Own (Need #3)

by K. I. Lynn

  “I just . . . can’t right now, Mom.” I jump out of her car, slamming the door and not even looking back.

  It’s too much. All of it.

  My brain is in overload, my emotions wild.

  Thank fuck his car isn’t here, probably went to work, because I would beat his face in. It’s too fresh and nothing would stop my anger.

  How could he fucking do that to any woman, let alone family? My brain keeps trying to think up different reasons on how the situation came about, because the reality of it makes me nauseous.

  After entering the house, I close the front door and lean against it.

  I have a sister.

  A real, blood sister, and not the one by marriage that I hope is upstairs.

  Two at a time until I’m at the top, five steps until I’m at her door. It’s open and she’s sitting at her computer.

  “On the bed,” I say. I’m so overwhelmed I feel like I’m about to start crying, which is very pussy, but I can’t stand thinking about what he’s done.

  “Brayden!” Her hand flies to her chest. “You scared me. Are you all right?”

  I shake my head and point across the room. “Get on the bed.”

  She stares at me, but complies, lying down. “Mom’s still home.”

  “I don’t care.” I climb on to the bed and collapse down, my arms wrapping around her body, pulling her close, my face buried in her neck.

  This. Her soft body in my arms is enough to calm me some, but not enough. I’m shaking, tearless sobs.

  “Brayden? What’s wrong?”

  I can’t even form words. All I know is what’s not wrong with me and that’s her.

  I still haven’t told Brayden about Jennifer’s second post.

  How can I? He’s dealing with so much already. The arraignment yesterday, that bullshit family “reunion” right after. He was an emotional wreck afterwards. I’ve never seen him so distraught.

  My stomach twists sickeningly. I still can’t believe they want to charge him and Austin with a misdemeanor assault.

  Will I ever get over the guilt?

  I wrap the blanket tighter around me and continue surfing through the channels. A few minutes ago, I gave up on the idea of sleeping tonight.

  The temptation to head across the hall to Brayden’s room was strong, but I fought it. Why? Because one of us has to learn some self-control.

  Two sane people would have stopped fucking each other already. Not only can we never be together but the situation is becoming more dangerous by the day.

  We’re not sane. That’s a fact that was proven a long time ago.

  We need to stop. Brayden won’t accept it; my body doesn’t want to either. But if we don’t stop soon, our dirty little secret is going to spill out and stain the lives of everyone we love.

  Just thinking of letting him go makes me want to run up the stairs and fling myself on him so I can hold on tight.

  Pathetic. Sad. Hopeless.

  A sound from the second floor landing reaches me. Then another. I realize someone’s coming down the stairs.

  The master bedroom is closest to the stairs, but the room is right above where I’m sitting, and there’s been no sound. Which means there’s only one person it can be.

  I tense, on edge, wary and so fucking excited that it disgusts me. I can’t see the stairs from where I’m sitting, yet I turn my head in that direction anyway.

  Waiting.

  Yearning.

  Obsessed.

  It’s never going to end, is it?

  Brayden comes into view and he pauses at the entrance to the living room, looking between me and the television.

  He’s shirtless. His tattoos stare at me, art to signify me, branded into his skin.

  Lord help me, he’s also wearing tight, light gray boxer briefs.

  His seemingly, forever-hard cock is pressed sideways along his hip bone.

  It twitches.

  “Stop looking at it like that, baby, unless you want me to fuck you right on the arm of that couch.” His voice is rough and deep from sleep.

  Oh. God. How can any woman ever let go of him when he does shit like that? “Brayden,” I whisper, ripping my eyes away from that perfect dick. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

  Obviously, he ignores me. Like he does every time I try to put any distance between us.

  Making his way around the couch, he takes the remote from my hand and makes himself comfortable next to me.

  Practically naked.

  In the dark.

  The only light is coming from the TV and a little pouring through the window from the streetlights.

  Underneath this throw blanket, I’m wearing a large pajama T-shirt. Beneath that? Tiny underwear, as usual.

  Fuck, it’d be so easy to just jump on his lap and—

  Brayden tugs on the blanket. “Open that thing up, make room for me, and come here.”

  I hold the blanket tighter and shake my head. “They can come out any second and see us.”

  He sighs and runs his hand down his face. For a second, all I see is the weight of extreme stress in his eyes. “Kira, I can’t right now. Don’t push me away. We need each other. That’s why we can’t sleep.”

  And because we’re both stressed the fuck out about what’s happening to his life.

  What’s happening to his life because of me.

  I hurry to slide across the couch. Brayden grabs me and lifts me onto his lap. I readjust the blanket so it’s covering us both.

  One arm around my waist, he brings me back so I’m leaning on his chest. It’s such a compromising position, but it feels so good to have him close again.

  Brayden nuzzles the side of my neck. “Hmm. Fuck, you smell good.”

  His cock is hard against my ass and I choke on the urge to rub on it. “How’s your wounds?”

  “Healing, as you can see.” He places a soft kiss to my cheek.

  Everything is forgotten and I spin around enough so that my lips meet his.

  Perfect fucking bliss.

  Brayden moans into my mouth, lips opening for me. Our tongues touch and in a single instant the air around us is on fire with need.

  He tilts his head, licking my tongue in that lewd way of his, letting me know exactly where his mind is at.

  Our parents are sleeping right above us. It’s been days since I had him inside me and I won’t be able to remain quiet once I feel his cock.

  Out of breath, I pull back.

  Eyes heavy-lidded and locked on my lips, he follows me, trying to bring me back.

  I avoid his lips and press my forehead to his. My heart’s racing so hard I wonder if he can hear it. The pulse is loud and powerful between my legs. “We can’t.” My voice is a hunger-filled whisper.

  I know that look in his eyes. He’s too far gone. Lost. Focused only on his need to fill me with his come. “Yeah we can, baby. We’ll just be quiet.” His hips shift under me.

  One rub. Then, he loses control, as if the sensation was enough to set him off, and he starts grinding his dick into me nonstop.

  “Brayden,” I hiss.

  His hand slides up my thigh and between my clenched legs. “Give it to me baby. I need to give you my come so badly.”

  “They’ll hear us,” I whimper, but open my legs anyway, powerless to resist.

  He palms my pussy, grinding the palm of his hand into my clit. “They won’t. Shit. You’re soaked. I need that.”

  That hoarse whisper does me in.

  He tugs my panties down and I lift my ass to let him. Leaving them around my thighs, he lets me go long enough to push his briefs down.

  “We’ll be quiet. Somehow. I’m just dying for that pussy. Want it wrapped around me. Squeezing tight. My balls are fucking aching for it.” His low rambling almost rips a moan out of me.

  He sounds out of his mind for me. Desperate. Obsessed with his desire to fuck me.

  His hot dick slides between my legs. I mewl quietly and shift my hips back to help get him into positi
on.

  Brayden squeezes my tit with his other hand. “Give me that tongue when I slam my dick inside you.”

  I do. God, I do. I slam my lips on his, licking at his tongue frantically, and he forces his dick inside.

  Painful, delicious stretching.

  He holds me in position, making out with him and refusing to let me slide up and down his length.

  I whimper into his mouth, rocking on his cock, so full of him I can barely breathe.

  “Shh.” He rains small kisses on my lips and sucks my bottom one. “Just take it however I give it to you.”

  I nip his lip. “I need more.”

  He rocks his dick back and forth, forcing me to feel the sheer size of him.

  “Oh shit,” I whisper on an exhale, my inner walls jumping uncontrollably. He’s pressing against my g-spot with the thick head of his cock and every time he rolls his hips like that, I feel like I’m this close to squirting all over him.

  “Don’t fight it. Drench my dick. I want it dripping down my balls.”

  Squeezing my eyes close, I struggle to breathe. To remain quiet. To remain fucking sane as he continues fucking both my body and my mind.

  That huge sword of a dick.

  That deep, rough, husky voice.

  The smell of him.

  Brayden latches onto my jaw with one hand and squeezes down tight. “You look at me while I tear that pussy up.”

  I want to obey him, I do, but I’m overwhelmed. That tight sensation of having to pee is building in my womb. I know it’s an earth-shattering orgasm building and I also know I’m going to scream my fucking head off when it hits.

  Brayden rubs his finger into my swollen, soaked clit. They’re gone before I can grind into them.

  My eyes fly open and I open my mouth to beg.

  He slides his other hand between my legs, finding my clit once more, and I feel the wet fingers of his other hand press between my ass cheeks from behind.

  My heart explodes in my chest. Whimpering, I shake my head at him, silently begging.

  He ignores me, as always, using my body however he wants. His index finger presses into my tight bud and slides straight inside my ass.

  Using his other hand, he caresses my clit in slow maddening circles.

  My head falls back on his shoulder. I stare up at the ceiling but I’m not registering what I’m seeing. I just feel.

  Brayden growls behind me, his low, displeased warning growl, and thrusts up into me hard. “I told you to fucking look at me.”

  I lift my arms up and behind my head. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I spread my legs wide and take his next thrust.

  “Oh fuck yeah.” He nips my ear and curls his finger inside my ass. I’m full, so fucking full of him, and he starts working yet another finger into me. “You’re such a needy little slut for it.”

  “Brayden. I’m going to—” I press my lips together, struggling to swallow the cry that’s pushing its way up my throat.

  “You want this so badly that I’m fucking tempted to give it to you right here. Imagine my dick in your ass baby, pumping you deep.” He licks my neck frantically, thrusts up into me faster. “You’d let me fuck every one of your holes at the same time if I could, wouldn’t you?”

  Yes. Oh yes. I nod, my vision slowly bleeding white.

  “You want me to fuck your ass with my cock and your sweet little pussy with a toy?”

  I rock back into his thrusts, just like I did upstairs the day he fucked me next to my open bedroom door. Small, whispered cries leave my lips. I’m way past holding them back. Way past caring if I’m heard.

  Let them come. His father, my mother. Anyone. I don’t care. Couldn’t give a flying fuck if they saw me like this, legs spread for his fingers and cock, hips churning frantically for more.

  “Who’s fucking you so good right now baby?”

  “You are,” I whimper, loving the sound of his cock rocking into my wet cunt.

  “Say my fucking name.”

  “Brayden,” I groan, fisting the hair at the back of his head.

  “Next time I fuck you, I’m going to put the head inside you.” His fingers slide in and out of my ass in time with his thrusts. “Right here.”

  I become nothing more than a pulsing, leaking, needy pussy as I fall headlong into an orgasm. My entire reality shatters, robbing my breath so I can’t even cry out.

  In retrospect, a blessing. Right now? It wouldn’t have mattered to me if I’d screamed loud enough to be heard up and down the block.

  Brayden shoves his fingers deep into my ass and pushes his dick into my pussy. His chest expands behind me, and the low, long groan echoing out of him is more animal than human.

  I feel his dick get harder. Thicker.

  His tight balls press into my clit.

  His shaft gives one powerful kick as he starts coming. Then another. And another.

  A high-pitched, shocked sound leaves me and I start coming all over again, squirting uncontrollably all over his dick.

  My walls are clamping too tight. His come is forced out of me along with my own juices, and it’s an utter mess of wetness between my legs.

  Brayden bites down on my shoulder blade, cursing under his breath. We sit here like this for a while—me slumped on him and him curled around me, our rushed, quiet breaths echoing in the silence.

  He softens enough to slip out of my pussy on his own. Another gush leaves me. It’s downright wet and messy between us but I can’t bring myself to move. My legs are still numb from the power of those orgasms.

  Every damn time. It doesn’t matter how much we fuck, it’s never enough. And each time is somehow even better than the last.

  “I love having our juices all over me.” Brayden pants softly against my back.

  I bite back a giggle. “It’s messy.”

  “Yeah. And it’s perfect.” He brings me back so he can kiss me. “I love smelling like us.”

  “I think I was too loud.”

  “Yeah, probably.” At my horrified look, he smirks ruefully. “But no one came out to disturb us.”

  This is so sick. I’m fucking my stepbrother in secret and our parents might have heard us going at it. They also might have decided for some reason not to interrupt.

  My pussy ripples.

  Being with Brayden isn’t sick. Not in my eyes.

  But the fact that we have to hide it, that we’re this close to getting caught, makes me want to fuck him all over again. My heart speeds up once more. My skin tingles with awareness.

  I’m fucking excited and aroused and that’s what’s fucking sick about this whole situation.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I think Brayden reads my facial expression because he pulls me closer and kisses my cheek softly. “It turns me on, too.”

  Throat tight, I ask, “What does?”

  “Knowing we have to be so careful. That we might get caught if we’re not.”

  If I’m sick, that means he’s far gone as well. Both of us are more than a little twisted because of each other.

  I can’t lie—I love it.

  Brayden tucks the blanket around us once more and grabs the remote. He doesn’t make any move to slide his boxers back up or to readjust my panties or clean up the mess. The tension from earlier seems to have melted out of him.

  The volume on the TV is low. Low enough not to disturb our sleeping parents. Low enough that I know it did nothing to muffle the sounds of us fucking.

  Brayden flips through the channels anyway, his sleepy eyes on the television.

  “We should go upstairs.” I fidget on his lap, slightly uncomfortable with all the wetness down there.

  His eyes flicker in my direction and I see a flash of hurt. “Why didn’t you come straight to my room?”

  I don’t have to answer that question. He knows.

  “It happened anyway,” he says, hugging me tighter with one arm.

  I want to tell him it shouldn’t have but the words won’t leave my mouth.


  As wrong as this all is, it also feels so right.

  I have no interest in hurting him anymore.

  I have no interest in hurting myself.

  Letting him go is going to leave a hole in my being that I’ll never be able to fill.

  Which means I’m fucked regardless. Eventually, I won’t have a choice but to live without him. Unless my mother leaves Steve by some miracle, there’s nothing Brayden or I can do.

  My mother won’t leave him. I’ve seen her sick dependence on Steve over the last few weeks.

  “Brayden, please. Let’s go upstairs.”

  Emerald eyes focus on me in the dim lights, searching. I know what he’s searching for, too. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

  “Yes.” I’ll go back to worrying about the rest tomorrow. We both need to be with each other and it’s worth the risk.

  I wonder how far that excuse will get us in the long run.

  “Where the fuck are you going to put all this stuff?” Ryan asks, setting a box precariously on top of another against my living room wall.

  It’s official—all my shit is gone from my dad’s house. All but Kira, that is.

  I shrug. “Mom said I could store it at her house.”

  “Did you even go through it, or just shoved it in a box?”

  “I just tossed shit. It was fastest.” It took away from what little time I had with Kira between it and my last week of work.

  “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I just . . . nostalgic, I guess.” He picks up a framed photo sitting on top of an open box. “Eleven years we’ve been friends. It’s going to be weird to go back into that house and that not be your room.”

  I look down at the photo in his hand—me, Ryan, and Kira. We were at the edge of the pool, Kira between us. Her tiny arms were hiked up to reach around our shoulders.

  Mom took it the summer before the divorce, in the period of time Ryan hit a growth spurt and was taller than me. Kira’s all of ten or eleven, a shrimp by comparison, decked out in pink goggles and fins.

  “I’ll still sleep there when I need to, but I can’t call that place home anymore.” Not with my father there.

  The entire week while I was packing, I kept a mental note of where he was. Not just that he was at work, but starting with what time he left the house to his lunch plans, to the time he arrived home.