by Nicole Snow
My bed's still a mess from the most unsatisfying sex of my life. Yeah, Maggie's got the looks and she took my hateful thrusts like a champ, but my balls haven't stopped aching because they know damned well what they want.
Who they want, I should say.
I fucked the last woman in my bed rough and loud. I fucked angry, fucked her with steam whistling through my blood, rutted her soft wet cunt so hard my frustration nearly ripped a few condoms.
I know damn well what I really wanted too while I was railing my club girl in a way she'll never forget. I wanted Claire to hear it all.
I'm such an asshole I wanted to keep her up, rob her of sleep, anything to make her wonder what it'd feel like to have my cock owning every inch of her fuckable silk.
How fucked is that? It's pretty far down the road to hell. And if there are a few demons circling like vultures, waiting to usher me in with their pointy pitchforks, I don't give a single fuck.
Everything I care about begins and ends with her holding onto that ticket.
I don't even know if Little Miss Perfect's gonna give me the time of day, much less show up to see me beat the guts out of another dude. My asshole father dropping a new car in her lap's just icing on the shit cake, the fucked up confection we've made with this rampant hate between us.
If she tells me to fuck off forever next time I see her, I won't be surprised. I'll understand.
But there's not a single chance my dick's gonna stop throbbing as long as she's in this house, one wall away, warm and wet and way too perfect.
There's only two choices here. Counting them on one hand just makes me wanna form a fist and smash it through the nearest wall. But I can't ignore it. I can't do shit with this fork in the road except roll the dice and choose a side.
It's simple. I'm either gonna fuck my own step-sister before the summer's out, demolish her high and mighty act forever on my dick, or else I'm gonna end up drooling in a straitjacket.
I keep a low profile for the next few days. Making the rounds at the club earlier in the evenings, then waking up early to train. I skip every bullshit family dinner.
There's no point in seeing Claire 'til she's ready to tell me what the fuck she's decided about my invitation. And there's definitely no reason to subject myself to more evil eyes from my old man, and more fake sympathetic looks from Congresswoman Golddigger.
I wash down my Gatorade with a few shots of thousand dollar bourbon snuck outta my old man's liquor cabinet. It's all I can do to get some shut eye during the day, or else keep myself from marching right through the wall and demanding an answer from Sis.
Sis. The word alone tells me she's untouchable. But I won't take no for a goddamned answer.
Hell, the taboo is half the reason my cock turns into steel every time I think about taking turns with my mouth, my hands, and my dick between her thighs. If she gets one taste of me, she'll never go back.
One kiss. One squeeze. One wet, growling fuck.
That's the goal here and it's all I need. I refuse to let myself wonder whether or not she's a virgin – thinking she is brings my balls dangerously close to rupturing. If she's ever fucked another man, then I'm gonna fuck every single trace of him away forever when I get my hands on her.
I'm not only gonna fuck her a few hundred times by autumn – I'm gonna hear her beg for it.
There's a gentle rap at my door early Friday morning. I hit the sheets after a late night at the club. Two drunken shitheads got themselves bloody over some girl, and I had to break it up personally, then hung out past four in the morning for the police report.
The grog instantly fades from my head as I shoot up. I readjust my shorts as I'm walking to hide the massive wood that's been rampaging through my dreams. Tearing the door open, I almost can't believe she's really there.
But she is.
Smart black skirt, baby blue business blouse, and a wavy top that gives her that hot nerdy school teacher look I love on my babes. My dick tries to do a fucking somersault in my boxers.
“You coming to find out when we're leaving, or what?” I try to hide the hopeful tone in my voice.
She lowers her pretty brown eyes right away and I know it's not good news.
“Ty...why do you have to make this so hard?”
Fucking don't, I want to say. Don't let me. Don't breathe a goddamned word unless it's about how you're coming with me to the big match.
“I've decided you're more of a hothead than a total asshole.” She pauses, probably stunned by the rosy red blossoming on her cheeks.
“Hothead, huh? Fuck me sideways. That's good news, right?”
“It is,” she says softly, digging her small teeth into that lip I want to rule with my tongue. “Look, you're probably not a bad guy. But if our last few encounters taught me anything, it's that we always end up pressing the wrong buttons. I don't want to piss you off again and cause another crazy argument. And the truth is, I don't know how to avoid pissing you off.”
“Easy,” I growl, grabbing at her hand and pulling her inside. The door slams shut behind her with a quick jerk. “You chill with me, look pretty, and laugh at my jokes. I'm not asking for the fucking world, especially when I'm just looking for some sisterly love and support.”
She frowns, throws her hands up. There's a little flinch in her wrists as she comes dangerously close to touching my chest.
No, it's not my imagination, fueled by this raging hard-on I've got for the chick in front of me. She can't keep her hungry eyes off me. I watch as she takes her sweet time trying to regain control, find her words.
“Ty, I'm not saying we have to be enemies...”
“Then what the fuck are you saying? Talk straight. I don't like this dance.” I fold my arms, all I can do to keep from throwing them around her and heading straight for the hot ass underneath that skirt.
“We can't be friends.” She blinks slowly, finding the courage to look at me. “We both know there's too much tension between us. God, it's more than just the constant bickering. You know what I'm talking about too.”
Her eyes are bright, searching, pleading to come much closer to mine. Know it? Fuck yeah, I do.
Unlike her, I'm way past ignoring it. I stop her right there, close the small space between us, and rip my t-shirt shirt off.
“Know what, babe? I know you're bullshitting me, pretending you don't want to see this shit in action.” I flex my muscles, bowing up like a fucking peacock.
God help her, she smiles, lights up in the middle of all the confusion and anguish pulling at her face.
“Come the fuck on, Sis. We're family. We'll never be picture perfect, but we don't need to kid ourselves. Be straight – just for once in your life. Forget prim and proper.” Fire shoots through my veins, and I push her to the wall, running one hand through her hair. “Be honest.”
“I – I can't...”
My free hand goes straight to my dick. I wait 'til she looks down, and then I give all ten angry inches in my boxers a squeeze, letting her see it jerk in my fist, drool the pre-come I wanna gush inside her.
“You want me, babe. Admit it. After all the blowouts we've had, after all the times we've locked horns, you'd still be all over this unruly bastard in my pants if I wasn't your step-brother. This bullshit marriage is the only thing that's stopping us from breaking the bed.”
“Ty! No, no.” She shakes her head ferociously, trying to get away. “See, this is what I'm afraid of...”
“Don't be scared. Embrace it. We gotta talk about this shit out in the open if we ever wanna move past it. I'm no psychologist, but I know sticking our heads in the sand like goddamned ostriches won't fix shit. It's okay to want this body, Sis. It's okay to think about me fucking you. I've had the same thoughts – and I want more than fantasies.”
Her face darts up and her mouth drops open. I smile, feeling like the millions in my trust fund just for getting that shit off my chest, out into the open. Doesn't do a damned thing to stop the blood roaring in my cock.
&nb
sp; I try to focus on picking Claire's jaw off the floor so I don't get my hands on her skirt, giving into all the depraved shit I've been thinking about nonstop since she came into this house.
“Stop worrying, Claire. We're not gonna fuck. Not really.”
Yeah, right. I can't believe the words coming outta my mouth. I fully intend to mount her and find out if that sweet cunt's just as tight and hot as the rest of her. But I've gotta throw her a white lie, just a little one, before she runs off screaming, overheats, and blows herself to kingdom come.
“I don't understand where you're going with this, Ty. This...this is officially too fucking much.”
Shit. Every f-bomb firing off her tongue ties my dick in knots. Her dirty mouth soils the prissy good girl, shows me there's more inside her than the flagpole up her ass.
I step up, place a brotherly hand on her shoulder, tightening my fingers in her soft flesh. Mostly so I don't head for the perky tits just inches south, or slide up underneath that skirt I want gone like nothing else.
She's gotta be soaked. Even with her face twisted and on the verge of tears, she's looking at me like every girl has before I carry her to bed for the night.
“No, it's not too much, Claire. This is what we both need. I need to see you watching me pop this bruiser's jaw outta alignment. You can run your eyes all over me. Go ahead. You don't gotta feel guilty about it. You need to take a good, long look, just like the sun, and let your eyes burn so you can't see me this way again.”
She's trembling. I angle myself so my raging dick isn't right against her belly and wrap my arms around her, pulling her in. Jesus, she smells so sweet. Soft. Feminine.
“Is that really what it's going to take? How do you know it won't make things worse?” She looks like she's going to die just acknowledging I've uncloaked her feelings.
“It's all we've got. Who knows how fucking long this sham marriage will last – months? Maybe years? Hell, maybe the rest of our mom and pop's natural lives.” I can't imagine it, but stranger things have happened. “Do you really wanna do this dance forever? Make these awkward faces across the dinner table and scream at each other on the beach because we can't fuck? What the hell do you think your hubby's gonna say some day when he sees you can't keep your eyes off your rowdy step-brother?”
She cracks. Claire's sniffling when she pushes her face into my chest. I feel her tears against my bare skin. Something about that gives me a tiny shred of guilt.
Shit. I'm a manipulative sonofabitch. But I'd never hurt her.
No fucking way.
I'd lift up the whole fucking world and body slam it cold if anybody ever hit her with a barbed tongue or a malicious fist. No, I don't know what'll happen after I end up snatching her panties like I think I will.
All I know is I won't break her heart, and I've never been so sure about something in my life. Shit, I can't even think of doing it, especially if she opens her legs and finally lets me in.
“Think on it for another day. Just one,” I whisper. “When you come home this evening, let me know if you're coming to the fight. I'll drive you there myself. Hell, you can take a cab and leave a note if you want. Just be honest with yourself for once, babe. Open up and do exactly what you want.”
She jerks, tearing herself away from me. This time, there's no stopping her. The conversation is done. Claire yanks my door open and stumbles out into the hall, tripping all over the heels she's got on.
I feel bad about that. But I also can't stop imagining those office shoes digging into my ass while her legs are wrapped around me, fucking her into sweet submission like the wild bull I am.
“I'm going to be late for work,” she snaps. “I'll...I'll let you know. But I swear to God, Ty, if I decide I don't want any of this, then stay the hell away!”
Her finger darts out. Her eyes are watery, angry, and red. I'm standing there shirtless, with the worst boner of my life stretching my tight boxers, leaving no doubt about my true intentions.
I give her a nod. She turns around and heads for the stairs, and this time she doesn't miss a step.
At some primitive level, I think she realizes what I'm doing. I haven't just asked her to be my little Sis at an underground brawl she's got no interest in.
Moral support? I don't fucking need it. I'm used to doing everything myself. I know what the old man thinks of my shit, and I resigned myself to blazing my own path a long time ago.
This isn't about that. This is about an invitation to sort out our problems with raw, hard, frequent fucking. It's the best medicine – hell, the only medicine – I've ever known since my balls started pumping come.
I sink backward against the wall, so wound up I'm about to explode. I'm gonna run and punch and swim myself into a goddamned coma before she comes home. We both know what's on the line.
And the idea I might actually get what I want makes my muscles tremble 'til I stop and clench everything from head to toe.
If Claire gives me a yes tonight, then she might as well sneak into my room, strip off everything except those bitching heels, and straddle my face.
If she says yes, it's only gonna feed the fire. It won't really resolve shit between us.
Yeah, I'm a bastard for lying, but she's a smart girl. We know damned well there's no extinguishing this shit once it gets going without us all over each other, every fucking hour.
I grab my dick one more time and lick my lips, heading for the gym. I've never wanted to know what a girl tastes like this bad while I'm warming her up to fuck.
Before the weekend's gone, I swear I'm gonna find out.
I don't hear shit. I shouldn't be surprised.
By evening, right before I'm supposed to head to Club Zing for the match, I'm going berserk. I'm scared for my opponent in the ring, and whatever skanks I find after it's done.
I'm gonna fucking kill somebody tonight, and it's all because of her.
Little Miss Perfect, the only woman who can't be bothered to give me the goddamned time of day. Little Miss Perfect, chickenshit as she is hot, the most infuriating bitch on the face of the earth. Little Miss Perfect, who won't stop burning up my balls, even when she's leaving me high and dry.
I'm seething. I nearly rip my clothes dressing, feeling the lust and disappointment come raging into my knuckles.
There's a knock at my door, and for a second, I stop. Could it be?
I fling it the fuck open and my heart dives like a hawk. There's my old man standing there, a sour look on his face.
Goddamn. This isn't the night. If he wags his finger at me, I swear I'll break the fucking thing right off.
“What's up, Dad?” It's all I can manage without letting out my volcanic smoke.
“Message from Claire, relayed through Mandy. She asked me to come down here and tell you myself.”
Now, my ears are up. I step aside, letting him into my room. He hardly ever comes into this space, and he can't hide his disdain either. He takes one look at my messy bed and the gloves I use for practice, and turns up his nose.
Fucking asshole. Messenger or not, some things never change.
“Your sister says she'll be at your club tonight. It's just taking her a little longer than usual to get home from work. She's doing overtime today for the internship.” He says it like it's supposed to mean something to me.
“Whatever, Pops. So am I. You think these charity things aren't good for business? I'm all about giving as much as the next guy with a heart, but it's good for building the club's cred too.”
“Ty, come on.” He slowly blinks and rushes back toward the entrance, ready to leave just as suddenly as he arrived. “I know all about the PR value a little charity brings. Spree raised fifty million a few months ago for –“
“I know. You crowed about it all over the press while I was celebrating my last birthday.”
He stops, turns, and sniffs. “Now, Son, you know I'm a very busy man. That's the price for lifting up our name and giving us this lifestyle. Someone's got to do it. There's no need
to get angry.”
Not you, the fuck's preaching between the lines, throwing it in my face like he always does. He doesn't think I'll ever match his lofty heights.
Well, fuck him, I don't need to. I'm gonna live my life as more than a slave to the shareholders, and I'm sure as shit never marrying a gold digger looking for a few more cash injections to fluff her political career.
“I wasn't getting pissy about it. I'm a big boy, Dad. It's not like I need you to light the candles on my cake. Don't need your help running my club either. I know what works.”
“Of course you do, Ty. I'll be right behind you whenever you announce an expansion in the near future.” He cocks his head slightly, knowing I've refused that shit a thousand times. “Try not to bring your sister home drunk or damaged. She's a good girl. Much too good for this family, I'm afraid.”
There's no point to screaming in his face. I grab the door and slam it so hard in his face it rattles the whole basement. I'm lucky it didn't break the frame or splinter the wood – wouldn't be the first time.
I wait 'til my old man's footsteps are on the stairs before I move. Shit, I haven't even had time to think about what he said.
She's gonna be there. She's accepted my invitation. That's something, yeah? Even if she's either too busy or chickenshit to say it to my face.
Fuck. It's happening.
I finish packing up my shit, polishing my little speech to the donors from a few notes I've scribbled on my desk, and then I'm gone. I'm not gonna blow tonight and squander this chance to get my lips all over the hottest chick I've ever met.
The weekend traffic going into Seattle slows me down. I'm roaring into my private parking space with less than ten minutes to spare. My boys meet me at the door and start ushering me to the back.
Ed, Mike, and Tommy keep this place in one piece when I'm away. They've been my brothers since high school, and the only thing that keeps this place from running on auto-pilot without me are their own egos butting heads. That's why I've put the big Swede over them as head manager, a guy named Karl.
