by Amy Faye
"I want to cum in you," he said softly, lining himself up with her entrance as she lifted her hips to allow him. "But you're going to decide to let me."
"Oh God, Jeff, I don't—" The feeling of tightness, of warmth, of her walls gripping at his cock as she descended it, all threatened to overwhelm him as she lowered herself down.
"Or not," he added, his hands wrapping around her hips and helping to guide her down until they were pressed together as tightly as two people can be.
It would be her choice, but it wasn't. Because she had to say no to him. And he already knew that she couldn't, whether she wanted to or not.
Chapter Nineteen
He'd told her that she wouldn't have to do anything that she didn't want to do. But as she sat there on top of him, her insides coiling up with arousal and need and fullness, she had a thousand questions racing through her mind.
Was he lying? He could have been. There's nothing to say he wasn't. He could lie any time, it wouldn't even be hard. All it would take would be for him to change his mind and bam—no more money. No more school. No more Julliard.
She rocked her hips forward and the feeling of his cock hitting her deep down inside took away her doubts and concerns for a second.
She moved her hips back again, his body grinding against hers, her clit pressed firmly into him, her body finding every bit of pleasure that it could.
Even if she could say no—he'd given her no reason to actually believe that she couldn't—then that counted for things she didn't want to do, sure.
But what about things she wanted desperately to do? What about things that she shouldn't want?
She moved herself a little faster, his cock jabbing into her with a mix of pain and pleasure and more than a little bit of recklessness mixed in as well as she knew that he wasn't wearing a condom.
She could climb off any time she wanted to. He'd warn her before. It wouldn't be any fun for him, she knew, if he didn't. It was her decision to climb off of him.
Her body screamed to keep going. To move faster. Her hips moved forward, moving his cock around inside her at the same time, her need driving her hips to move faster and faster, each movement sending spikes of pleasure through her entire body.
The other thing that it screamed out for, in spite of having every reason that she absolutely couldn't afford to give him what he wanted, was for him to cum in her. To give her his potent sperm.
It was hardwired in her brain. The need to procreate. To get him inside her, and keep him inside her, no matter what happened.
If she got knocked up, that was the end of her dance career. Likely, if their parents actually got married, then it was the end of his career, too. Just because it wasn't incest didn't mean that it wouldn't play out that way. Didn't mean that he wouldn't be humiliated.
And yet, even as her brain fought back against the growing need inside her, it fogged up more and more. She became less able to tell herself no.
Orgasm was approaching fast. The lights of the cars driving by hit her back, lighting up the inside of the truck for a second at a time, every few moments. Anyone who cared to could see her, could see her moving on top of him.
Anyone who cared to would know exactly what was happening.
Would they think that they were being safe about it? Would those passers-by think that he was inside her without a condom? Would they imagine that she's clamping down on him right now, milking every last drop out of him?
The image in her mind sends another shock through her body, and Cathy leans forward and presses her lips against Jeff's. He wraps his strong arms around her and presses his hips up, thrusting himself deeper than she thought was possible, hitting deep inside her.
Those people driving by, some of them would no-doubt be aroused by what they saw. By what they were doing. What if someone stopped to watch? What would she do then? Would she even be able to do anything, or would she just be a quivering mess, stuck in this world of need and pleasure?
He pulled away from the kiss, his hips moving in time with hers to push his cock deeper into her, pulling back when she pulled back until he was almost outside of her warmth with every thrust.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "You feel good."
She couldn't help but enjoy the sound of that. She shouldn't be doing any of this. It was all so wrong, all so inappropriate—never mind illegal, which it most certainly was.
"Oh, you feel good too."
"Don't stop." He pushed into her again, his hands helping to move her hips for her, as if she needed some sort of encouragement. As if she wouldn't continue all on her own.
As if she could stop herself if she tried.
"Oh God, Jeff. We really shouldn't."
"I know that," he says, his hips moving up to meet hers. It makes a slapping noise where he hits against her, and then he's pulling back out, leaving her feeling empty and praying for the thrust that will come an instant later. "But I want to. I'm close. Are you going to let me cum in you?"
Her hips come down hard on his cock. Maybe she can change her mind. Just another—she's so close. As long as she keeps moving but gets off in time, it's no problem. She can afford to take the risk. Just one more thrust. She's so close.
She pulls back away and slams back down onto his cock.
"Good girl, oh, keep going, Jesus."
His hips are moving erratically now, trying to dig deeper into her, find the closest that he can possibly get to her womb. To the place where he most wants to be. Her eyes drift shut.
So close. So close. Just one or two more, and—
She presses down onto him and his hands clamp her hips down, keeping them glued together, and she feels him kicking and spasming inside her. The twitching sends her over the edge, turns her from a mass of need into a quivering little slut, and she can't deny, as his warmth spreads through her belly, that it might have been exactly what she'd been hoping for.
Chapter Twenty
There's something oddly liberating about never needing to find someone. There were plenty of reasons that back in Tennessee, Jeff never turned any of his nights into relationships.
None of them were as good as the girl in his arms right now. He'd been busy. He wasn't looking for anything permanent, not when he knew that he was just going to go for the team that came to him with the biggest offer.
It would mean leaving, after all. No reason to dig in and try to feel something for a woman with a plastic body and a plastic life when he could just have his fun and go home.
But now it seemed like that was all just his brain trying to rationalize a decision that he'd known somewhere deep inside him was the right one, without knowing why. Now, laying there in a hotel bed, Cathy's head on his chest while she dozed, it wasn't hard to figure out why.
He'd been waiting for her. For the right woman to come along, the perfect woman. And, more than that, the perfect opportunity. How many young guys had a girl at their beck and call, waiting for the opportunity to please them?
Not many, and most of those are settled down and married. That comes with its own set of issues. He couldn't imagine walking away from Cathy, not really. But that didn't mean it wasn't an option.
No, it wasn't on his mind specifically because it was an option. Because at any moment, whenever he started to get nervous about the relationship, he could easily step back. She'd always be there, at the edge of his life. Knowing that, he'd do what he wanted now, and see where things went from there.
If they went in the direction of having a relationship, then that was the direction they went. Easy. But if they didn't—and there was a good chance that she'd want to back away from it when she was living in New York and he got traded—then it was no big deal.
Sure, if he went over to the Giants, or the Dodgers, then she might not have a problem heading out to California to see him on occasion, but what if the Royals suddenly decided they wanted to have a winning record after all?
Was Cathy really going to leave the city for that? Even occasionally?
Would she really fly out to Kansas to see him? It wasn't likely. Rather, the whole idea was laughable. No, of course she wouldn't. And he didn't expect her to, any more than she no doubt didn't expect him to fight like hell for a trade to the Mets or the Yankees.
Even still… something about it sat wrong with him. Like there was some itch in the back of his mind, some uncertainty. He pulled her in closer.
"Hey," she mumbled, still half asleep.
"Hey," he said back.
They laid there another few minutes before her phone buzzed. Places to be, people to see. Practice to get to, work. The day wasn't long enough for either of them, no matter how much time they tried to carve out for each other. There was only so much time to be found, and most of that stolen from sleep or eating or trimmed off of commute times as best they could.
Jeff watched her from the edge of the bed, watched the way that her breasts had to squeeze to fit into her clothes, and then all of a sudden it wasn't squeezing at all, as if they'd been made that way. No doubt clothes were designed that way, but watching it all happen was strangely erotic all by itself when it came to Cathy's body.
She looked up to see him watching and raised an eyebrow. "I've got to go, Jeff. I don't think we have time for another round."
"No?"
"Are you asking me to?"
He smiled. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Cathy rolled her eyes and pulled a T-shirt on, pulled her leggings up. "Whatever you would like, sir."
"Later, maybe." He stood and pulled his jeans on, slipping his sneakers on. Some day, not too long from now, he might have to deal with having some kind of shoe contract. It was strange to imagine.
That was the sort of thing that happened to famous people. To the best pitchers, the best players, in the world. He was doing his best, and people were certainly noticing, but counting himself among the best in the country felt odd.
That said, Detroit seemed to think he was good. Good enough to sink quite a lot of money into him already, before he'd even thrown his first pitch with their uniform on.
They had to be careful not to hold hands. It was natural for a boy and a girl. Jeff had found it all too easy to let her lean in on his shoulder. To enjoy the way that her body felt when she was close to him.
She was his sister, now. Or, she would be by Christmas. A week before, specifically. Quite the Christmas present. He'd already been fitted for the tuxedo. Cathy's dress was still being fitted, which was wise. If it were ready well in advance, then it might have been worn already, and not in the situations that Dad would have approved of.
Certainly not between Jeff and Cathy.
He took care as they stepped out of the elevator together to give her a little space. He wanted to wrap an arm around her. Wanted to press his lips against her brow as they walked out. It took a very real force of will not to do it, but they both had plenty else to consider.
He stopped dead when he heard the voice.
"Hey, you're Jeff Hess, aren't you?"
No, he thought. You're thinking of someone else. I'm nobody. I'm not at a hotel, because I've got a house in the area. I'm not with my sister, and certainly not with my girlfriend.
Because those things would be a problem, and I'm not here to cause any problems. Right? And you're not anybody. This story isn't going to be on some internet forum or front page of the tabloids by tonight.
Because whoever this woman was, she was mistaken about who he was. That was what he'd tell her. Instead, he forced a smile on, the mask that he always used when he wasn't quite prepared to deal with fans. You can't just turn them away, even when you'd rather be left alone, after all.
"Yeah," he said, and tried not to regret the ever-loving shit out of it.
Chapter Twenty-One
That they'd been idiots to have expected nothing bad to happen—that was obvious. Cathy had been thinking it since they started this. She'd thought it when he first said it, and she had thought it every day since then.
The fact was, though, that all the good advice in the world didn't change how she felt. Didn't change that her heart raced at the very notion of doing what they'd been doing and not getting caught.
And for almost a month, they hadn't gotten caught. Not even close. Now they were sniffing the danger of getting caught in their web of trouble and for the first time it was more than just a little bit of a concern.
The woman smiled and had a light-colored suit on. The way she smiled was too fake to be a fan and too wide to be someone with real power. A reporter, maybe. Or an agent. Cathy had to hope agent, fear reporter.
"Hey, do you mind if we talk for a minute? Who's your friend?"
Cathy could see Jeff look at her out of the corner of his eye. Wondering what to say. Wondering how to explain it.
They could go either way. But in either case, it could create real complications later, if they got caught. He could introduce her as his girlfriend or his future step-sister.
But he sure as hell couldn't do both. And 'sex slave' or any of the other myriad things that he called her in bed—things that she would never admit caused a little tingle to run through her girly parts—only created more problems.
Even still, he pulled an arm around her. "Oh, she's my step-sister. Sort-of. The marriage isn't for a few weeks, but we're getting the house renovated. You have to climb through the rafters to get to our part of the house now, so we're staying out. Should be done in a day or two, though."
"Nice to meet you, I'm Grace. I write for the Free Press, do you have a few minutes to talk?"
"I'm sorry Grace, you know, I don't. Cathy's got a schedule to keep, and I'm her ride."
"Oh, well, thanks you for stopping. Maybe some other time?"
"Maybe some other time. Have a great afternoon."
He smiled and turned Cathy around and started heading for the door. She shrugged his arm off her and walked through the door by herself. She didn't speak until the glass doors shut behind them.
"That was too close, Jeff. Jesus."
"What? She didn't think a thing about it. Just a pair of new siblings dealing with some renovation troubles."
"Are you kidding? Did you see the way she looked at us?"
"We were fine," he said. His voice sounded as confident as anyone she'd ever heard, which would have been nice if she wasn't still panicking.
She'd known this was a mistake, and she'd known that it would only lead to trouble. She'd known from the beginning, but she'd still let herself hope. Hope that maybe it wouldn't turn into trouble, or something.
If she was lucky, that was the end of the conversation. A woman passed them by and tried to get an interview, asked a throwaway question.
But it was a big risk. All it would take would be one more little time like that, in a little more compromising situation, and they'd try to brush it off like they just had.
And then word would get around, and a cute little red-headed reporter would ask what they meant about Jeff Hess's pretty little girlfriend. Then it was a short trip to the front page of the National Enquirer, with a story that would sell plenty of copies.
Cathy felt a little sick. If she knew what was good for her, then she'd break up with him. She'd end it now. He wouldn't take the money away. She knew better than to think he would.
She took a deep breath. Is that what she wanted, though? To leave it be? To pretend it never happened?
No. She knew that. She knew it from the beginning, that she wanted something else. She kept telling herself it could just be temporary. It could just be a little thing, meaningless to anyone.
But it wasn't going to be meaningless to her, and it didn't seem to be meaningless to him. It was something deeper and realer and more involved than either of them particularly wanted. Much more than either of them found convenient.
He'd always had what he wanted. He'd never had to tell himself no, and now it was translating to him giving himself what he'd always wanted. Giving her what she'd wanted, too, in spite of herself.
&nb
sp; Cathy didn't have that handicap to deal with, though. She hadn't had a comfortable life. There was nothing in the world easier than convincing herself to give up what she wanted. It's what she'd been doing for years. Now it was second nature. Giving in, getting what she thought she wanted, that felt strange. Giving it away was the norm.
The itch had been there for weeks. It had been there when she'd first spoken to him. It had been there every step of the way. A little voice that said, just leave it. Walk away. It doesn't mean anything.
It's just going to hurt in the end, and if you just leave it now, you won't regret it. You'll feel better.
She'd listened to that voice enough times to know by now where it led. It led to a safe place. It led to a place where she didn't have to be afraid of how things could go wrong, because they didn't go wrong when she didn't take risks.
Risks were how things went wrong for people. If you ever thought, how could that person have screwed up so bad—well, the first thing they did was look at something and instead of saying "no problem," they said "it's probably not a problem."
Everything else expands outward from there. But the first thing you have to do is accept the risk, and as long as you don't…
There was one exception. Dance was a risk. It had always been a risk. Everyone says they're not going to become a dancer because they're not prepared to accept that kind of risk.
Oh, they take classes when they're young. Lots of kids do, through middle school. Some of them even into high school, as they develop from little girls into young women.
Few stick with it once they've graduated, and fewer still take it anywhere. Because there aren't many bigger risks than dancing, as a career. You have to hope that you can get yourself into a troupe, and you have to hope that when you get into one, you don't get hurt.
You have to throw everything at the troupe and at your career and at dancing and then you might have a one in a million chance of making it.
Cathy Bolton had decided that she'd take that risk almost ten years ago, when she was barely three feet tall and she decided, as many young girls decide, that she was going to be a ballerina.
