“All the better for you,” I promised, taking his hand and swinging it wide as we plodded across the lawn, Ryan directing me around the maze of expensive potted palms that dotted our path. “When you regret what we did all night tomorrow morning, you can blame it all on my state of inebriation and the fact that you just couldn’t resist your slutty stepsister throwing herself at you the night before.”
“That would be fine,” he chuckled, playing along as we approached the neon-lit pool area, “if I were drunk too.”
“So what’s stopping you?” I asked, shoving him playfully as we stood by the pool. Or, at least, I thought I was being playful. Maybe I wasn’t as sober as I thought – or perhaps didn’t know my own strength – because Ryan stumbled as if launched from a canon. I chuckled, amused at the big lug stumbling awkwardly around the big pool deck.
“You little brat!” he said, apparently none too eager to be shown up by a mere girl as he pivoted, hands extended, to return the favor and push me back. When he did, I felt myself launch up, out and back, suddenly aloft and hovering in mid-air for a moment.
I remained there, as if frozen in time, peering back at Ryan as his eyes grew wide with surprise and eventually, concern. His mouth formed a raw, wide “O” shape as he reached for me in vain, but by the time his long, thick fingers brushed the hem of my dress it was too late.
The moment was gone and in its place came the splash of water and the rush of waves as I landed in the pool, still wearing my fuck-me pumps, little black dress, and even littler black panties. The water wasn’t cold, but in my overheated state, it was certainly a slap in the face, figuratively and literally.
I sank quickly to the bottom of the pool and then, suddenly sober and wide awake, I emerged shaking my mane of long, blonde hair and spitting out water between chuckles and gushes of excitement.
“You asshole!” I gasped, splashing wildly as Ryan began to laugh – and laugh and laugh and laugh. “You. Ass. Hole!” I repeated myself, in between giggles of my own, that is.
As I stood there in the pool, halfway between the shallow and the deep end, the warm water caressing my skin, Ryan’s tank top and blue jeans splashed with water, suddenly sober and even hornier than before, I could feel the night… change… into something different and far more opportunistic.
Gone was the nearly averted tragedy of the nightclub and the long, winding, endless drive home from the parking lot. Gone was the wizened, weasely face of Randy-Rex and whatever he might have done to me. Now, the warm water caressing my skin, Ryan’s gaze warm and adoring upon me, and mine upon his, I could only feel the deep seated lust that had been simmering come to a long, low, roiling boil that threatened to consume me.
Yes, I’d been reckless, but couldn’t he see why? I never drank that much, or went to clubs alone, or acted so recklessly. It was all for Ryan, to seduce or silence him, to impress or challenge him. I hadn’t been able to sleep a wink since he’d returned home, and for once, I was glad for the sudden change in my all-too-bland lifestyle.
And just as suddenly, change was no longer enough.
I could only imagine what I looked like, standing there sopping wet in the pool, but however I looked, Ryan couldn’t seem to look away from the hot, sloppy mess that was his randy stepsister. His eyes drank me in hungrily, inch by inch, as he stood there, silent for the first time all evening. When he did speak, his voice was tentative and unconvincing as he tried in vain to play the part of the older, responsible stepbrother.
“Here,” he said, kneeling down to extend a hand. “Let me help you out.”
I merely shook my head, wriggling a wet, dripping finger as I backed gently out of reach. “Uh huh,” I teased breathily, purring as I inched away in the warm, sultry water. “I’d rather you join me.”
He shook his head “no” but at the same time, made no move to leave. If anything, he peered closer, the pregnant pause heavy and obvious in the air as he alternately ogled, studied, and beseeched me. Our eyes eventually locked and I could feel the heat, the curiosity, and the forbidden desire overwhelm us both so that he had to blink and look away from it.
I couldn’t blame him; not exactly. What we were doing, or at least what we both seemed to be thinking of doing, was wrong in so many ways. Not legally, per se, or even necessarily morally – we weren’t really brother and sister, for Pete’s sake. Just bound by family ties. But that was the rub. I would never want to hurt, or even embarrass, my mother by seducing her husband’s son – under her own roof, no less. And no doubt Ryan, despite his complicated feelings for Jerry, would want to hurt his father’s reputation if it ever got out that he fucked his stepsister. So, yes, it was wrong – and we both knew it. So why was I teasing Ryan in the middle of the night? And why was Ryan still staring at me, those hungry, aching eyes so clearly interested in what he was seeing?
But at least I had the excuse of being drunk. What girl, stepsister or otherwise, could be blamed for coming on to Ryan, particularly after nearly a dozen happy hour margaritas? Unfortunately, poor Ryan had no such excuse. He was strong, solid, older and entirely sober. And yet, here we were, both of us facing off in the middle of the dark, quiet, sultry night.
Glance away though he might, no matter where he looked, Ryan’s soft green eyes returned to mine, and I saw the desire still lingering there, hungrily. “Sure I can’t tempt you?” I oozed, shrugging my shoulder until one spaghetti strap of my dress, already loose, sagged down my shoulder. It felt delicious against my hot, feverish skin, like a soft, thin finger trailing my shoulder and bicep. He watched it hungrily, licking his lower lips as he knelt on the pool deck.
Urged on by his hungry glances, the middle of the night silent around the gently glowing pool, I shrugged my right shoulder until its strap slid down my arm as well. Wriggling both shoulders now, my hands beneath the surface of the gently rippling water, I tugged the dress gently down until I could feel the soft, wet, silken material rasp across both nipples until it passed over them, resting snugly across my waist.
The sensation was so erotic my eyelids involuntarily fluttered open and shut until, gently, I had pulled the dress partly down to beneath the water’s surface.
“Jesus,” Ryan murmured, shaking his head even as he watched me intently, eyes so wide it was clear he wanted to see more. “Jesus, Heather, we can’t—”
“Why not?” I murmured, tugging the dress the rest of the way off as I stood half-submerged in the warm, rippling water, tossing the tiny dress, sopping and damp, on top of the pool deck at my back.
My long body was pale and wet, my panties thin and sheer enough that I knew he could see the swell of my bush through the gauzy, silken front panel. Peering down briefly I saw my rough nipples stiff and erect, drawing out my small breasts to stiff, peaked points still damp from the pool water. I ached to touch them, or better yet, to have them touched, teased, fondled and caressed by rough, wet hands that shouldn’t have been upon them and yet, couldn’t resist.
“Why can’t we?” I murmured, inching closer until my pale, wet hands covered his as they rested on the pool deck. “Tell me you don’t want to, Ryan. Tell me right now and I’ll get out of this pool and walk away and forget this night ever happened—”
“Don’t you dare!” he gasped, and standing abruptly, kicked off his shoes before tugging at his tank top and jeans until they lay in a clump on top of the damp pool deck. In moments he had joined me, the water rushing around me – around us – as I marveled at his chiseled physique, bronze and hairless as he sank into the pool as effortlessly as sliding into a chair.
He wore, as always, soft, thin and now, thanks to gallons of clear pool water, sheer boxer shorts. His cock was thick and curved against the opaque material as he pinned me against the pool deck, our lips instinctively meeting in a breathless first kiss as we gave into our deepest, darkest desires.
I could taste the desire on his tongue, as bold and musky as the fragrance of his cologne, as hot and wet as the breath that slathered my neck as his kiss
moved slowly from my lips to my throat and down, gently, until two lips cradled my right nipple as he sucked gently until I nearly came from the vacuum seal of his mouth around my tender, aching nipple.
Despite his reluctance, his kisses were as eager and passionate as they were gentle and tender. I could feel the hum of his soft, yearning moans as they surrounded each breast, lips sucking and surrounding in turn, swollen and thick around my equally tender breasts. He alternated from one to the other, his hands on the pool deck at my back, licking and sucking until I gasped and bucked and responded in turn.
My hands traveled down his bare chest. It was as hard as it was hairless, as slick as it was beautiful, thrilling to every bare inch until I reached the waistband of his soggy boxers. I could feel his cock, thick and tempting as it dragged the very boxers away from his body and my hand, too tempted to wait, ran down the massive length of it as he gasped, and for a quick moment, parted his lips around the tender, quivering breast he’d been sucking.
I thought he would murmur and nod and slide back onto the quivering, taut nipple he’d left behind, or perhaps return to my mouth, gaping and open—desperate for his attention. Instead, he fled, pushing himself gently away from me as our eyes met once more before he fled from the pool, grabbing his clothes and dripping all the way into the house.
I sank back against the pool deck, gasping for breath, wondering if perhaps I’d imagined it all. Am I drunk enough to create another sex-fueled fantasy? I thought, turning only to find my little black dress, forgotten and crumpled and neglected.
No, smiling to myself as I reached for it. I couldn’t make up something so hot, even if I tried!
Chapter Ten
I woke up late the next morning, totally dry, extremely naked, and very, very alone in my bed. I was hung over, for sure, but in that weird, dreamy, fragile way that skipped the headache and went straight to regret. Visions of the night before danced behind my fluttering eyelids, then swam in my vision long afterward, like echoes of regret, desire and anticipation.
I ached for what could have been, what almost was, and what I still wanted so very, very badly. I had hoped that a real, live kiss from Ryan might bring me the closure I’d need to live under the same roof with him. That getting him out of my system, even in a drunken haze, would cure us both – but me, in particular – of the thought that this, that us, could ever work. I had hoped the embarrassment I felt at how I’d acted the night before would overshadow what we’d actually done but as more and more time went by, that clearly wasn’t the case.
I couldn’t get the thought of Ryan out of my head. He’d wanted me, badly— as badly as I’d wanted him and yet, somehow, he had the willpower to deny us both the pleasure we so equally sought. Now I lay there, my skin alive with the ghost of his touch, realizing I wouldn’t be satisfied until I had the rest of Ryan—until I had all of him.
I thought about getting up and seeing what he was doing, but instead, I lolled around lazily, the late morning sun filtering through half-closed blinds to dance across my naked skin, still on fire from where Ryan had pressed his entire body against me the night before.
I could feel my nipples stiffening at the very thought of it, as my pussy got wetter and I squirmed alone in my room, but I knew to try to pleasure myself hungover was a losing cause. Besides, maybe Ryan was feeling as horny as I was, and well… no way to find out lying in my bed with my hand between my legs, right?
I rose on fragile legs, my head wobbly and throbbing as I pulled on soft cotton panties and a thick blue robe, padding toward my door on bare feet. I could smell the pot smoke the moment I opened my door, thick and acrid from across the hall.
I smirked, never realizing my macho stepbrother was also a raging pothead. I soaked in the smell, smoke thick and dry in the hallway outside Ryan’s room. No better cure for a hangover, I thought, than second-hand ganja smoke.
Well, that and coffee! I peeled myself away from Ryan’s smoke-filled doorway and fled down the hall, then the stairs, to find a full pot still warm from that morning and a mug laid out for my use. No note, but the mug itself was a thoughtful and much-needed gesture, another one of Ryan’s mixed signals that always seemed to keep me guessing.
Was he feeling guilty about being a prick tease from last night? I wondered, spooning hazelnut creamer into the brimming mug. Or hoping for a second chance at my wet hungry cunt when I woke up? Was he regretting not going all the way with me? Or luring me up to his room where I could thank him for the coffee the only way a randy, denied stepsister could.
I shook my head, marveling at my sudden capacity for bad behavior and wickedly dirty mind. Though I liked to play the part, I’d never actually teased anyone like I had Ryan the night before – to say nothing of my would-be attacker, a reality that still stung even as I inhaled my first cup of coffee to prepare a second.
Regret hung heavy in the air, like Ryan’s pot smoke, drawing me closer as my hangover gradually dissipated. I found myself smiling and leaning in Ryan’s doorway.
He was on his bed, propped up with half-a-dozen pillows and burning a big fatty while jamming to something inside bright red earphones. I watched him, bopping his feet on top of the comforter. He must have gone swimming, for he was wearing baggies and a soft white T-shirt, his skin dappled from the same late morning light that bathed my room across the hall. He was breathtakingly beautiful, as always, his body a combination of simple, clean lines and effortless sexiness, with hard edges everywhere they should have been and soft curves that enticed me just as much.
The morning took on a kind of long, slow, ambient feeling, as I was stuck in time. I don’t know how long I stood there, sipping my coffee while leaning in the doorway, admiring him from afar as he lay on his bed.
He smoked with an expertise that made it clear this wasn’t his first time toking on a joint, and from the aroma, that bud wasn’t cheap. I soaked it in, feeling less hungover with every deep inhalation, sipping my coffee carefully as I remembered the trace of Ryan’s soft, full lips as they clamped onto my tender breasts and sucked for all they were worth the night before.
I wondered if he regretted it now, smoking away up in his room, having kissed his stepsister. He was a Marine after all. A military man taught to live by a set of rules that surely included right and wrong. Where did kissing me fall on that spectrum? And did he enjoy doing it—or regret enjoying it?
Do I? I wondered, watching him turn the page of some graphic novel about a vampire priest. Was it wrong of me to seduce my stepbrother, drunk though I might have been? Was it wrong of me to still want him now that it was the next morning and I was stone cold sober?
“Hey!”
Ryan sat up in bed, covering himself with a pillow as if I hadn’t seen the outline of his cock, thick and hard, only a few hours earlier in the shallow end of the family pool.
“What?” I asked, our eyes meeting across the thick, smoky haze of his room.
“Ever heard of knocking?” he asked, tugging off the headphones so that I could hear the thick, pumping strains of heavy metal-slash-rap leaking from inside.
I had to chuckle, looking from the half-open door back to Ryan’s stoned, half-lidded eyes incredulously. “It was half-open, you dork,” I said, eyeing the smoldering joint in the ashtray by his bed almost as longingly as I’d been eyeing him.
He seemed to consider me for a moment, literally scratching his head as his eyes gradually focused. He nodded, sinking back onto the piles of pillows behind his head.
Ryan’s room was a mess, the walls covered with a mix of Bob Marley and Marine posters, shelves littered with overturned books and old, tarnished trophies. A striped blue comforter lay on the floor and matching sheets sweaty and twisted beneath his lean, tempting frame. A girly girl before I’d left Miami and only recently adopting a tomboy attitude, I’d never spent much time in boys’ rooms growing up, but now Ryan’s lured me with an appeal that was hard to resist.
Like him, it was a mystery wrapped in a messy enigma. I coul
d see where, like Ryan, his room had started out neat—trophies on the shelves, books all in a row, a desk and chair set squared away in one corner. Then like the rest of him, it had gradually come… unhinged. Had he already been kind of a mess before his return home? I wondered, watching the smoke curl lazily from the joint in the ashtray by his bed. Or had coming back to the States been a harder adjustment than he’d at first imagined?
I inched deeper into the room, desperate for a hit—and not just off Ryan’s joint. He stopped me with a powerful glare, wagging his fingers as he shook his head. “Get out, Heather,” he grumbled, reaching with his free, non-wagging hand to take another hit as I stood, half-in, half-out of his room.
“Why?” I whined, half-naked and horny beneath my bathrobe. “I mean, doesn’t last night count for anything?”
“Please,” he said, rolling his eyes as a fat cloud of smoke swirled around his head and his eyes swam in and out of focus. The hit was almost enough to get me high from halfway across the room! “You were drunk, remember?”
I snorted. “Yeah, but not drunk enough to forget that you were stone cold sober when you jumped in that pool, Ryan.”
His nostrils flared slightly before he shrugged, either playing it casual or simply not caring – both hurt my feelings more than they should have. “My point exactly, Heather,” he said in a sudden burst of stoner logic. “You were drunk, and I was temporarily insane, which cancels out both of our actions.”
Suddenly it was my turn for flared nostrils. “So that’s it?” I grumbled, throwing my hands up in the air as my frustration at our situation boiled over at last. “We’re just going to forget that hot, wet kiss we shared last night? That hard-on in your boxer shorts or my hard nipples?”
Ryan winced a little, then sneered a lot. “Yes, Heather, we are. Despite your rather… vivid… description, that case is officially closed.”
“Who gets to decide that?” I huffed, pacing slightly as I still lingered just inside his room. “You?”
Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance Page 6
