Wicked Stepbrother (Book Two)

by Lila Price

  He ignores me, so I move faster, finally cutting him off, standing in front of him and cupping his face in my hands. In the weak streetlights, I don’t see any new cuts or swelling on his face. How did he get out of that scrap without any injuries?

  He shrugs off my attentions and begins to move away from me again. “You shouldn’t be here, Sosie.”

  “This isn’t your first fight, is it?”

  “Goddammit, no questions.”

  We’re near the lot where he parked, and I suspect he left his car over here away from the warehouse so that the cops wouldn’t be tipped off about the location of the illegal underground fight.

  He says, “This isn’t any place for a girl like you, so I mean it—get out of here.”

  “There were other girls in there.” And they were panting after Tristan, so they’re a lot like me in that respect. The difference is that I actually give a shit about him.

  He heads for his car as I trail him again. “Did you follow me here?”

  “Yes. But what choice do I have when you’re so evasive?”

  “Jesus, Sosie.”

  He opens the car door. The inner light flashes on, and he’s about to get in when I grab his arm. It’s sticky with sweat, and something primal in me aches at the memory of him fighting.

  He tenses up. “Like I said, it’s dangerous for you to be here. Get in your car and go.”

  My voice is thick. “That five hundred dollars you were going to give me to quit my job at Shady’s? This is where you got it. From fighting.”

  “So it was an advance. Big deal.”

  He averts his gaze, but he hasn’t shrugged me off yet. I’m still touching him, and I can’t seem to pull myself away, even if this is a terrible neighborhood and it really would be a good idea to go.

  “That man,” I say. “The one who’s in charge. I saw him at Shady’s with you. What’s going on, Tristan?” I loosen my grip on him. “Tell me.”

  From the set of his jaw, I’m not sure he will. After all, this is the guy who doesn’t seem to trust anyone. But I’m not so high on trust, either, especially after these past few days dealing with Tristan’s hot-and-cold treatment of me. Now that I think about it, I have only a passing relationship with trust, anyway, because he isn’t the first person to manipulate me. The credit for that goes to my mom, after she maneuvered me into lying about my real dad so she could get full custody of me when I was just a kid.

  I won’t be a fool again, and maybe Tristan sees that. But maybe he also sees that I can never truly think badly of him, no matter what he does, that I’ll always give him a second chance in spite of myself, because he’s him.

  “Why are you doing this to yourself?” I ask.

  He looks impassive, but he’s wearing that bitter grin I saw on him before the fight started. “I got an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “But you already have a job in the city that pays well.”

  “Not anymore.” He finally looks at me. “You haven’t figured that part out yet, Sosie?”

  I shake my head, having no idea where this is going.

  His smile is absolutely brittle. “I was fired from that job for fighting.”

  6

  Tristan’s confession rings in my ears, and as I absorb it, he gauges my reaction. It’s as if he’s in the ring again, right before he allowed his opponent to slam him with a few punches. It’s as if he’s asking for the same kind of punishment from me now, and I wonder if everything I’ve seen tonight is some sort of inexplicable, private penance for him.

  As I stare into his eyes, I clearly see the mysterious demons in the depths of his gaze.

  “That’s why you’re home this summer,” I say. “Because you were fighting on the job?”

  “I had a…disagreement.”

  “With who?”

  “A coworker.”

  I let go of his arm, but I keep touching him, my fingertips on his biceps. I can’t not touch him when he’s this close to me, when he looks as if he needs someone to give a crap about him, which I do. God knows I do.

  I can’t read him at all as he says, “The guy was the office kiss-ass, one of those dicks who steals clients from under everyone else’s noses, bringing down his competition one by one. Not long ago, he set his sights on a friend of mine, threatening to anonymously turn him in to the feds for some trumped-up charges, just so he could be that much closer to being the top cock in the office. This friend of mine just so happened to be struggling with a mortgage and a new baby on the way, so I decided to have a talk with the bastard.”

  “And the talk turned into a fight.”

  Like the smartass he is, Tristan holds up his hands, smiling. “Hey, I’m not the one who threw the first punch.”

  I’m quiet for a few seconds, and I can feel Tristan piecing back together the wall that always keeps me from fully getting to him. I won’t allow him to do that to me…to us…again.

  “So that guy who was in Shady’s with you,” I say. “The one who was running the fight. Who is he?”

  “David Darnell, a friend of a friend.” Tristan absently runs his thumb over his abraded knuckles, but other than that, he doesn’t show that anything has injured him. “One of my coworkers who was in the men’s room when I got into the…altercation…recommended me to Darnell.” Tristan fists his hand. “My ass was the only one to get fired that day, and the other guys in the office made it a mission to hook me up with another job. But this gig is the only one that’s materialized so far.”

  “So Darnell puts together these fights?”

  Tristan nods.

  Tears are threatening me, because it’s not fair that Tristan was the only one who got fired for doing something that sounds as if it was the right thing. It’s not fair that he’s got that stain on his job record now, that he’s making his money from underground matches.

  “Darnell’s been trying to get me into this fighting ring ever since I got canned,” he says, “and I finally said yes.”

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  Tristan’s forced smile almost slays me. “I need to earn money, and it’s a good job. Right, Sosie?”

  He doesn’t quite throw my own words about Shady’s in my face, but he’s close to it, and that’s how I can tell that he’s fighting himself now, trying not to seem weak in front of me. But I would never think he’s anything but strong, anything but my idol, even if he’s a tarnished one.

  “At the very least,” I say, “does the office asshole bother anyone now, after you confronted him?”

  “No, because he knows I’ll come back if he pulls that shit again.”

  I rest my palm against his cheek, stroking my thumb underneath one of the cuts he got last night. “There’re a million things you could do besides fighting in that hellhole.”

  “Maybe I just like to fight.”

  Underneath all his defensive arrogance, I know there’s another wound—and I might be the only one who can see this dark bruise that never goes away. A cut that never stops bleeding.

  “You were so angry when you were fighting,” I say. “You’re always so angry. Where does that come from, Tristan?”

  He pauses, then takes my hand and lowers it from his face. I’ve gone too far, touched something inside of him he doesn’t ever want touched.

  “It’s time to go home,” he says. “Just get into my car. I’ll call a friend to help me come back for yours later.”

  I don’t argue, and it’s not because I’m afraid of pissing him off. I would rather face an infuriated Tristan than this one—someone who’s trying to hide that he’s somehow been beaten, even if he was the winner in that ring.

  As I slide into the car through his side, then wait for him to get in, close the door, and secure the locks, pain surrounds him. He’s clearly pressing down all his emotions, packing them away so that he can let them loose during the next fight.

  And I know there’s going to be another one unless I can stop it.

  My heart aches as I wish I could
do something to make him feel better right now, to make him open up so that he doesn’t have to live with the hurt for yet another night.

  What I do next feels so natural that I don’t doubt myself.

  I skim my hand over his thigh, and I hear a stifled groan from him. Emboldened, I stroke to the center of his legs, feeling the bulge there.

  “Don’t,” he says through his teeth.

  “This doesn’t make you feel better?” I ask.

  He leans back his head. “Not here. Not now.”

  “Then where and when?”

  I can’t believe the assurance I hear in my voice, but it’s obviously enough to keep him from saying anything else. He might not like to admit it, but he wants me to go on.

  God, and how I want it.

  I turn toward him in my seat, switching hands and rubbing him harder. My sex is tight with desire for him, and I wish he could read my mind so he would know that I don’t care if he never lived up to his potential in life, that even though he’s left one more job behind, I still believe he can be so much more than he gives himself credit for.

  “Just relax,” I say, “and enjoy.”

  He’s usually the one telling me to do that, and a smile fights its way onto his lips. It doesn’t stay long, but it’s enough.

  If I can’t take away his pain any other way, tonight I’ll do it like this.

  He pushes his seat back, giving me more room to move my hand up and down on him, stroking him from tip to balls, lingering at his sac and squeezing ever so slightly, just like they do in sexy movies.

  “Do you like that?” I know dirty talk will please him since he does it to me.

  “You should already know.”

  “Would you like it even more if I took down your zipper?”

  He only gives me a heated look.

  “Please, Tristan,” I whisper.. Let me know what you want. Teach me about what makes you happy.”

  I want him to feel in charge, in control. I want him to have what he needs the most tonight.

  In no hurry, I undo his fly, then lift him out. The first time I saw his cock, I didn’t know what to do, but now I’ve got more confidence, and I trace underneath his shaft, watching him harden before my eyes.

  When his gaze moves down to my skirt, I know what he’s asking for.

  “Is this what you want next?” I stop touching him so I can ease up my skirt, letting him see my black lace panties.

  He curls an arm over his head, clearly anticipating a show, and that’s as good as a yes.

  After one glance out the window to see if there’s anyone around in this dark neighborhood with its few-and-far-between lights, I dip my fingers into the front of my panties. I slide up and down, moving my hips along with my caresses, but it’s Tristan’s gaze that makes me hotter than hell as his gaze fogs with longing.

  “I’m going to get wet so I can stroke you and make you hard,” I say. “Then I’m going to take you in my mouth, Tristan. And I’m going to suck you off until you come.”

  “Shit,” he whispers. “Shit, Sosie, you learn fast.”

  I always have, but I’ve never done it like this.

  I reach down with my other hand to pull my panties aside so he can see all of me: my folds, which are getting even more juiced with each stroke of my fingers; my clit, which is swollen, as if begging for him to suck on it. I think of his mouth on me as I massage myself, hearing how wet I’m getting, hearing his breathing pick up until it’s strained and fast.

  When he reclines his seat, I know it’s time.

  I slip my entire hand over my sex to lubricate it, do the same with my other hand, and then go to him. As he watches, I slick my palm from his base up to his tip, curving over him and running my hand down the other side of his cock. I follow up with my other hand, up then over his head, then down the other side, until I’m stroking him continuously.

  “Goddamn,” he murmurs.

  He’s so hard, throbbing until pre-cum is beading his head.

  “Taste yourself on me.” His voice is choked.

  I go down between his legs where I can cup him in my hand. I lick him up and down, and I’m not sure what I taste like on him, because I taste him, too. I want more, so much more, and I lift him up so I can get at his balls, tonguing them until he groans.

  Before he can explode, I take him in my mouth, blowing him, trying not to be as inept as I was last time as he hits the back of my throat. He fucks me that way, and I let him slide in and out until he tenses up, then comes into me. Coming and coming as I swallow him down.

  Afterward, I rest my cheek against his thigh, and he strokes my hair. He does look happy—happier and more open than I’ve ever seen him—and I sigh.

  Everything about me is sighing.

  “Let’s get the hell home, Sosie,” he whispers.

  7

  Everything goes by in a blur: the drive home, Tristan pulling me into his arms so he can carry me into the house, both of us kissing and groping as he brings me up the stairs.

  But when we get to the top, he only sets me down then takes me by the hand and leads me into the bathroom. After he flicks on the light, he strips off his T-shirt and tosses it to the floor.

  Behind him, I see his back reflected in the mirror: streamlined muscles under sun-kissed skin, wide shoulders, a slim waist, his gorgeous butt hugged by his jeans. I’m still aroused from what we did in his car, and I only get more excited when he turns on the shower.

  The water whispers as he crooks his finger at me, luring me over to him.

  As I stand before him, my pulse flails. My gaze runs over his tight belly, his strong chest, then up to his heart-stopping face. He’s painfully handsome with his wounds and his sculpted features, but it’s his eyes that draw me to him the most: those green, soulful eyes that hold so many complicated emotions. I’m going to find out everything about him tonight. I want him to belong to me as much as I belong to him.

  “The water’s gotta warm up,” he says as he reaches down and undoes the first button on my blouse. “And so do you.”

  “I’m already there.”

  “Cherry, we haven’t even started.”

  It seems as if it takes him hours to undo those buttons, one, then another, and I get weaker and weaker as each pops free. He slides the shirt down my arms, and the rising humidity from the water sticks to my skin.

  It’s definitely getting warm…warmer.

  Then he focuses on my bra, easing down the straps. His gaze consumes me as the lacy cups fall over my nipples, baring them. I suck in a breath at the look on his face.

  Every time he sees me is like the first, and watching the sexual pleasure in his eyes is becoming an addiction. When he reaches behind me to unhook my bra, I throb for him, I crave him.

  “My girl,” he says, dropping my bra to the floor. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

  He brushes his fingertips over my nipples, getting them hard with only a touch, then reaches down behind me to unbutton my skirt. The material rides down my legs and pools around my wedge sandals before he bends to a knee to untie the straps around my ankles. I step out of my shoes.

  He grasps the outside of my legs, rubbing his face against the inside of my thighs, below my pussy. A savage tingle buzzes through my clit, because this time with Tristan already seems different than any other. As he grips the back of my thighs and presses against me, it’s as if he’s breathing me in, taking a moment to realize that this is where we were always meant to be with one another. Together. Truly.

  Maybe he’s more controlled than I am—more experienced and able to take things slowly—because I want to have him now. I push my panties down, wiggling to get them the hell off.

  “Whoa, Cherry.” He looks up at me, his mouth so close to my sex that I want to push his head toward me again and bring him to where I’ll feel his lips and tongue on me. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “Right now, it seems like we’re wasting time.”

  He grins. “I only thought it’d b
e a good idea to shower off and come clean before we do anything else.”

  I almost ask him what he means by that—does he just want to soap off the grime of the fight? Or does he mean something entirely different by “coming clean”?

  The water continues to pound in the shower next to us. The bathroom door is open, allowing some of the steam to escape, but the mirrors are slightly misty, imitating the blurriness of my thoughts.

  Tristan takes my panties the rest of the way down and slides his hands up the front of my legs as he stands. He pats my bottom, urging me into the shower. As I step inside, he shucks off the rest of his clothes then joins me, closing the door behind him.

  He smiles at me and takes the soap from the tray. After he hands it to me, it nearly slips out of my grip.

  Get a hold of yourself, I think.

  Tristan patiently closes my fingers around the bar. “Lather me up?”

  Yes, please.

  I work the soap in my hands then ease the bar up his chest. God, he’s so cut with muscle but with a hot layer of smooth skin over the hardness. He’s watching me, just as if I’m dancing for him at Shady’s, slowly turning him on. His cock is well on its way to getting erect, and I can’t wait to go down there to bring him to full arousal.

  But…all the time in the world. That’s what he said, and that’s what we’ll have for the rest of this lazy, badly behaved summer.

  His gaze is so ardent that I swallow and feel the need to say something. Anything.

  “When you were fighting, I thought you didn’t have a chance against that guy.” Maybe I should’ve just talked dirty to him.

  Tristan shrugs. “He was a hot head, nothing to worry about.”

  His words vibrate through his chest and into my hands, and I slip them downward, to the sexy bumps of his abs. I caress him, cleaning him.

  His voice is grittier now. “I saw the guy fight last night and knew that if I provoked him, he’d let his temper overrule his common sense.”

  “You were taking a big chance with that strategy.”

  “It’s the strategic guys who win in the end.” He guides my hands lower, to his cock. “It’s the guys who know what they want and know how to get it.”