Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance

by Whitlow, Lexi

  “It’s almost empty. I’ll start another,” I say. I flick my eyes over his body and note that there’s no redness around the wound on his side. The tattoos on both of his shoulders probably cover a vast network of fighting scars, and maybe that’s why he got them. They weren’t there when I saw him last, but I think better of asking him what they mean. I don’t need to get sucked in any more than I already am. Like he’s been reading my mind, he catches my hand in his before I can walk away.

  “I know this is hard on you, Nat. I know what you did for me back there.” I let my hand rest in his for a moment, the tiredness in my body mixing with an undeniable wave of desire.

  “You got no idea, Josh.” Taking my hand back, I go to work putting in another bag of saline and a good dose of morphine. It’s the last bit I have, but it’ll get him through the night before I can get to the drug store for more proper painkillers.

  “You put your job on the line, and I appreciate it.”

  Not really. But I won’t disabuse him of the notion. He can afford to keep a little gratitude in his mind.

  “Quit talking like that, or you’ll lose your rep as a dirty-talking bad boy.”

  “I wasn’t that person with you, Nat.” He closes his eyes and falls down onto the pillow in a state of bliss. I shouldn’t have wasted my batch of morphine on this asshole, but I know it’s the only way he’ll be able to sleep. I touch his left shoulder and gently run my fingers over his tattoos, wondering just what he did to get his damn shoulder out of joint in the first place. “Keep petting me, Nat,” he says. “It feels so nice.”

  “I was just checking your shoulder. The morphine’s got you all kinds of out of it, Josh.” It’s hard to keep my hand from touching him, from exploring the chiseled nooks of his muscles. But instead, I go back into my nurse-doctor mode and pull off his shoes and cover him with a light blanket. I try to ignore the heat beginning in my thighs as my hands hover near his body. Even in his pathetic state, my body cries out for his, probably responding to some primal need that I haven’t filled in far too long. If I were getting laid on a regular basis, I wouldn’t be standing over my stepbrother right now, my eyes drawn to the line of his abdominal muscle, the one that leads down lower.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  My eyes go wide for a second, and my heart beats fast. I look away even though I know his eyes are still closed, swallowing hard.

  “Just making sure you’re okay, Josh. You’re an asshole, but I need to make sure you’re okay.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he says and yawns, rolling over onto his right side. I glance at his shoulder, at the bandages over his stitches. I know he’s going to be okay after tonight—if not okay, at least passable. And if he’s passable, he can go, for the sake of my sanity. He’s taken advantage of me, being here like this. And I’ve let him. He knows I won’t turn away someone who’s hurt—I just don’t need him to convince me that he needs to be here for more than a couple of nights. I keep staring at him, and there’s an almost physical pain that rises in my gut.

  That’s just old memories, Nat. Don’t pay a damn bit of attention to how he makes you feel. Just bandage him up and ship him out.

  “Go on Nat,” he says. “You gotta go to bed. Stop fussing with me.” He takes his hand in mine again and raises it to his lips for a moment. “Not that I don’t like beautiful women fussing with me.” I jerk my hand away. Beatrice jumps up on the arm of the sofa and walks gently over Josh’s legs.

  “I’m sure you’ll survive the night without my attention,” I say. My cat has always been a traitor when it comes to Josh. She liked him more than she ever liked me—right now, she’s staring at him like he’s her lord and savior come to rescue her from the boring doctor woman.

  “Bee’s gonna take care of me.” He pets Bee, running his fingers between her ears and down her back. The cat curls up next to his ass and starts purring mightily, pawing gently at his shorts like she’s about to die and get lifted away to heaven.

  “There’s no accounting for taste, Bee,” I say to the cat. “But he’ll run off with another pussy by the end of the week.” Josh snorts, and I check his IV bag one last time. The morphine I’ve given him should be enough to knock him into bliss for the rest of the night.

  And a good thing too. He won’t come knocking on my door.

  “Don’t be nasty to me, Natty. I’m in pain.” He lets out a dramatic groan and pets the cat with his good hand. “Another pussy. Ha, that’s a good one.” There’s a goofy smile on Josh’s face, and I can see his chest start to rise and fall slower. I pause for a moment, my eyes roaming over the carved muscles of his chest and abdomen. But this isn’t a road I want to go down, and I need some damn sleep.

  “Goodnight, asshole. Remember, you’re out of here as soon as possible.” I march off to my bedroom and turn off the lights without giving him another look. How could it be that a man could give me so many conflicting emotions? I’d always known I was a helper, that I took in whoever needed me without thinking. Daddy said it was because I needed to feel worthwhile, that helping people made me feel better since I’d come from such shitty stock. And since Josh had always been right there, well, I helped him first of all, even before myself. I’ll be damned if I fall into that same damn thing all over again, but I felt myself slipping into it tonight. Those old roles follow us wherever we go.

  I step out of my maxi dress and fall into bed again, this time for keeps. The sun is coming up over the sound now, and the light is filtering into the room. I try closing my eyes against it, but all I can think of is Josh lying out there on my goddamn couch, using an IV that I lifted for him from the Outer Banks Urgent Care clinic. Each time I find myself sinking off into sleep, I jolt awake. There have been so many nights I’ve spent worrying about Josh, so many unwanted dreams—both good and bad. I’ve lost sleep over him, and he’s out there, never once considering what he put me through.

  ***

  “You’re better than everyone here, Nat. I’ve always known that,” Josh had said. “You’re prettier, smarter—”

  “Since when did you care about someone having any kind of a brain, Josh McRae?” I picked up the plates that people had left scattered over the dining room table and dumped them in the trashcan. The wake had been a joke. No one had ever liked my daddy, and I was willing to bet they’d just came for the food and the booze.

  “Since I met you. I just didn’t understand that’s what I wanted till I got to know you.” A flush ran over my body, rising over my chest, making me feel hot and uncomfortable in the black chiffon dress I’d gotten from Penny’s for the funeral. Avoiding his gaze—which I knew was on me—I kept wiping the same spot on the table over and over.

  “You never acted like that’s what you wanted.” I paused. If I said another word, I knew I’d be getting myself in too deep. Josh wasn’t like me. He didn’t take life the same way I did, serious and true. All he did was fight and run after women who were obsessed with his MMA persona, the way he acted on that big stage. I lifted my eyes and met his. The hazel of his irises, ever changing, looked gold in the evening light.

  “You have no idea what I want, Natty.” He stepped toward me, and acting on instinct, I backed up, my ass colliding with the hutch behind me. Before I could dart out of his way, Josh pressed himself into my arms.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Josh?” We’d spent so long running in circles with each other, both of us dancing back and forth around that undeniable spark of attraction that blazed between us. “Why the fuck are you—”

  “Maybe I just like to hear you curse,” he growled. He covered my mouth with his before I could even think, biting and nibbling on my lower lip, then lifted my hips and sat me on the edge of the hutch. His mouth was warm, powerful, overwhelming. I’d kissed boys before, and I’d even gone all the way once or twice. I wasn’t a saint. But this kiss, it knocked everything before it out of the water.

  I try turning over again in my bed, pulling the pillow over my head. As many times
as I’ve gone over what happens next in the story between me and Josh, the further I fall down into the rabbit hole of might-have-been. I think of that kiss, the dress falling away from my body, the flick of his rough fingers over my nipples.

  I open my eyes and stare straight at the ceiling. The heat begins to pool between my thighs, sending little shocks of longing through my belly and down my legs, all the way to my toes. My exhaustion compounds my desire, making it pulse harder. Searching for relief, I reach down inside my panties and touch myself. There’s already a flood of wetness between my legs, and I groan softly. I try to conjure up the image of one of the doctors at the hospital, one of the surfer guys I met on Match, anyone but Josh. As my fingers move in circles over my clit, Josh’s face is all I can see—the jagged line of his nose, his full lips, those eyes, green and gold and amber and copper all at once. I think of the kiss that night. And more—I think of his fingers on my body, moving over my waist, flipping my dress up and lifting it over my thighs. I moan softly and increase my speed, and I’m wondering if his cock is really as big as it looks through his shorts.

  “Josh,” I moan, my mind starting to tip into oblivion. I imagine his cock, long and thick and hot against my thigh. In my thoughts, I’m naked now, and his fingers are buried inside of me, gently hooked and massaging my g-spot as his palm rocks against my clit with aching slowness. In my bed, I spread my legs and slip one finger inside. I’ve repeated this scene over and over in my quiet moments, but never with Josh in the next room, never with his perfectly muscled body lying on my couch, only a room away. I slip another finger in and rock against my hand. I’d wanted Josh to fuck me with his expert fingers, my back pushed against the cabinet that held his mother’s china figurines. I imagine rocking back against the glass pane, my pussy drenched and throbbing against his hand. I imagine coming for him, the tea cups and Precious Moments dolls clinking in protest behind us. And then he’d cast his shorts aside and fill me with his cock, slipping in easily and grinding against my clit with every thrust…

  Biting my lip, I come hard, my toes clenching against the covers.

  After that, I sleep, deep and dreamless.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I wake up with a raging boner and the need to piss out the two liters of fluid Nat gave me. I groan and try lifting myself up on my right arm. My shoulder burns with the same crawling pain I felt after my stepsister jammed the thing back into joint—no, fuck that, it hurts worse than it did last night.

  How do I know if she even did it right? She’s got every reason to try and fuck up my shoulder even worse.

  I finally manage to stand up and I gently pull my IV needle out. There will be a bruise three inches wide from where I slept on the fucking needle, but at least she got me good and hydrated. It was worth it. The fight was good, relatively clean. Well, besides the razor blades. I chuckle.

  This is all you fucking think about, Josh. No wonder she ain’t pleased to see you.

  I manage to make my way down the hallway to the bathroom. The walk is difficult. The flesh is barely willing, and the fire ants seem to have taken my entire body over, not just my shoulder. I’m able to coax out my dick—no, make that my boner—and I have to wait nearly a minute before I can actually piss. I pull my shorts back up and wash my hand the best I can, the whole time reviewing the disjointed thoughts and dreams of the night before.

  “That can’t be right,” I mutter as I think about the moan I heard coming from Natalie’s room. I think I hallucinated the sound of Natalie... coming.

  I definitely hallucinated that. That was not a thing that happened. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve touched anything like morphine, and I have to think that I had some sort of wish-fulfillment opium dream, starring Natalie and her long, sexy fingers running over her tight—and quite likely perfect—pussy. I splash water on my face and try to think back to the fight instead. Before I leave the bathroom, I’m hoping my dick cooperates with me for once.

  Despite my undying certainty that Natalie would never want the man who had walked out on her after her father’s funeral, the man who had never proven himself, my dick responds to the thought of her in bed, thinking about me. I groan and try to position my cock so it won’t bulge against my shorts, but it’s gotten the message that Natalie lives in this house, soaps up her tits in this shower.

  Do women soap their tits up in the shower? Some of them must. There’s no justice in the world if they don’t.

  I let out a heavy sigh and drag myself back to the living room. I feel off balance, dizzy, probably because the blood is rushing to my cock, my shoulder, and the throbbing stitches on my forehead all at once. I stand against the wall, right where I once stood when I tried to kiss Natalie. I wonder if she ever thinks about that night, about me. But it’s not worth worrying about what might have been, if I made the right decision to let her go on to Chapel Hill thinking I didn’t give two shits about her.

  But if Natalie was in her room, doing what I think she was doing—

  “That ain’t the plan. She comes to you in her own time, if that’s what she wants.” I have to remind myself again, have to stay steady. If I hadn’t thrown my shoulder completely out of joint, if I hadn’t needed stitches—if I hadn’t been so fucking stupid to keep taking fight after fight, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be saving my money, biding my time. But God, she’s fucking perfect—her body’s curvy and flirty and sexy, and she’s got no idea how goddamn gorgeous she is.

  Maybe I was drawn here because it is time.

  “What wasn’t the plan?” Natalie steps out of her room, clad in tight black leggings and a baggy UNC shirt. I try to keep my eyes on her face, but my confused body wants me to look down to see if she’s wearing a bra. I can almost sense the soft outline of her nipples under the white cotton shirt, and I firmly suspect she’s bra-free. She’s always looked like walking sex to me, like she needed to have her lips wrapped around my cock, like her ass was made to be spanked. But this morning, she looks even better, and I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to her, to see that wavy blond hair like a shock of gold across her pillow, to kiss her lips, bite down, to slip my cock inside her as she spreads open wide and—

  “Josh, what the hell plan are you talking about? Getting your arm almost ripped off—was that part of the plan?” She smiles at me, and I see she’s still got that tiny gap between her top teeth. Her daddy never gave a shit about getting her braces, she always told me, and I guess she never got those invisible braces she was talking about. She’s shy about it in pictures, but I always fucking loved that tiny little space. I heard once that it meant you were good in bed—and now I’m thinking of Natalie in bed again, but this time she’s riding my dick and I’m smacking her perfect ass, and I’m unable to focus on her words.

  “Earth to Josh.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “You still high from the morphine?”

  “Uhhhh... I...”

  “Because it wasn’t my plan to take you in after you walked off into the sunset three years ago. Now that you’re conscious and feeling better, we need to get you all gussied up and back to your place. I’m sure you have some girl who can come take care of you?” She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arm.

  Oh shit. Shit. I have to stay here or Frank’ll get me training at the gym, book me for fights. Dammit.

  “I’m not exactly ‘feeling better,’ Nat. I feel like shit.” Her gaze roams over my body and lands on my enormous boner, still straining against my shorts.

  “I see one part of you is feeling just fine.”

  “That happens in the morning.” I shift, uncomfortable. My cock throbs in response to her voice. After all this time, it still has that Pavlovian response down pat, trained through many sessions of abuse where my thoughts rested solely on Nat’s beautiful body.

  “Oh? I didn’t know. I’ve never seen like a thousand boners before, at the hospital.” She smirks and walks across the living room to the kitchen. The same dining room table still sits in the breakfast noo
k, next to the old hutch where my mother kept her things. Nat must have long ago gotten rid of that shit, but the hutch still stands. Maybe she sent off the Precious Moments figurines to the crackhouse in Wanchese where my mother supposedly stays, but I somehow doubt it.