; “Oh, fuck, Paige-”
And then I feel it, like a hot jet against my tongue splashing into my mouth. I’m not quite ready for it, and it starts to spill out of the corners of my surprised lips, but then I’m sucking and licking at the salty sweetness of it.
He groans loudly as he comes, and his thumb blurs over my aching, buzzing clit before suddenly I’m coming too, moaning with my lips still stretched around him as the orgasm tears through me.
And then I’m up. As quick as my entrance, I’m slipping back up to him and kissing him on the cheek; “Sweet dreams,” I whisper, before I’m sliding back out of his bed.
“Hey, hang on, where are you going?”
I can feel my cheeks burn in the darkness of the room, but I kiss his cheek once more before sliding my lips over his ear; “Gotta go study.”
And then I’m skipping across the room and out through the bathroom, my cheeks bright red, my pulse pounding at a million miles an hour, a huge grin across my face, and his taste still lingering on my lips.
So, yeah, after that, things get much more fun around Chez McCauley.
We don’t explicitly talk about that night in the week following, but we don’t have to talk when we’ve got other uses for our mouths and our fingers. The whole next week is filled with flirty exchanges in passing around the house, sneaking stolen kisses in the pantry or sneaky butt-grabs when her father’s a room away. I have no idea what the fuck is happening to me, but I know she’s the reason.
Of course, just because we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t mean that first exploratory night isn’t permanently on my mind. Yeah, we’ve been fooling around almost every night when one of us sneaks into the other’s room after dark since that night, and I’ve even felt the fucking heaven that is her mouth twice more since then. But still, that first night; yikes.
I mean, she might be a virgin, but I sure as shit ain’t. Like, not by a damn mile. I mean I’ve been through girls, and a few women, but even with that experience and background, I can say with my hand on a fuckin bible that that mouth of hers is beyond anything ever. She’s had some practice since, but that first night is still the single hottest, greatest blowjob ever; like, in the history of blowjobs. And maybe it’s that it was her first time, or her inexperience that made it so fucking incredible, but in any case, it has permanently secured itself in my all-time greatest hits fantasy list.
And of course, that’s not the only thing we’re practicing. I’ve also made it my mission to see how many orgasms I can give her in a row with my own mouth before she’s begging me to stop. Like, physically pushing me away as she gasps for breath begging.
But as they say, practice makes perfect, and I’d like to say I’m dedicated student of her pussy.
I’d also like to think I’m working on myself with all this too. For instance, the old me wouldn’t still be stuck on third base a week later with this girl. The old me would’ve been pushing for a lot more by now.
Except I’m not the old me with Paige. The new me isn’t quite so much a dick as I think I maybe have been in the past. Like, all this fooling around with her? It’s fun, and don’t get me wrong, it is incredibly hot knowing that every single thing I show her or every single thing we try is all new to her; it’s all firsts.
But I’m also pretty keenly aware of the fact that his is all new to her, which is why I’m not pushing. Because I can be a real prick, and a real asshole - I mean, believe me, I know that. But pushing her to that is just beyond even me. Besides, when a girl like Paige gets to that place and is ready to give that up to someone, it should definitely not be with a scumbag like me. If she’s somehow gotten to be a month away from going to college and still hung on to being a virgin, she might as well save it for someone special.
You know, someone not her stepbrother.
*****
The sound of Bach, or maybe Beethoven - and really, with the amount of classical piano I hear around here, I should probably start knowing which is which - floats through the house from the great room. I follow it with a glint in my eyes to see Paige, sitting prim and upr
ight with her back to me as she dances her hands across the keys. Why the glint in my eyes? Why, because my mom and Joe are gone for the afternoon, and there are a lot more places in this giant ass house where I’d like to spread her thighs and taste her besides our bedrooms, that’s why.
She smiles as I slide onto the bench next to her, her hands still spindling across the ivory as she shoots me a quick grin. I follow her fingers for a minute more, before I let my own hand drop to her knee, right at the hem of her skirt. She doesn’t even falter, even though her face grows redder as she approaches the crescendo of a movement, her eyes darting across the sheet music in front of her as I stroke the skin of her knee.
It’s when I slide my hand higher, across the smoothness of her thigh, that she finally falters. The notes tumble and sputter to a stop as she rolls her eyes and turns to me; “Knox.”
“What?”
She grins; “Stop it, I need to practice.”
I sigh and shrug dramatically; “Well, so do I, princess.” I grin as I slide my hand up to the lace edge of her panties. I grin; she’s upped her panty game since we’ve been fooling around like this. And while it’s totally unnecessary, the fact that she’s thinking and knowing that someone’s going to see them every morning when she picks out a pair to slip on has my ego swelling up, well, more than it probably needs to.
She rolls her eyes and pushes my hand away again; “Knox, seriously. I need to go over this.”
“And I need to get in this,” I say with a shark-like grin on my face, sliding my hand right back to where it was against the front of her panties; “C’mon, no one’s home.” Her breath comes haltingly as I slip a finger under the edge of her underwear, sliding over her lips. She’s wet, and hot, and now there’s no way I’m letting her off the hook for a little mid-day empty-house fooling around.
“Knox-” Her voice is sharper this time, and she bites her lip as she pushes my hand from her. OK, twice is teasing, a third time is a message. I don’t push for a fourth shut-down.
Paige looks at me and then her lap, her hands twisting around each other; “Look, I really do need to do this.”
“Oh, what, like Columbia will suddenly say you can’t come to their fancy-pants school anymore if you skip one piano lesson?”
“No, but it’s the principal.” She looks up at me; “Don’t you have anything that drives you to keep going? Something you really have to work for?”
I arch a brow at her skirt hemline and clear my throat; “Well, apparently, something I have to really work for.”
She blushes and rolls her eyes before she levels them at me; “Knox, what are you doing next year?”
Oh fucking hell, not her too.
I fucking hate these conversation, and these overplayed soundbites that people keep saying over and over to me, as if suddenly it’s going to change my mind. It’s the same shit my mom’s been saying for years, and the same tired lines my guidance counselor at school kept on me about.
“You’re not applying yourself’; “you have so much POTENTIAL.”
Potential for what? For slaving through the grind of college like every other douchebag out there so that I can graduate with massive debt and a worthless degree I’ll never use anyways?
Yeah, pass.
Maybe if you’re someone like Paige, you play that game. If you’re someone like that, and the school and the piece of paper and the “cultural experience of college” is just part of your whole resume for the life that’s already been set up for you, then fine, go for it.
But not me.
I mean, I get it. I get what saying “fuck college” says about you to most people when they hear it. And it’s not that I’m not thinking about my future either, it’s just that whatever I do, I’m doing it my way, cause that’s just who I am.
And the last fucking thing I need is Paige fucking McCauley giving me that same boring-ass lecture.
“Don’t you want to go to college?”
“Not really, no.” Jesus, can we go back to the part where I was about to slide my fingers into your pussy and then make you come on my tongue?
“Aren’t you worried about your future?”
“My future is not dependent on paying a bunch of money to go to some place that’s going to rip me off on overpriced books and a shitty room for four years before sending me out with a useless piece of paper.”
Paige sighs; “Knox, you know what I mean, I don’t even mean college per-say, just-”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Look, let’s just fucking drop it ok?”
She huffs, standing from the piano bench and crossing her arms over her chest. I can practically see my possible chances of fooling around floating up through the ceiling; “Why are you being so difficult about this?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, princess,” I growl, standing myself and glaring at her across the piano bench between us; “Enough, ok?” And with that, I whirl around and storm out of the room.
Fuck this.
“Knox!”
I jolt out of my little storm cloud just in time to avoid slamming into my mom as she comes through the front door with hands full of shopping bags; “Sorry, mom,” I mumble out, trying to hide the shock on my face of her being home so early as I stoop to help her pick up the bags of new clothes.
OK, as weird as this whole sudden marriage to Joe is, I’m happy for her. I mean, when I think back over the last year since my dad - or even when he was still alive- with her working two or three jobs all the time, I can’t even picture a time when she got to go out and just shop for herself.
“What’s with the sour-puss, honey?”
“Nothing,” I say with a grumble; Oh, you know, just having a disagreement with my new stepsister; you know, the one I’ve been fooling around with for the past week?
“Well, turn it upside down, mister grumps,” She says, using the pet name she’s called me whenever I was pouting since I was little; “And dress sharp tonight for dinner.”
“Huh? Why?” Great, the last thing I want to do is have some boring “fancy” dinner with Joe and Paige right now.
“Joe’s friends, the Rileys, are coming over for dinner, that’s why.” She looks at me and shakes her head; “You remember Joe talking about them, right? The one with that handsome boy for Paige?”
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
“So, see you for dinner, OK?”
Fucking, wonderful.
I’m doing my best to comb and twist my unruly hair into something resembling tamed as I sit at the vanity in my room, staring into the mirror.
Why is Knox so difficult?
It’s not what I should be thinking about right now. What I should be thinking about is the fact that I’m sitting here in a slinky evening dress wearing freaking eyeliner which is so beyond the norm for me, and it’s all in preparation for this weird pseudo-date setup thing my dad’s lined up with Josh Riley.
It’s like something out of puritanical times, like I’m being bartered into some sort of “good stock” family in order to “further the family line” or something.
Or, you know, further my dad’s business by partnering McCauley Oil with Riley Shipping and Transport. And hey, all it takes is marrying your daughter off like some sort of tribal barter.
No problem; thanks, dad.
But yet here I am absently brushing my hair and not thinking about all that, but of the boy in the room next door. The boy I shouldn’t thinking about at all.
Crude: A Stepbrother Romance Page 12
