4:22.
I blinked my eyes, wide awake and stared at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock by my bed.
4:23.
“Fuck,” I growled, tossing and turning one last time before finally sitting up and admitting the cold, hard truth: I wouldn’t sleep another wink that night.
“Shit.”
Not that I’d had much sleep before I finally risked glancing at the clock by my bed, squinting at the glowing red digital numbers in the dark and hoping against hope that I’d slept straight through to morning and it was just cloudy outside.
After leaving Ryan at the dining room table I’d drifted upstairs, paced a little in front of my bedroom picture window then, finally, dressed for bed. Chastely, I might add, just in case Ryan might drift upstairs wanting to talk. By chastely, I meant a longer nightshirt than the soft, pink, threadbare cotton one I’d been wearing for years.
I hadn’t really expected him to stop by, not really, but would have welcomed it all the same. The thought of Ryan suffering—and suffering alone—made me anxious, uncertain, concerned, all at the same time. I’d had plenty of affairs in my young life, though none lasting longer than a few hot weeks, or maybe even nights. With no father around to worry about, the only other person in the world I’d ever given a damn about was Mom. Now that she’d found Jerry, well, her life had been trouble-free for most of the last year. So caring for Ryan was an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, feeling that added an entire other dimension to my already restless nights.
With one eye on my bedroom door, I’d absent-mindedly watched a few boring TV shows on my laptop, read a few pages from my book, then promptly zonked out well before midnight. I slept fitfully for a few hours before my eyes popped open, then slid shut, then open, then shut. Then an hour or so ago, I was firmly and officially wide awake.
I tossed, I turned, I plumped my pillow and punched it, bundled up in my sheets and kicked them off, counted sheep and even prayed, all to no avail. Now, the gleaming clock numbers growling 4:24 at my face. I finally gave in and stood up, pacing quietly across the hardwood floor of my room as I considered my options.
It was Friday morning now, no classes at school, no work until the semester was over and my savings ran out and I had to find a job like every other kid at Chestnut Community College.
I could, and probably should have gone for a run, but I just wasn’t feeling it for some reason. Usually I couldn’t wait to get up and jog a few miles around the bucolic, scenic neighborhood my mom and I had moved into when she married Jerry, but for whatever reason, I just couldn’t muster the energy to drag on footie socks or tie the laces of my favorite pair of pink and blue running shoes.
Though I was far from physically tired, the peaks and valleys, ups and downs of trying – and failing – to seduce my stepbrother had left me feeling tapped out emotionally. I felt drained as if I’d just run a marathon entirely in my mind. I was far from a tramp but had never had trouble getting a boy into bed before. At least, not if I really, really wanted him. Ryan was a specific case, though, one who had high standards, and apparently, high morals.
Go figure!
As a result, I just wasn’t feeling an early morning run, which usually would have been so appealing to me. The endorphins alone would have revived my spirits and maybe helped me get over Ryan sooner, but I just couldn’t muster the energy to get the old legs pumping.
There were other things I could be doing to improve my life. For instance, I suppose I could have done some homework for my Modern Sociology class but fffuuuccckkk that! I could have organized my sock drawer or folded all the tiny panties wadded up on the top shelf in my closet. Again… blah! Nor did the thought of dragging open my laptop and binge watching some new TV series on Netflix have my heart racing, either.
It felt strange, being at loose ends. Despite my “bad girl” attitude of late, I was normally a very pro-active, well-organized, busy, get things done gal. To be frozen by inaction, unsure of what to do – or even where to go – next felt as off-putting as wanting someone who didn’t want me back.
Still pacing, growing more and more restless and frustrated with each aimless step, I happened to glance out my half-open blinds to see the pool, long and shimmering under the soft moonlight.
My lips curled into an involuntary smile as I considered all that soft, warm water caressing my skin, still so feverish and flushed with unrequited desire. Add a few long, luxurious dips in the hot tub to soothe my weary body and mind and who knows – I might just fall back asleep on one of Jerry’s soft, comfy lounge chairs, snoozing contentedly until the warmth of the sun woke me up again. It sure beat binge-watching Season three of Vampire Vixens Academy or rearranging my sock drawer, that’s for sure.
Suddenly inspired, I scoured my walk-in closet for my favorite two-piece bikini and slipped it on, grabbing a cover up at the last minute to drift quietly out into the hallway. I could hear the gentle, rhythmic snores coming from Ryan’s room, and drifting away toward the stairs, descended them with a quiet mix of relief and disappointment.
On one hand, I was glad I wasn’t disturbing him and would have the whole pool to myself. On the other, Ryan was good company and I wouldn’t have minded a continuation of last night’s conversation. He was clearly hurting, obviously suffering, and I hoped, somehow, my little pep talk had helped him last night.
I could easily picture us leaning across the kitchen counter from one another, a pot of coffee brewing, nibbling on some bagels or Danish while I peppered him with questions about what he’d seen overseas; what he’d done. Maybe he’d tell me, maybe he’d not, but in my limited experience sometimes just knowing someone cared to ask was better than therapy itself. Alas, the big lug was sleeping in, leaving me alone to enjoy the entire house by myself.
My bare feet padded across the moonlit kitchen floor as I peered into the fridge, glancing idly at a vast array of bottled juices and sodas but not feeling it.
That is, until my eyes landed on one of the cool, frosty green bottles of Chinese beer I’d bought for our impromptu feast the night before. Sure, it was a little too early for a beer—or was four in the morning too late?
What the hell? I thought, grabbing one and opening it with a refreshing sigh as I took a long, cold sip to fight back the restlessness that had awakened me over an hour earlier and left me tossing and turning ever since. The beer was crisp, cool, dry and tart, both filling and refreshing–and way better than caffeine!
“Perfect,” I muttered dreamily, sauntering out onto the pool deck and finding the quiet solitude refreshing and just a little… enticing. After the stilted, fetid atmosphere of the big house behind me, so bursting with desire unfulfilled that it had grown claustrophobic, the patio area and its lush environs were a breath of fresh air.
The pool deck was sheltered from our neighbors, with its towering palms and long, winding fence. Ryan was dead to the world, asleep in his room for supposedly the next few hours. Knowing I’d be alone for at least that long, the musings of freedom came again, making me feel wicked and even a little naughty in their wake.
Sliding off my stringy beige cover up, the fabric caressing my bare skin, I felt the elation of being alone and free overtake me and continued undressing as I untied my powder blue bikini top before stepping out of my chocolate brown bottoms. I felt naughty, naked, and bare to the world as the cool morning air surrounded my feverish skin and slid over my taut, pert nipples and across my belly.
I brought the cold, musky Chinese beer along with me as I stepped into the shallow end, the lukewarm water caressing my skin as I descended step by step, resting the green bottle on the tiled pool deck as I sank beneath the surface, gloriously refreshed and butt naked, emerging to finger comb my long blonde hair behind my back before taking another sip of beer.
It felt vaguely thrilling to be here, naked and submerged, my skin glowing in the pool’s dim light as I swam a few half-hearted laps before the luxurious feel of water against my flushed skin was too tempting to ignore. I smirked dre
amily, rising naked and dripping–in more ways than one–from the pool to sip my beer in the hot tub, one hand on the cool green bottle while the other drifted lazily between my legs.
I began to sweat as I toyed with my pussy. The wet, throbbing heat and gurgling bubbles against my ass and thighs loosened my inhibitions as my finger drifted down, lower, to glance across my overheated clit. The slightest touch sent a sizzle of excitement across my skin, I shifted ever so slightly so the water jet hit me right in the sweet spot, just above my asshole. That and my slick, wet fingertips on my clit combined, would provide maximum stimulation to get me off in no time—but I wanted to wait. I wanted this one to be good—no great!
“Jesus,” I gasped, moving my ass gently across the stream. I was so desperate and horny that I’d finger myself at four AM in the family Jacuzzi! But why the hell not? I reasoned, a second fingertip joining the first as my eyelids slid half-shut with lazy, overheated desire.
Mom and Jerry would be returning mid-week and what had I done with their time away from home but pine for a stepbrother who only thought of me as a little sister? If he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, satisfy me, I’d just have to do it myself.
And do it well.
I lingered in the hot tub, sipping my beer and teasing myself, wanting it to last, wanting it to build and crest so that I came so hard my cries would wake half the neighborhood. I slid my ass across the water jet again, this time moving up and down so the stream licked me from my asshole to my clit. God, if only Ryan would be so willing!
Forcing myself to slow it down, I stood abruptly from the hot tub, skin flushed and pussy fragrant with desire as I returned to the pool, the water cooler now but no less inviting as I sank beneath its surface and emerged, reaching for my beer only to freeze, hand in mid-reach.
“I thought you might need a new one,” he said, standing in the sliding glass doors, one foot on the deck, the other still in the living room. “You look a little… hot and bothered.”
I nodded, too shocked to speak. What had he seen? “But… I heard you snoring?” I said, instinctively covering my bare breasts as he inched closer, a cold green beer bottle in each large, masculine hand.
He shrugged. “I’ve been tossing and turning all night,” he confessed, looking edible in his standard sleepwear of thin, cotton boxers that, as always, left little to the imagination. “I finally gave up and came down for a glass of water when, lo-and-behold I find my little stepsister, well… like this…”
I blushed, watching him set the fresh beer down before sinking onto the pool deck to join it. He slid his feet, then ankles, then calves into the water, trilling them back and forth beneath the surface as if it was summer camp and he was sitting on a floating dock. “I didn’t… I thought I’d be alone.”
“I can leave,” he said, “but you looked pretty fucking hot.” Making no move to back up his claim. Instead he sat, swirling his big feet in the soft blue water, gazing at me shamelessly, his lips curled into that wicked, crooked smile.
“No, no,” I said too quickly, reaching for the beer he’d brought me. “I mean, who would bring me refills then?”
He chuckled, his belly flat above the waistband of his boxers, torso littered with exotic tattoos, nipples hard in the pre-dawn darkness. His eyes were luminous beneath the moonlight, his cheeks still scruffily sexy—even dangerous. He watched me linger, one arm still half-covering my bare breasts as my heart pounded. My insides throbbed with a delicious mix of confusion, frustration and even… anticipation.
“A little middle of the night skinny dipping, huh?” he mused, stating the obvious.
I shrugged. “It sounded refreshing,” I said between fresh sips of my new, cold beer.
“It looks it,” he said, his voice filled with something much more than curiosity.
“I’d tell you to come in and try it,” I sighed, resting my beer bottle next to his on the pool deck as I gazed up at him from the soft, trickling water. “But we both know how that ends…”
“Maybe not,” he mused, gradually, after a pregnant pause. “Maybe this time it… ends… differently, Heather.”
I arched one eyebrow, my belly quivering, and not just from the long, slow fingering session in the hot tub or the shock and awe of seeing Ryan and his bulging boxer shorts beside the pool.
“Is that so?” I chuckled, nervously, my heart hammering as blood rushed through my ears.
He nodded, polishing off his beer before setting it onto the deck and promptly lifted himself up with both hands and slid deftly into the pool. His body was trim and fit, his move so athletic, he barely caused a ripple as he slid into the water, bare torso glistening beneath the furious moonlight, his eyes alive as he began to wade closer to me.
“Uh huh,” I teased, wagging a wet, dripping finger and stopping him in his tracks. “This is called skinny dipping, Ryan, and you’re… severely… overdressed.”
He chuckled, and with a similarly deft movement, reached down to quickly tug his boxers off. He lifted them from the water, dripping from one long, thick finger, only to toss them next to my clothes near the shallow end.
Chapter Thirteen
“Fair enough?” he teased, inching closer as I admired the long, luxurious lines of his naked body. He was statuesque, to put it lightly, long, sculpted legs, a narrow waist, broad shoulders and a glorious, fat cock, nestled amidst a small but robust patch of brown pubic hair, glistening beneath the water’s rippling surface.
“Oh,” I murmured, my heart hammering and pussy melting as I backed up as far as I could go. My shoulders were pinned against the same pool deck where he’d pinned me only days earlier. “I’d call that more than fair.”
He followed my eyes down to his stiff cock, smirking, even blushing, when his eyes drifted back up my body to meet my own. “I could say the same about you, Sis,” he murmured, ripples from his advance toying with my already quivering belly as we stood in the shimmering pool at damn near five in the morning.
I blushed at his words, finding the strength to reach out one hand and place it on his chest. “Just… stay there,” I murmured, gazing in his eyes before beginning the long, slow journey up and down his glorious body and back up again. “I want to enjoy every moment of this.”
He chuckled, his chest vibrating under the touch of my left hand as I used my right hand to trace several tattoos and then a variety of ribs and abs before, at last, it settled on the crook of his hip. His skin was warm and hard, like living granite beneath my fingers. I could feel him trembling and took comfort in the fact that I wasn’t alone in my nervousness.
“Jesus, Heather,” he murmured, our eyes meeting in the dark as I continued to hold him at arm’s length and admire every inch of his glistening, wet body. “What the hell are we doing?”
I shook my head, my wet hair rasping across bare shoulders. “I don’t know, Ryan, but… doesn’t it feel good?”
As if for emphasis, I inched my right hand closer to his well-tended pubes and gently caressed his long, stiff cock. It was hard and veiny, like warm, slippery velvet in my light, loose grip. He moaned with delight, his eyes temporarily fluttering open then shut before he nodded emphatically in reply.
“Jesus, yes,” he finally gasped, cock pulsing with need. “I want… I want this so bad, Heather.”
I nodded back, stroking him harder as the motion began to make tiny, then larger, ripples in the pool’s surface. “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you,” I confessed, before his lips smothered mine with a breathtaking kiss that simultaneously confirmed all my suspicions and turned my world upside down.
He wanted me, he didn’t want me. I wanted him, I couldn’t have him. I started something he couldn’t finish and then, days later… this. What are we doing? I wondered as I continued doing it even as his breath threatened to smother the very life out of me.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, gasping as we both came up for air. “About us. About… this.”
I nodded, the throbbing sensat
ion of his velvety cock slick in my hands as we inched closer to the shallow end, doing an awkward, indelicate dance as we fumbled toward the steps and rose from the water. “I know it’s wrong,” he grunted, finally sweeping me up in his arms as he stepped from the pool and onto the deck, “but I can’t fucking help it. I want to fuck you so hard.”
I felt positively light in his grip, both our bodies dripping as he carried me to the nearest deck chair. “It can’t be wrong if it feels this right,” I murmured, too horny to feel embarrassed over uttering one of life’s cheesiest clichés. He ignored it anyway, probably feeling the same way, as he gently lay me down on top of the soft, mauve cushion and stood above me, hard and glistening in more ways than one. His eyes were alive with desire, his cock pulsing as I lay beneath his penetrating gaze, squirming with desire and anticipation as he licked his lips and nodded, as if replying to a question neither of us had asked.
At least, not out loud anyway…
I was wet and dripping, and as he knelt between my legs, so was Ryan. His body was even more sculpted in the dramatic moonlight. Hard edges rough lines stiffened by enticing shadows as he gripped my ankles and spread my legs so slowly I nearly came with anticipation. Beneath me the lawn chair creaked, and the cushion rasped against my naked skin, a delightful scratching upon the backs of my thighs and clenched ass. I was naked and open to him before I knew it, splayed out and bared as he inched even closer.
“Wrong or right,” he murmured, gazing at my body as if he’d never seen a naked woman before. “I’m going to eat your pussy until you come!”
I squirmed at his dirty talk, snorting momentarily before I realized… he wasn’t kidding. He was hungry – he looked hungry – a man about to feast on something he truly, insatiably craved. I settled in for the feast, thighs spread wide and bare feet nestled on top of the backs of his calves as he ogled me intently.
As I stretched my arms above my head, gripping the lounge chair cushion for support, Ryan bent to pepper my fluttering belly with soft, wet, urgent kisses that sent little bursts of desire through my skin. I could have come from this alone–his lips on my belly, so soft and sensitive above my burning bush, nipples taut and tender under the bare moonlight.
Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance Page 8
