by Nicole Snow
Stepbrother and I are curled up next to the pool, sharing a single lounge chair. When some of the early help arrives to start their day, they could notice us, but I can't bring myself to care right now.
I need his arms around me, his heat. It feels right. It's safe.
His embrace gives me one sane thing to cling to in my crumbling world – even though it's anything but normal.
“What do you think she was on? Do you think she tried to...you know? Intentionally, I mean?”
Chris shrugs. “She's been through this shit before, babe. Mom stopped thinking things through when I was about five years old. I'll put air in her lungs, but I'm not gonna sweet talk her and tell her everything's gumdrops. Decided I was done with all that years ago.”
I'm so worried about my dad. Even though they're both gone, it's like there's a thick anxiety descending over the house, more stifling than the summer heat. It's a hot day, and this coffee isn't helping.
Part of me wants to bury my face in Chris' dragon and trident. I want to cry all over his beautiful skin until I can't anymore. The rest of me wants to reach between his legs, reignite what we had last night, finding my peace in having myself joined to his flesh.
“He really loves her, you know.” I tighten my grip on Chris' neck and stare into his bright green eyes.
I'm talking about dad and Evie, yeah. But really, I'm talking about us, and I think he knows it.
“Yeah, he's a good guy, even if he could really use some manning up.” Chris smiles bitterly. “It'll be a real fucking shame when she rips his heart out. They always do in the end.”
I frown. “Not always. Maybe this'll be a wakeup call. I don't like her either, but there has to be a heart in there somewhere behind all the ice. It's not right, marrying a woman who's so far away from everything he ever wanted. I can't believe my dad would –“
Chris cuts me off, laughing. He puts a possessive hand on my thigh and squeezes, so hard it makes me squirm, and not from the pleasure.
“Come on, babe. Don't tell me you really believe in roses and rings and all that 'til death do us part sales talk. It's bullshit. So's all the true love crap that goes with it.”
I don't know why it's so hurtful. I look up, running my hand along his face. His jaw feels so strong, so tight, a sample of everything he's still hiding underneath his gorgeous surface.
“If you believed that, I don't think you'd have come here last night. You'd have stayed away after Vegas, Chris. Just like we promised.”
It's his turn to caress my face. He reaches up, dominant as ever, running his hand along my cheek.
“Don't get too excited, sis. Truth is, I couldn't have stayed away from your tight little cunt if I tried.” Growling, he slides his hand the rest of the way up my thigh, shifts my panties aside, and shoves two fingers deep inside me.
I gasp, arching, feeling the raging hard-on rising in his jeans. “Don't ruin a good thing by trying to put shit into it that isn't really there. You're not my girlfriend, Delia. You're just the best goddamned fuck of my life.”
His words are like knives, but his fingers...holy shit. I should slap him across the face and run back inside, if only he didn't stroke me so good, tethering my body to him like I never imagined any man doing.
He's a bastard. He's relentless. And, of course, he's right.
I won't admit it to myself. I can't. It hurts too much to have this kind of pleasure with him, knowing there will never be any love behind it.
My body drowns out the ache in my heart as he works his hands deeper, stamping his hot lips down my neck. His hips push against my ass, aggressive as ever, rutting the erection in his pants. He fists my hair and holds me to him, finger-fucking me fast, hard, and angry.
I go flying right over the edge. The tears that have been building since last night burst out, and my cheeks are wet as my brain short circuits.
I come hard, bucking against his hand, loving the way he touches me, works me, owns me. And I wish he'd keep me too – wish so fucking bad there weren't so many awful things between us.
“Keep it going, babe. You don't stop 'til I say so,” he orders halfway through. My pussy clenches harder, and his thumb adds more pressure to my clit, forcing me to feel it all.
The hurt. The passion. The twisted romance between us, and the future that'll never be.
It's officially too much. So is this thing we're doing – whatever it really is – fucking like newlyweds and living like strangers.
He pulls me in close when it's finally over, holding me down with his powerful arms. His lips meet mine in a rough, forceful kiss.
“Stop crying, Delia. I won't be out on my next big tour 'til summer's over. We don't have to stop 'til you're heading back to school in the fall. One summer, baby. One summer of this, every fucking night. I'll teach you to stop worrying about Evie, and how to make some boy extremely happy whenever he settles down and I'm a distant memory.”
He wraps his fingers around mine, brings them to his cock, and I squeeze him. Harder than I intend, because he's still pissing me off. He growls happily, enjoying the roughness.
Why does he have to be so rude? He thinks he's doing me a favor – is that it? Like I'm some kind of shy little ex-virgin with nothing else going in my life besides his swinging dick?
I look up, refusing to hide the anger, the hurt, anymore.
“Why do you have to be such an asshole, brother?” I say it with the same contempt he always uses when he calls me sis. “We're siblings, and we're lovers too. If you don't start treating me with a shred of respect, I'll forget all about this, and I won't even wait until I'm back in the dorms.”
I give his cock one more hard pump through his jeans, then rip my hand away.
God. It shouldn't be so hard to take my hands off his body. I force myself to stand up.
He looks at me like I'm a living, breathing challenge. He shrugs, pops up off the lounge chair, and slugs down the last of the cold coffee next to us.
“Whatever, babe. I'll leave you here today to think that shit over. It's your choice. I need to get to base. I'll drop by tonight to hear your answer.”
He hooks his thumbs through the loops on his jeans and pulls, straightening them, intentionally giving me one last look at the bulge raging in his pants. Then, without another word, he marches back inside, heading out.
I want to throw shit at him, wondering why the most beautiful spot on our property always has to be ruined by these stupid fights. I hate him, but I've got ten times as much anger howling through me, all aimed inward.
Chris is a natural asshole. A walking contrast. He's greedy and dangerously generous, arrogant as he is panty melting handsome. I won't change him anymore than I could stop a tiger from pouncing on a pile of meat.
He's right about one thing – it's totally my choice whether or not I walk away.
Ending this summer fling while it's just a sad, tumultuous episode is the smart choice. At least losing him now won't leave me paralyzed, like he'll be in the autumn, if I let him use me like this all summer.
But I can't imagine ending it now either. It hurts as much as it did when I thought about our last time in Vegas, all the years ahead without him, all the years I'd have to settle for...I don't know what.
I don't know, but it won't be Chris fucking Cleveland.
Asshole. Stepbrother. SEAL. And also the one man on the planet who's stealing my heart.
10
Unnatural (Chris)
I can't believe how fucked I am. I hide it well, but I can't hide how out of focus I am at the briefing. Commander Jones calls me out twice for zoning out, asking me if I want to return to the states in a body bag.
Shit.
“No sir,” I tell him, all I can manage before he returns to the intel images on the big board, using a laser pointer to identify the North Korean missile sites.
I force myself to pay attention while my fellow SEALs snicker. On the way out, Brandon slaps me on the shoulder, and takes up a spot next to me in the
gym for our workout.
“You're always sharp as a tack, Cleveland. What the fuck's going on? Your ma get into the junk again?”
I shake my head, adjusting the machine I'm about to give my pecs and shoulders hell on. He's one of the only guys I've told about the demon in my family tree.
“Oh, shit.” Brandon pauses, grins at me from his leg press. “It's pussy then, isn't it? You've started fucking some chick more than one night. Jesus, you should've let me know sooner. I'd have told the commander we've got a damned double-agent in our midst.”
I give him the middle finger once I've got my arms in place. He laughs it off, and I'm quietly stewing because he's right.
I keep telling Delia the same damned thing I've been telling myself – it's just a summer fuck. An extended version of what we started in Vegas, yeah, but it doesn't mean anything more than that. It can't.
I don't do love, and I'm sure as shit not dating my own goddamned stepsister. It sounds insane every time I put it together like that because it is.
Too bad my dick decided a long time ago it isn't listening to a lick of reason. I workout for more than an hour, stressing every muscle in my body to failure, and I still can't get her out of my head.
I haven't even followed up on the family shit with mom yet because it's only going to make things worse. I'm too busy thinking about all the times Delia's hot, tight cunt sucked the come from my balls, how bad I want to feel her do it over and over and over again.
That's when I realize Evie's not the only one in this family hooked on some bad shit. Hers is heroine, or whatever the fuck she's got herself on now.
Sex is mine, especially when it's causing me to think too much about a chick when I ought to be thinking about how to survive the most dangerous mission of my life.
I know what I need to do. I need to quit her like a bad habit before the boys in DC send us over the DMZ. If I'm still thinking about her pussy when there are bullets blowing by my ears, I'll probably be coming home in a thin black sac, just like the commander said.
What'll little sister think then after we've been fucking half the summer? I shake my head, stopping to wipe the sweat off my face with a towel. I'm the only bastard left, putting in overtime, trying to work out all the shit rattling around in my skull.
It's no good. I'm only going to hurt her worse by dragging this out, especially if something deadly happens overseas.
I'm used to people disappointing me. Evie's done it my whole life, and now I'm just numb to her shit. But I can't do that to Delia when I've already got my hooks in too deep.
I'm going to break it off the second I get a whiff of us heading off to war on the fastest transport across the Pacific.
You'll do it, I promise myself, quick and clean so she doesn't get fucked up. I'm serious about it, and determined as all hell.
But before I do, I'm going to get in one last fuck.
It's a warm evening by the time I leave base. I head for the mansion, expecting to find Delia out by the pool, where she always sits and reflects.
I've never seen her swim. All I can think about is dragging her into the cool, turquoise waters and getting my lips all over her body, drowning in so much ecstasy I blow her brains out. Make her forget what we've got, or at least settle for this summer fucking without any strings.
There's somebody else out there instead. Mom looks up at me when I step outside, turning her head. She looks like hell, laid out in the evening sun, her pale body wrapped in what looks like several layers of towels.
She's got a drink in her hand too. Just fucking great, when I know she's under orders to detox. All she needs is a cabana boy in a speedo, and her evil queen act will be complete.
“Christopher!” I simmer when I hear her say my name, watch her beckon me forward. She points to the big chair next to her.
I keep standing. “Are you feeling any better, or what?”
“Yeah, Bruce has been amazing through this whole thing. He's made friends with some very good doctors too. I'll be just fine, son. Thanks so much for your calls of concern while I was trying not to choke on my own vomit.”
I snort. There's the bitch I know. Her smile disappears into the long pull of green margarita against her lips. She slams the glass down when she's done, glaring at me like I just put my hand in the pool and threw it in her face.
“I kept you breathing, ma. That's all I'm obligated for. You're the only one who can fix your life.”
“Stop passing judgment,” she snaps. “I didn't ask for this. I asked for your comfort, Mister SEAL. A few kinds words or a hug would be really nice.”
“Oh, please. Haven't you gotten plenty of that from Bruce? Looks like all the money in the world can't buy a doc who gets you off the sauce.” I motion to her empty glass.
She smirks, sloppy and angry all at once, telling me she's already pretty wasted. She rears up in the chair and has to pull the towel tight to keep it from slipping.
I twist my head away. Fuck that shit. The last thing I need is a look at her overbuilt boobs, the only investment she ever dumped money into over the years.
“What? Nothing there you want to see, kiddo? Hm?” She snaps her fingers, forcing me to look at her again. “Oh, that's right, I'm too old for you. Too blood related. You'd rather fuck your little sister instead and tear this family apart, piece by piece, wouldn't you?”
I'm stunned, but I shouldn't be. I've put up with these vicious tirades my entire fucking life, and I learned a long time ago the only defense is to turn around, leave her to stew, and walk the hell away.
She picks up her glass, twisting it on one hand, contemplative the way I imagine a foreign interrogator being during torture.
“I don't know what the fuck you think's going on. You're flat out wrong, mother,” I say, trying not to let the growl overtake my voice. “I didn't come out here to listen to your shit. Why don't you go crawl back inside and dry yourself out? Or are you out here because you finally feel a shred of guilt over making that poor sap fight your demons?”
She smiles, sweet and poisonous as a jungle snake. This time, she throws the glass so hard it shatters. I don't even flinch, despite several shards landing at my boots.
I watch her hand jerk back, and she studies the fresh cut she's given herself. It's one more wound that's so small in the grand scheme of her fucked up situation she probably can't feel it.
“You think Bruce is the one playing hero here? Really?”
I need to turn and walk the fuck away – before she says anything else about Delia. It's a perfect time. She's lazy, drunk, and now her only weapon is gone. But part of me wonders if she'll throw herself into the pool the instant I step out, yet another attempt at drowning herself, jumpstarting the drama all over again.
“I don't think anything about this shit, mom, because I'm done.”
The latest overdose was her fifth stab at suicide in about as many years, and it worked better than anything else. The crazy bitch really almost offed herself, unlike all the other times, when she stopped short of putting herself in the danger zone. Just close enough to get her fill of sympathy.
“Go ahead and run back to base, soldier boy,” she chimes. “Jesus, you really don't have any balls, do you? I gave you tough love, Christopher, tough fucking love. Now look at you – just look! Living like a robot, loving like one too. No family. No friends. No father. The only one in this house you're on intimate terms with is that brown eyed bitch you're sticking your dick in, and that's because she's just as screwed up as you are. I'm all you've got, son, and the sooner you realize that, the –”
Fucking shit. I tune her out.
If she weren't so goddamned crazy, anybody but my own flesh and blood, I'd have picked her up and thrown her in the pool about ten words in.
My skin feels like it's going to melt. She's kryptonite, my Achilles' heel, my own personal demon, all rolled into one.
I've survived drills that left me sore for days. Bastards shooting at me, planting IEDs on the road, hearing m
y fellow SEALs scream as they're cut to pieces. And I still don't know what the fuck to do with the bitter psycho in front of me, sucking in her cheeks like she's chewing on the world's most vile lemon.
I turn sharply like I'm on parade, and I'm about to go when she gets up. I can't resist looking over my fucking shoulder, even though everything in my skull is screaming not to.
Her eyes are tiny pinpricks, angry and red. Hot tears are falling down her cheeks, and she's shaking, holding the towel so tight against her throat it looks like she's going to choke.
“You're really just walking away? You can't even argue back anymore? Are we that far gone, Chris? I'm your own fucking mother!”
“I know what you are, Evie,” I say, channeling my rage into the fists hanging at my sides. “I know what you do to people, and how you're a thousand times more fucked up than I'll ever be. I know I'm done, and I won't be around for the fallout. Not anymore. Not ever. Save your shit for Bruce, as long as he's willing to put up with it, which won't be long.”
“No, no, no...” I hear her whispering it behind me as I start to walk away.
I'm about halfway back to the house when she runs toward me. She's barefoot, so I don't hear her until it's too late. She tackles me, wraps her hands around my throat, tries to throw me on the ground the way she used to when I was twelve years old, before I bulked up and became a man.
I threw her off easily, slamming her into the pavement. It's a strange irony to see how things have changed over the years. She's lucky she's got that towel to cushion her blow. The last thing the bitch needs is a cracked hip, but it's her own damned fault.
“You ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything. Food, shelter, drove you into your career, that stupid fucking job that takes up everything, sucks the life out of you.” She's given up fighting, and her fingers are in her eyes, digging in as she rattles off all her insane bad son litanies.
“It's not a job, mother,” I say coldly. “I'm serving this country, protecting communities here at home and overseas. It's duty. I feel sorry for you some days because you'll never grasp those concepts. You're too far gone, and so's this whole goddamned situation with your sugar daddy.”
