Forbidden Love: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  "Horny teenager? When I was a horny teenager, I ignored you most of the time. You were too young, then–but now?" His head dipped and he tasted the sensitive flesh of her throat. It was slightly salty and he found himself wanting more. His teeth scraped a line across her neck, biting down on the other side.

  "You're going to get us caught," she said, but her hands on his shoulders weren't pushing him away. The distinction wasn't missed. His hands rested on her waist for a moment, and then he decided to test his luck and let one drift a little ways up underneath her shirt.

  She didn't move to stop him, so he let it rest. Her skin was hot against his hands, practically burning up. He let his hands drift higher, high enough that his thumb could just make out the feeling of her ribs under tender flesh. She let out a soft voice. He put a finger to her lips.

  "Hush, now. You don't want anyone to hear, do you?" Her jaw tightened as he returned to kissing his way up and down her neck. "Lay down," he said.

  His voice was firm, yet soft. She did as she was told without a question, without even seeming to think about questioning him. He smiled down at her. She looked up at him, propped up on her elbows and waiting expectantly. Maybe she hadn't wanted this to happen when she came in, he thought with a soft sense of amusement, but she hadn't been very opposed to the idea once he'd started pushing.

  "Pants off," he said, his voice soft. Maybe too soft to hear, he thought, but Amy wasted no time in starting to work the button on her pants. He grabbed at the fabric around her knees and helped pull the waist of her pants down over her hips, and then the rest of the way off and onto the floor. "Good girl."

  He stood back up, then, working the buttons on the front of his shirt. He could have gone quickly–but he didn't. Each action was slow, mechanical, drawing out the entire experience. One button, and then the second. Then the third. He pulled the tails of his shirt out from the waistband of his slacks. Another button undone.

  The shirt fell to the floor when he shrugged it off his shoulders. A moment later, his undershirt fell to join it. Amy pressed herself forward in the bed, her hands already moving to the hem of her shirt as she sat up. He put a knee on the bed between her thighs and put a hand between her breasts that blocked her.

  "Not yet," he said. He put the tiniest amount of weight behind his arm, but she let it guide her back to the mattress. His other hand fell to the waist of her panties, hooking a thumb in and pulling down. He matched it with the hand that he'd used to press her into the bed and with a slight raise of her hips, it was off.

  He pushed himself back, off the bed, and put his hands between her thighs. A faint smell of sex reached his nose, sending a surge of arousal through his body. Brett's hardness strained to free itself from the bounds of his clothing. He forced himself to hold.

  Then, very softly, he pressed a kiss into the soft skin between Amy's thighs. The look she gave him was almost quizzical. His lips twisted into a smile hidden by the way that he pressed them into her again, a little higher this time. Then again, higher still.

  His kisses, soft enough that they might not have been any more than brushing his lips across her skin, traced a line up the inside of her thigh until he could feel the heat coming from her sex as if it were radiating out. He leaned in, his nose almost brushing her soft curls–and then, right before he touched her hot flesh, he pulled away, tracing a line away from her center with one finger.

  His lips found the point where his finger rested, on her opposite knee, and began tracing another line up. Amy, who had started so indulgent, squirmed and looked down at him with an expression that suggested that she was far from certain about any of this.

  He nipped with his teeth, then, and Amy sucked in a breath that brought another smile to his face. He nipped again, continuing to trace his line up, only this time using his teeth, gentle scrapes that were just enough to set her on edge.

  And then, when he was close again, a surge of arousal set his jaw and he traced the kisses back down her leg. "Brett, if you're going to–"

  He stood and towered over her, pressing a finger gently against her lips. "I'm taking my time."

  She widened her eyes for emphasis. "My dad is–"

  "He won't come in here," Brett said. His voice was low enough that even someone listening at the door might not have heard, but he said it with such confidence that even if she didn't like it, and wasn't sure where that confidence could have been coming from, Amy had to accept it. He smiled, showing sharp canines that made him look unusually wolfish. "Trust me."

  She looked as if she had other questions, but if she did, his step-sister didn't ask them, and that was all that he could have asked from her. He knelt back between her thighs and began slowly again, taking as much time as he could. Amy looked like she was ready to throw something at him, but she allowed it.

  That was good enough, he thought. He wasn't asking anything from her but obedience, and as long as she delivered that to him, Brett thought, he wasn't going to complain. His lips danced higher, this time, the stubble of his beard touching against flesh so sensitive that she jumped, and he pressed another of those soft, brushing kisses against her mound.

  Then his mouth dipped an inch lower, his tongue gently spreading her velvety folds and flicking the sensitive nub of her clit. That drew another sharp breath through her teeth, and when she let the breath out, her voice came with it, softly.

  His tongue traced the same path again, flourishing when he got to her button, and he thought he could feel the blanket underneath her pull tighter as unseen hands fought for purchase on the bed for an instant. Then he dropped any pretense of teasing and dug in.

  She was already slick with anticipation, and every lick gave him a taste of her, sweet and tangy and erotic as hell. A finger started to explore the folds below his mouth, Brett enjoying the way that her sex tried to cling to him as his fingers moved inside her.

  He kept his movements slow at first, easing her into things, until he could bear it no longer, and then began, as slowly as he could manage, to speed himself up, pumping and flexing his fingers insider her, noting in his mind which spots drew the loudest gasps, which caused her to tighten up her entire body.

  He pulled her clit between his lips and sucked gently, pressing against a spot that he knew would bring with it a little gasp of pleasure, and all at once she convulsed a little bit, enough to tell him all he needed to know about how she was feeling. Then it was past time for slow, easygoing pleasure, and he moved with all the speed and coordination that his body would muster, moving in her, enjoying the feeling of her sex clinging to him, his tongue moving as fast as he could control it.

  He heard the beginnings of a moan, and then heard her cut it short, his eyes flicking up her body to see her hand stuffed in her mouth, between biting teeth. Even still, she let out hints of a voice, little noises of arousal, her body shuddering again as another orgasm rolled through her.

  She must have pulled the hand out of her mouth because he could hear her voice, breathy and low. "I'm done," she said.

  He rose and laid down beside her, then leaning against the wall. She moved, as little as possible he suspected, until her head was laid on his flat stomach.

  "What is it you wanted to talk to me about again?"

  His lips twisted into a wolfish, mean-spirited grin when she looked up at him, confusion plain on her face. "What? Oh. I just…"

  "You think we shouldn't do this any more?"

  She nodded.

  "Isn't that what we agreed on before?"

  She shrugged, but a moment later she nodded again. He was right, though he guessed she couldn't see his point.

  "So why were you giving me all kinds of weird looks, if we were already clear?"

  Another shrug.

  "I'll tell you what," Brett continued. "We won't talk to Jerry about it until you're ready. He won't find out if you don't want him to."

  "Are you sure?"

  Brett smiled down at her, brushing a hair out of her face in a motion that fel
t surprisingly natural.

  "Suck my cock," he said, softly. Though his voice wasn't hard, it wasn't a request, either. His step-sister moved to comply before she thought to respond.

  2004

  Brett rubbed his shoulders. They were sore. His entire body was sore, but it had been that way for so long that he barely noticed any of it most of the time. But his shoulders? Why should they be especially sore?

  Well, he knew exactly what it was, and if coach thought that changing up his weight training regimen was the right thing to do, then he'd do it. He wasn't so full of himself that a D-1 football coach wasn't allowed to tell him what to do, after all.

  There was a brief moment of consideration before he allowed himself to slip out of the truck and into the little coffee shop. 'Go out for coffee, my ass,' he thought sourly. He barely drank the stuff. When he did, then it was because he stayed up too late. He'd seen folks who drink too much caffeine, and they were jittery types.

  But if he wanted to get Amy out of his head, then he had to move on at some point. Wounds don't heal when you're just poking at them, and you sure as hell don't cure your stupid one-itis by never dating anyone else, never letting anyone else get close.

  He forced a smile onto his face. The girl today–Sam, he thought her name was, but he wasn't totally certain–was pretty enough. There was nothing wrong with her to look at, but that wasn't really important. If he wanted a pretty girl, he suspected it wouldn't be hard. With the girls coming through Fraternity Row on a near-daily basis, he would have an easy time if all he wanted was pretty.

  Amy was different from those girls. The things he'd liked about her weren't just her looks, though she'd had looks. It was a package thing. He'd been interested in the attitude, in the looks, in the style–and then as he got to know her, there were other things, too.

  If there were a girl with hints of that kind of depth, then he could get interested. He thought, at least. But first they'd have to show some hint of what he'd be getting, and there just didn't seem to be any of that happening, in spite of his best efforts to find someone to keep his mind off things.

  After all, two years was a long time. A long time to be distracted, and long enough that Jerry wasn't just going to mosey on down the road. He didn't think so, anyways. He wasn't around all the time any more, so maybe it was always his doing. Maybe if he was a little less…

  Pushing the door open, Brett banished the thought from his head. Maybe nothing. He wasn't going to lay his mother's troubled history with relationships on his own shoulders like it was some sort of mantle he could wear.

  Sam was in the corner, wearing a sad expression. He thought she always seemed to look sad. It was almost a surprise that she was a coffee drinker. She wasn't jumpy or tweaked all the time. If anything, she could use a little jumpiness. A little oomph. Like his step-sister had, he thought, and then tried to pretend he hadn't.

  "Hey," he said, standing over the table. She smiled up at him, a smile that only halfway touched her eyes and made her look a little bruised. He smiled back down at her, wondering if he looked the same. "You got your coffee? I can go try to get something, if you like."

  She showed him a cup, but it was empty.

  "I had coffee, but it's gone now," she said. Now the smile did, almost, seem genuine. He couldn't quite help smiling, either. He looked out the window. The conversation seemed like it would have been perfect if it were raining outside. Like a Julia Roberts movie or something.

  But it was bright, sunny skies, though the sun was on the opposite side of the building, so there was no unpleasant glare.

  "I'm not late, am I?"

  "No, you're fine. I was early, and got started early."

  "What are you drinking? I can get you another one."

  "Espresso," she said. "Double shot. Black, no sugar."

  He nodded. "Okay. I'll be back in a few."

  He turned back after he'd taken a few steps and waved. She waved back. Maybe he was being unfair to her. She was a good girl. At least, from what he'd seen of her, a scant few conversations after having seen her once or twice around campus. She wore her hair in a way that subtly reminded him of Amy, though he couldn't exactly say what the resemblance was.

  It fell in wavy locks, what he might have called messy if he hadn't looked at it. It was too intricate to be a mistake, but he swore that she'd done quite an effective job trying to make it look that way. She didn't have the wild colors, either, but she'd died it gray. The way that her skin clung tightly to her skin made the entire package seem strange from afar. When he got closer, though, he could confirm it no problem.

  It was charming. That was more than he could say for any of the other girls, so far. Charming, different, interesting. But it probably wasn't going to be enough.

  It wasn't as if he'd asked her, but Amy was the way she was because she was tough. Sam wasn't tough. Sam was fragile. Maybe, he thought, with a frown, she was too fragile. She always seemed on the verge of losing herself if he wasn't exceedingly careful around her.

  Then again, she'd gotten through life somehow up to this point. Before he'd stepped into the picture, it wasn't like she had relied on him. She hadn't dated in a while. She never talked about ex-boyfriends, and part of Brett wondered if maybe that meant she hadn't really seriously dated in the past.

  Which meant that he didn't have the problem that Mom had, which was a plus. She wasn't hoping that a man would fix all her problems for her. He looked at her, almost sad at the way that his thoughts seemed to be going. It was their second date, and at some point he was going to have to decide how serious he was about this.

  The fact was, whether she would grow to rely on him or not, he wasn't sure whether or not he was ready to saddle himself with someone else's problems. Not just so that he could fix his. He forced a smile and waved, and part of him thought that when she smiled back and waved, she was thinking exactly the same thing.

  21

  Amy

  Present Day

  Amy laid her head on his chest, and for a minute, she thought that she wasn't going to want to go for another round. Her body was tired, her mind lethargic. Like she felt when she'd taken painkillers after getting her ankle broken in a car accident a few years back.

  It was just so easy to slip into comfortable, pleasant thoughts. She smiled up at Brett. He smiled back down at her, though his smiles contained a little something more than hers. Something a little bit vicious and a little bit erotic and a little bit–It all added up to being surprisingly like him, even after all this time.

  She leaned up and pressed a kiss against his lips. He took her lip between his teeth and tugged just hard enough to draw a gasp out of her, one that she didn't mind giving him one bit. He lifted her up a little way with the arm that was circled under her. She took the hint, climbing up on top of him and pressing another kiss against his lips.

  Sweat not quite thick enough to form beads was on her forehead, but she could feel something building back up inside her, an itch that she thought she'd scratched again, one that she didn't know if she could ignore with him tempting her the way he was.

  It was his turn to stretch and crane his neck up, trying to reach her lips. She let him get close enough that she could almost feel his whiskers on her skin, and then pulled back just out of reach. He pulled her down on him, forcing her lips against his, and Amy laughed as she let him kiss her again.

  "You know we shouldn't do this," she said, though her voice still held the laughter that brightened her cheeks. "But I'll indulge you, maybe."

  His jaw tightened until it seemed as if it were going to crack on itself. "You'll indulge me?"

  Amy's eyes flashed a dare that she didn't put a name to. "If you're a good boy."

  "Is that what you want me to be?" She could feel his cock, already stiff again, pressing an arc into her butt. "I can be a good boy." He pressed a kiss between her breasts and traced a line towards her nipple, soft and almost chaste kisses, if it were possible. He kissed her nipple gently, and t
hen pressed a second, teeth yanking a gasp of something between pleasure and pain from her. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."

  She could feel an itch on the edge of her teeth, and she ran the tip of her tongue along them. "We'll see," she allowed, enjoying the expression on his face that said that he was just as caught up as she was. Then his fingers dug into her hips and she let him lift her up and lined him up with her already well-fucked entrance.

  Amy didn't need him to tell her what to do, nor did she need any help from her brother to know what she wanted. Her hips moved down quickly, only making sure to slow enough that she didn't hurt him. His eyes shut tight and Brett let out a curse. She heard a voice that sounded like someone being lost in their pleasure and was surprised to find out that it was her own voice.

  "Is that good?"

  She enjoyed the distracted nod he gave as he tried to move his hips under her. She started moving herself, starting softly, her entire body already over-sensitive from the last two rounds. It didn't take long until she'd gotten used to the sensation, and she no longer felt overwhelmed.

  Neither, though, did Brett. He grabbed her roughly, her brain already so caught up with pleasure that the roughness just blended in. Then, digging his fingers in, he moved his hips up to meet hers, fast enough that Amy could feel her mind turning off to put more processing power to processing the sensations.

  When he started to slow, finally, her eyes started to clear, her skin tingling with sensations that she didn't know if she could put a name to, even if she were to try.

  She forced her body to move, in spite of its protests that she wasn't capable of that kind of coordination. Brett was close, and she wasn't going to leave him to manage himself. She was better than that, at least. That was what she told herself, anyway, and she was going to make it come true no matter what it took.

  Amy thought that, after the last two, she could tell how close he was to orgasm by the look on his face and how he clenched his fingers against her. It started hard, and got harder until he was close, and then he lost the focus to keep his fingers tight, and they started to loosen and tighten all on their own. His fingers, gripping her hip bones like he was holding on for dear life, slacked all of a sudden and she forced herself to move faster.