Stepbrother Inked

by Violet Blaze

  Appeasing my stepmom was easier said than done, forcing both Flor and me into the kitchen after a tense and uncomfortable dinner to help bake cookies. Even my dad hadn't been able to resist River's stubborn insistence that we all sit together as a family and eat, so I'd spent the last hour staring down at my plate and wondering when and if he was going to address the fight, my involvement in it, or my sex life.

  I shuddered as I creamed the butter and sugar, my bare feet warm on the heated wood floor. The idea that my dad would accept me as an adult and let my business stay my business was doubtful. I knew a storm was coming; I just didn't know when.

  “It's been so long since I've had you kids in the kitchen together like this,” River said with a shiver of pleasure that made my mouth dry. Guilt, yet again, even after I'd gotten all brave and bold in Flor's room. “Baking and listening to music, pure heaven.” She sighed and turned towards the cabinet to grab something, giving Flor and me a moment to exchange a look. His face was blank but not unpleasant. It made me ache for him in ways I could barely understand. And the fact that he was in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, his own feet as bare as mine, it was too cute for words. It almost made up for the fact that Addi had abandoned me to my fate, leaving me here well past dark to atone for my sins. I wondered what might happen if River ever really did find out about Flor and me. I assumed it would be something much, much worse than baking chocolate chip cookies. “Too bad Addison couldn't stay and join us. I remember a time when she practically lived her alongside you two and Max.” River sighed and I resisted the urge to join her. Those days she was describing felt impossibly far away, less like a memory and more like something that had happened in a fairytale dreamland.

  “It's not like they're dead, kaa-chan,” Flor mumbled over his own bowl of butter and sugar. Tonight, we were being forced to experiment with three different recipes, all of which looked pretty much the same to me, for some party River was going to with her colleagues. The theme was All American – Perfected, and the goal was to cook something classic, like apple pie or burgers or in our case, chocolate chip cookies, and bring it to what I'd loosely call a 'potluck'. Of course, there'd be catered foods as well as a full bar, people in suits, and the smug smiles of psychologists who think they know everything about everything.

  I raised a hand and brushed the hair from my forehead.

  “I know they're not dead, son, don't be a smart aleck. I'm simply recalling fond memories. Based on your and Max's behavior today, it might be beneficial for you to do the same, remember some of the things that have helped you to remain friends for so long.”

  “Don't shrink me, Mom,” Flor said, looking up, the edge of his lip twitching as he reached out and brushed his thumb across my forehead. “Only a few minutes in and you've already got it in your hair,” he said, sucking the butter-sugar mixture from his fingertip while I watched, transfixed.

  “This whole thing just seems silly to me anyway,” she griped, adding ingredients to her own bowl without even glancing at the recipe. “Why would you confront Max out on the driveway like that? And I thought you said Rhonda couldn't make it? Why was she even in the car with him? I feel like there's more to this than you're telling me.”

  Neither Flor nor I said a word and she sighed yet again.

  “I was in such a hurry today I left my new cookie sheets in the backseat of my car. Stay here and try not to mess up your dough while I'm gone.”

  River wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared, leaving Flor and me in a strange companionable silence.

  “What did you mean by that?” Flor asked me, voice rough. I glanced up and had to resist the urge to reach out and brush my fingers over his swollen face.

  “Mean by what?”

  “That you can't stop loving me.”

  I swallowed hard. The words seemed pretty obvious to me, not to mention embarrassing, and the last thing I felt like doing was trying to explain them.

  “What did you mean?” I countered, glancing over at the yellowing pages of the cookbook I was supposed to be learning from. “By pulling me into that bathroom?” My cheeks flushed red, but I pretended I didn't notice, cracking two eggs into my mixture instead.

  “It wasn't about meaning, Abigail. It was about need.”

  “So just sex then?” I asked and Flor sighed, just like his mother.

  “If it was just about sex, I would've grabbed Rhonda,” he told me and my stomach twisted with that same old, same old jealousy that I'd been fostering for years. I looked up and watched as Flor cracked an egg in his bowl, dropping several pieces of shell along with it. He didn't even hesitate to start picking them out with his fingers. Good thing River wasn't in the room to see it.

  Flor moved over to the trash to deposit his shells and then rinsed his hands in the sink, the water sluicing between his colored fingers, over the stars and moons that decorated his knuckles. I watched as he dried them off on a dish towel and then moved back around me, pausing directly behind me like he was waiting for something. Having him there made me nervous, so I forced myself to keep talking, like maybe my words would keep the awkwardness at bay. Besides, I needed the truth and he seemed like he was in an okay mood considering.

  “If it wasn't about sex, then what?” I asked, and another few seconds of silence passed before I felt his breath on the nape of my neck, his arm sliding around my waist.

  “I already told you, need.” He pressed his mouth to my skin and then just held me there, like we were a couple, like touching me was something that was okay. It felt good, but I was getting tired of this back and forth from him. I needed answers. I also needed to know if this sudden change in attitude was just a coping mechanism. I mean, part of me was relieved that Rhonda was out of the picture, but the idea that Flor hadn't been brave enough or willing enough to break up with her on his own bothered me. If she hadn't found out, then what would've happened? “I know I have to stay away from you, Abi, but it isn't easy. Do you think I want this? If I could wave a magic wand and make these feelings go away, I would.”

  I jerked away from him, taking my bowl with me.

  “Well I wouldn't,” I snapped, my feelings hurt yet again. “You don't just trade love away, no matter how painful it is.” I heard his breath catch, but he didn't say anything, just ran his fingers through his hair. A minute later, River came back in carrying her new cookie trays. My dad followed in after her and surveyed the scene in the kitchen with a blank facial expression. I shouldn't have cared what he thought about me and Max, but then again, he had the power to change my life in ways I wouldn't like. Pull my tuition money, evict me from my stepmom's building, take away my car. I made myself smile at him.

  “I don't want to see Max around here for awhile,” he grumbled, and that was that. He left the room without another word as I clenched the wooden spoon in my hand and tried not to scream. One step forward, two steps back.

  River noticed my reaction and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Don't let him get to you, Abi. He's struggling with the idea that you're an adult now and can make your own decisions. This isn't about Max or sex or the fight today, just a man struggling with change.”

  “You're shrink talking again, kaa-chan,” Flor murmured, head down, pretending to be completely and utterly focused on his cookie dough. If he was anything like me – and I knew we had a lot in common – then he was probably wondering what might've happened if my dad really knew what today had been all about.

  “I just want Abi to know that her father is a logical man who must realize that his daughter is growing up and that it's time for her to make her own decisions.” She smiled and touched a hand to her belly. “Hopefully when this one comes, it'll get you off the hook for a while, give you a little breathing room.” I felt Flor's gaze on me, but refused to look up. What was there to say? Pretending this baby wasn't coming wouldn't help either of us. A new little brother or sister, a link to tie Flor and I together forever, but not in the way I wanted. If we ever had a kid, this child woul
d be their aunt or uncle on both sides. Not an ideal situation, obviously.

  I added vanilla to my bowl and continued stirring.

  “We're a family,” River continued, making my stomach tight and my head swim. She reached out to squeeze my arm and smiled, her next words meant as a comfort and not as the poisonous barb that felt like it was being lodged in my throat. “You, me, Flor, your father, and this baby. And nothing will ever change that.”

  Fate can be wicked cruel, can't it? I scooted closer to my side of the couch and pretended I didn't notice River's absence between Flor and me, that empty space of couch that seemed to beckon at the same time it repelled. I twisted my stepmother's blue and white afghan around in my fingers and kept my eyes on the screen. It didn't escape my notice that this scenario was eerily similar to the one we'd experienced our first night together.

  “It's late,” Flor mumbled, glancing over at me. “You should go.” I grabbed my cell from the arm of the couch and checked the time: it was past one in the morning. I had a few texts from Addison that I'd responded to with the bare minimum, promising to explain in greater detail later. I knew as soon as she had the full story (i.e. the part about Flor and me in his bathroom), that I was going to get it. Maybe going home was actually the worse of two options?

  “I was thinking of just staying the night,” I responded without glancing at him. My words, as innocent as they were, seemed to coat the room in tension, heighten that sense of something that always lingered in the air between us. The thing was, I didn't much feel like going home, didn't want to answer Addi's questions, didn't want to be separated from Flor. Other than our illicit night on the roof together, we hadn't slept in the same place in years. “If that's okay with you,” I added and he shrugged, stretching his legs out so that his bare feet were just inches from my thigh. “I figured I'm already in my pajamas anyway.” I tried to smile, wondering what Flor thought of me in the faded baggy shirt and pants I was wearing. Next time I went to my old dresser for clothes, I was going to be sorely disappointed. This was definitely the last of it. “Are the kittens going to be okay?” I asked and Flor sighed.

  “Max can be a dick sometimes, but even he won't let a bunch of orphans go hungry.” I watched Flor run a hand down his arm, fingers playing across the brightness of his tattoos. “Besides, if he thinks this situation is permanent or even long lasting, he's got another thing coming. We own a fucking business together.” My stepbrother bit the words off like they hurt. He and Max had always been close. Hell, Max and I had always been close. There had to be some way to repair this thing between the three of us.

  I glanced down at my lap for a minute, buried in thought.

  “Abigail.” I looked up at Flor's words, found his eyes focused on me, the swelling around the left side of his face finally having gone down enough that I could get the full force of his gaze again. “Do you know why I gave you that tattoo?” I stayed staring at him, unable to move, to get out a single word past my suddenly swollen tongue. “Because it represented some sort of twisted hope that I'd never let myself have.” He looked away, towards the darkened hallway and we both listened for the sound of our parents' footsteps, like we were in high school, trading gossip again in the cloak of darkness. “Honestly? I'd been hoping that at some point, our parents would break up.” I raised an eyebrow. Never once had I thought that would ever happen. I mean, my dad and River were hopelessly in love, head over heels crazy for it. I wouldn't wish that fate on them … or would I? Because if they had broken up, then Flor and I might've been free to try this thing out. As it stood, this new baby of theirs pretty much guaranteed that there'd be little hope of that ever happening, not without a hitch. “I thought maybe, one day, we could … I don't know.” He sighed. “Never mind. Forget I even brought it up.”

  I bit my lip and turned so that I was facing him, putting my own feet on the couch and stretching out my legs, one on either side of his right leg.

  “You'd hoped for that and yet you said if you had a magic wand, you'd wave it just to get rid of these feelings.” I knew I was pushing him, but I couldn't help myself. It was always this back and forth with Flor, and I was desperate for answers. We'd taken this to a point where we had two choices: try it out or let it go. I was fighting for the former while he seemed resigned to the latter.

  “Because it hurts too fucking much,” he breathed, voice dark and low. “I feel like there's a knife lodged in my chest and every day that I see you, that I can't touch you, somebody turns it a full rotation. I'm bleeding from the inside out, Abi.”

  Tears strung my eyes, but I didn't know what to say to make it better. He feels the same way I do. I'd been waiting years to find out if that was true or not.

  “I love you, Flor,” I said again and tried not to be hurt that he cringed at the words. “And I've been hurting since the day I met you.” I don't know what I expected to happen, but I certainly didn't think he'd lean forward the way he did, pushing my legs back and moving in until our lips were inches apart.

  “I shouldn't be doing this, but hell if I know how to stop myself.” Flor's mouth closed on mine and I gasped at the tenderness in his touch, so different from the last few times we'd kissed, when he felt hungry and desperate and almost angry. He raised a hand and cupped the nape of my neck, pulling me towards him until our chests met and our tongues tangled together. Just beyond the sweetness of his touch, I could feel that desire boiling, tightening the muscles along his back and arms and shoulders. But for whatever reason, he held it in, keeping that same firm but gentle touch on my neck. It was possessive in a way I'd only dreamed of. I felt in that moment that I was his and he was mine. I knew it was too good to be true, but I gave into the feeling anyway, sighing and relaxing against his warmth.

  When his left hand slid up my thigh and his fingers curled around the waistband of my pajama pants – and my panties – I wasn't surprised. I felt that need for him roiling hot inside of me, a certain rightness that washed away all of the doubt and the shame, just for this single second. If it faded tomorrow, left me with another guilty spot on my conscious, I wouldn't care.

  Flor pulled my pants down to mid thigh and then leaned me back against the arm of the couch and the cluster of decorative pillows my stepmom loved so much. With an aching tenderness that caused my breath to catch in my throat, he touched me there with his left hand, fingers sliding across the wetness that he'd wrought with those sharp green eyes and those lips and … my thoughts seemed to trail off into nothing as Flor inserted two fingers, using those tattooed hands of his to bring me to the edge of pleasure in seconds, curling them just right, touching me just so. I moaned into his mouth, aware in the back of my mind that if we were caught, we'd blow any chance of having a sympathetic ear with either of our parents.

  But I didn't care.

  I let Flor thrust his fingers into me, again and again, while his breathing grew hoarse and ragged against mine, his chest pressed into my breasts, his lips on my jaw, my ear, my throat. I wrapped my own fingers around his neck, felt the silky brush of his hair as I relaxed into his touch and let the wave crest and break over me. My cry of triumph was cut short by Flor's mouth as my body convulsed around his hand, wishing there was something else of his inside of me.

  “Flor,” I whispered, breath coming in short little gasps, but he didn't let me finish, pushing my pants back into place and lifting me from the couch like I weighed nothing at all. He carried me up the stairs and straight into his bedroom, shutting the door with his shoulder and setting me down before turning the lock.

  Moonlight streamed in through the curtain-less window, staining the floor with silver light as Flor and I regarded each other, my body warm and still tingling from his touch.

  “If our parents,” I whispered, but Flor cut me off again, stepping forward and tangling his fingers in my curls. I raised my right hand and traced the scar on his chin, felt the roughness of the skin there and then leaned up on my toes to kiss it. Flor made a small sound under his breath as I br
eathed in his scent, that perfect tang of citrus mixed with something spicier, more masculine. I could drown in his smell and die happy.

  “They won't,” he responded, and even though the threat was still there, the fear of discovery, I let him take me into his arms and kiss me again, pausing only to pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside. I leaned into him, running my hands down the perfection of his belly, flicking my tongue against his lip rings. When I dug my fingers into his jeans pocket in an effort to pull him closer, I found a lacy bit of something shoved in there. Upon further inspection, I discovered it was the missing pair of purple panties.

  “What the hell are you doing with these?” I asked as he trailed his fingertips over my collarbone and then paused to press a kiss to my nose ring.

  “Good luck charm.”

  His mouth found mine again, like he could barely stand to be separated. When his fingers found my hip bones, slid across the ink of my tattoo, I dropped my head back, allowing his lips the freedom to explore my throat and jawline.

  Flor made me feel something I never wanted to let go of, a type of passion that curled my toes and made my insides ache. But he also filled another void, a deeper part of me that was always looking for his approval, his smile, his laughter.

  I undid the button on his jeans and he let me, staring down at me with those sharp eyes of his, bright even the dimness of the room. I didn't know what he was thinking and that scared me.

  “Should we have told them?” he asked suddenly, reaching down and taking my wrists in his long, strong fingers. I didn't have an answer for that, so I shook my head, my hands suddenly beginning to tremble. I knew all the things I wanted to do with Flor, that I'd dreamed about doing to Flor, but being here and getting the opportunity to do it was terrifying. I knew how many women he'd been with and could only wonder if I'd measure up.

  “I don't know,” I whispered back, praying that my parents were asleep in the room at the end of the hall. “Maybe.” I waited for him to keep talking. Getting Flor to actually work through his problems was rare – especially when it came to me. If we were making any progress here, I needed it to happen, even if I'd rather he was naked on the bed. “What would you have done? What would you have told them? That you love me? Or that you slept with me?” I paused. “Or both.” I kept my eyes on Flor's jeans and not on his face.