Need

by K. I. Lynn

  “But I want you, Brayden.”

  Her whispered confession blasts through me, incinerating all logic.

  Yes. Yes. Yes. She wants me. Not fucking Austin. Not some other dipshit. Me.

  I grab her wrists, forcing her arms up high above her head, taking complete control of her body. I open my eyes, finding hers liquid with want, locked on my lust-tightened face. For me. All for me. Her sexy little tongue peeks out, wetting her lower lip and teasing me with a glimpse of what’s mine.

  What was taken from me years ago.

  What I’m going to own again.

  Right now.

  I seal my mouth over hers without warning, jerking at that first taste of her lips after such a long time. She goes wild beneath my weight, rubbing against me like she’s about to come for me, her lips parting and her tongue sliding out to taste me. Like I’m tasting her.

  Fucking my mouth as roughly as I’m fucking hers.

  I’m going to come. The tip of my cock is swollen, pulsating with an orgasm that’s going to wreck me. I’ve never been this ready. This worked up.

  And Kira’s about to give it to me. Her fingers pull at my hair, her hips riding my thigh, and I know she’s about to come with me just as hard as I’m going to with her.

  I bite at her lip, opening my eyes enough to see her beautiful face all scrunched up with pleasure—

  There’s a loud crash from downstairs, what sounds like a pot or something equally as heavy slamming into the floor, and Sonia’s low curse follows after.

  “No,” Kira whimpers when I pull back, her fingers tight around the back of my head, refusing to let me go.

  But she has to. God, I have to.

  All that bullshit talk about her being underage and here I am, fucking twenty, about to nut all over my seventeen-year-old stepsister.

  “Kira, you need to stop. You can’t keep doing this.”

  “You do it to me, damn you.”

  I don’t try. That’s the difference between me and her. She is purposely driving me up the wall with how sexy she is, and I need her to fucking stop. “I’m serious.” Panting, I reach back and remove her hands from me, opening my eyes and finding hers.

  She’s angry. Disappointed.

  Horny and needy, and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it.

  “Please. Stop.” With that, I practically jump away from her. I have to reach down and adjust my cock before I can take another step. Her eyes lock on the movement, making my dick pulse in my grip. It’s almost enough to finish me off.

  Jaw clenched, I stomp toward my room.

  Once inside, I slam the door closed, lock it, and lean on it. My head bangs back against it, hands fisted as my jaw clenches so tight I’m afraid I’ll break my teeth. Not that I’d care or notice, because my cock is a pulsing, ticking bomb.

  I need to get off. Now.

  I’m shaking with need, coiled so taut I question my sanity and survivability of coming. A push and a grab, and my dick is out in my hand. It’s as angry as I am. With one swipe up and down I’m rocking on the edge, and I do it again.

  The edge is gone, and so am I along with everything else around me but the blinding white. My whole body convulses, hips jutting out as come flies from my slit in volcanic, explosive-like bursts. Grunts and groans echo off my walls with each euphoric stream.

  I just came like a twelve-year-old with his first hard-on.

  Holy shit.

  My body is shaking like I’ve just bench-pressed my own weight. All the energy is drained out of me, and yet I’m still on edge. Speedy. I stare down at my dick, still in my clenched fist, and the fucker hasn’t even begun to go limp.

  I came all over the carpet. My jeans.

  I run my trembling left hand down the side of my face.

  I kissed her. I gave in and fucking kissed her. The taste of her tongue is all over my mouth.

  Want to do it again. Now.

  Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? Finally, I came home, after two years, because I’d been convinced I could handle being near her without attacking her.

  Of course, I didn’t plan on this new, sexier, sassy, bold-as-hell version of Kira. Not that she wasn’t any of those before, but now they’re amplified a thousand times over. Also didn’t count on her still wanting me. I’m an asshole, because her still wanting me is something I wouldn’t change for the world. I love it too much. Don’t want her to want anyone else but me.

  That is the crux of the problem. If she wanted someone else, she wouldn’t be teasing me the way she is.

  And I’d be plotting ways to kill the poor bastard, whoever the hell he was.

  I shake my head at myself, at her, at our situation, and my stupid dick that won’t go down. My chest tightens as I realize a sad, sad truth.

  I might never get over Kira. I might not stop wanting her. That means I’ll have to go back to keeping my distance. To not having my friend in my life. I might have to leave early, spend the rest of my break at my mom’s, like I have the last two years.

  No. I won’t lose Kira’s friendship in my life again. I won’t go back to living like that. I refuse. Some way, I have to find a solution, a way to be her friend and avoid losing control around her. I tell myself it’s possible, that it can be done, that I’m just not trying hard enough and have to try harder from now on.

  I tell myself everything and anything to avoid making that decision, the one that will separate me from her again.

  But even as I try to delude myself, I’m one hundred percent aware that most of what I’m telling myself is nothing more than a filthy lie.

  So what the hell am I going to do?

  With my headphones in hand, along with my tablet and a glass of lemonade, I head out to the backyard and the pool that is calling my name.

  It’s only late May, but the sun is scorching hot with the heat wave that rolled through this week. I settle on to one of the lounge chairs and turn on my Ellie Goulding station. A very apt song about staying high to keep someone off their mind comes on. Well played, Pandora.

  A quick check in to Facebook, where there is no activity to interest me. In fact, the only activity that interests me is what Brayden is doing in his bedroom. He’s practically locked himself in there the last few days, and when he’s out, he’s a moody bitch.

  But that’s my fault, I’m sure.

  Not that I care. I’m not doing so well myself.

  I love that we have a nice large pool to cool off in, and I’m more than ready to jump in. It doesn’t seem that long ago that the three of us—me, Ryan, and Brayden—were playing pirates and mermaids in the same pool. Brayden is such a good swimmer; he won state his senior year, and he would always attack me from beneath like a kraken from the deep. Or at least that’s what we pretended.

  After all the years playing in this pool when we were kids, I never imagined I’d live in the same house as it or Brayden. With the exception of my fantasy of being with him forever.

  I never should’ve wanted that. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s led to this crap. Led to me pushing the guy who would’ve been my boyfriend into letting go and kissing me again. Touching me, taking me. I’m practically begging him. Just as pitiful for him as I was years ago.

  As much as I’ve tried to hate him, as mad and devastated as I was, I still want him. Still love him. I know that now. Maybe it’s because I see how hard it is for him when we’re near each other. Who knows?

  It’s barely been half an hour of me sitting by the pool when the sweat on my forehead begins to bead and trickle down my cheek. It slides along the column of my neck, then dips down between my breasts. My nipples tighten instantly, my body hyper-aware of every sensation.

  I’ve been like this for days, ever since the hallway when I was so close. Even getting off doesn’t stop it. Turned on, poised on the verge of coming from the slightest reminder of his touch. Not that I’ve ever had it on my naked skin. I haven’t had anyone’s touch on my naked skin, actually.

  Because I
’ve been waiting for him. Even when I’d convinced myself I’d moved on, somewhere deep down it’d still been all about him.

  But he doesn’t wait for me. He takes whoever he wants, whenever he wants it. Everything.

  Except me.

  God, sometimes I hate him. I really, really do.

  I lift up my tablet. In the darkened screen, I see a reflection. It’s him. Standing at his window, glaring at the back of the lounge chair I’m sitting in like he hates the world and everything in it.

  Just like I do right now.

  We’re both trapped in misery, and all because he’s too stubborn to give in just once.

  Emboldened by the heat in his expression, I stand and place my headphones on the small table next to me. Then, slowly, feeling his gaze on my back, I peel off my tank top. My jean shorts are next. I don’t turn to see if he’s staring. I don’t have to.

  Smirking, I move quickly across the hot pavement to the diving board. My eyes dart up quickly toward the house. I can’t see what he’s doing, but he's standing at his window. Just thinking about what he could be doing as he stares has me gushing.

  Is he stroking himself, dripping with desire for me?

  My breath rushes out, and I’m almost too dizzy to go through with my dive. Raising my hands above my head, I pause for a split second, knowing he’s still locked on my body, then I jump off the board.

  The cold water is pure heaven as I glide through. I sink down, running my hands across the bottom, swimming for a few seconds. When I break through the surface, taking a deep breath, my eyes are immediately drawn to Brayden’s window.

  He’s gone.

  My heart twists with disappointment, and I continue to swim toward the stairs leading out of the pool.

  My eyes clash with his green ones.

  Standing on the other side of the glass door leading to the backyard, his arms braced on the top of the door frame like he’s barely stopping himself from storming outside.

  His biceps bulge thanks to that pose; yet another tease I have to deal with.

  That stare is more than a little angry. Scratch that. He’s furious with me. I know he begged me to stop; if I could stop my reactions to him, I would have done so a long time ago.

  Refusing to back down, I hold his gaze and swim over to the stairs. I take them slowly, one by one, my gaze remaining locked on his.

  The heat in his eyes is vivid, furious, possessive, and I feel like I’m being eaten alive by it as his eyes drop to caress every inch of my wet body.

  They stop at my nipples and I swear I can see his pupils dilate. I bite down on my lip and clench my fists at my sides. My pussy lips are so swollen they’re pressing into my wet bikini bottom. My clit throbs with every second his eyes remain on me.

  He’s not going to come to me. I can see it on every stubborn line of his taut body. As always, it’s going to have to be me that goes to him.

  Not even the flare of resentment inside is enough to stop me. I want him that damn much. I take a step in his direction, my heart on the verge of exploding because of how much I want him.

  Brayden clenches his jaw and spins around, jogging away from the door.

  No doubt back up to his room where he’ll lock himself away from me for God knows how long.

  Motherfucker.

  I let out a rough exhale and head over to pick up my tablet and headphones, thoughts racing. I don’t know how I’m going to get that stubborn, stupid man to see sense. All I know is that I can’t live like this much longer.

  I head into the house and straight upstairs. First, a shower. I need to get all the chlorine off me, although I was only in the pool for less than two minutes. Then . . . then I’m hunting that fucker down so we can have a long, long conversation.

  One that, if I have my way, will end with him finally understanding that fighting this attraction is only making it worse.

  I crack the window and light up a joint. I hit my limit of time around her for today and need to get away, even on a quick high. Something to calm my ass down before I act on what I almost did years ago and just fucking run off with her. Tell the world to fuck off, she’s mine and start a life somewhere else, where no one knows us.

  Why is she torturing me? Walking around in two tiny scraps called a bikini making me fucking harder than I’ve ever been. I’m not even going to bring up her skirts, or the damned shorts she wore to the theater.

  I’ve beaten it more times than I can count in the last few weeks. So much, I’m surprised there’s anything left to come out.

  My foot taps against the floor, my body a live wire of pent-up energy and frustration. A five-mile run and an hour of weights plus one small joint isn’t enough to calm me down. I light up another. A couple of puffs in, the mind-tingling, weighted body, time-slowing takes effect.

  I slip down to lie on my bed, letting the pot take it all away. It does the job, with the exception of my hard dick, but it’s been hard since I got within a hundred miles of her. Just knowing I was going to see her gave me a semi.

  I’ve been good. I haven’t touched her the way I really want, an incredibly hard thing to do after having kissed her.

  Her nipples haven’t been against my tongue; her pussy hasn’t been in my mouth, the way I’m dying for it. It’s so wrong thinking of her this way, but when I imagine how it would be, remember how it felt to kiss her and rub against her—it feels so damn right.

  No guy in the universe has ever wanted a girl as much as I want her. I’m sure of it. Denying myself that sweet little body is taking more effort than anything I’ve ever done in my life.

  I can’t help the hug that lasted too long or breathing her in; that shit will never go away. She was the one who put my hand on her thigh at the movies—and thank God Ryan interrupted us because I’d been so close to sliding it up and palming her pussy. I would’ve found it wet for me. I know it. Her eyes told me.

  The kiss in the hallway is the one thing I take the full blame for. Yes, she was teasing me all night, but that wasn't the only reason I lost it. It was about my jealousy. The rage I felt at the fact that her pretty, big eyes had been on Austin that night. The fact that his eyes had been eating her up.

  I can’t take her, or how beautiful she is, or the fact that every living, breathing male out there is going to want a piece of her. She’s the fucking perfect package of looks and personality. So I’ve kept away the last week. Locked myself in my room. Refused to speak to her.

  I keep a wall between us because I have to. Being near her tests my sanity and willpower. Being near her wearing nothing but a bikini on her fine as fuck, sinfully curved, petite little body that begs for me to touch it?

  Death.

  I’m surprised I’ve kept myself in check this long.

  Every damn cell in my body that makes me a man is screeching at me to claim what’s mine. To fuck it so hard no one else will ever be able to have it, because she’ll never be able to think of anyone else but me.

  That’s why I need this getaway. If I don’t get high, I’m going to fucking maul her. Throw her into the pool, rip her bikini off, and fuck her until all the water has splashed out.

  I sigh and melt further into the mattress, letting my mind shut down.

  I watch the smoke blow out, and as it dissipates, Kira appears in front of me. She’s standing at the door, staring at me, then she’s beside me, grabbing for my hand and the joint.

  Mmm, my fantasy begins.

  I pat next to me on the bed, begging my mirage to stay, continue. I blink, and when my eyes open, she’s hovering over me, taking another drag.

  Did I put her on my lap? I have no clue, but she looks great there. Her skirt rides up, and I can see the flower print on her white panties resting over my cock. I groan and press up into her, my eyes closing, soaking in the feeling. I grab onto her hips, taking the dream, because it has to be a hallucination, in a direction I’ve always wanted it, wanted her.

  I cup her face with my free hand, pulling her lips down to mine, the
n tangling my hand in her hair, fisting it. Her lips are succulent and delicious, soft against mine. She tastes so fucking good and I want more. I want her clamping around my cock, crying out my name. I rock against her, harder with each thrust. Her little hands are hot against my skin, burning me as she tugs my shirt up. I shiver, hot and excited and never wanting this high to end.

  I have to adjust my cock, free it before my jeans strangle it. It’s so tight and hard, and I shove my hand under the waistband to cup it, soothe the ache.

  “I want to see it.” Kira’s voice is just above a breath, and I can almost feel her pulse speed up against my lips.

  “What do you want to do with it?” I groan as she pops the button. I can have it, what I want, all I have to do is take it. She’s practically begging, but that’s always how she is in my fantasies.

  “Everything.”

  The zipper moves down, and I let a out choking breath before I take another drag. I don’t want to lose it, can’t have it all fading away. I set the joint down on a plate next to the bed, then turn back to her. Heavy-lidded eyes gaze back before her lips press to mine. Fuck, I could come. It wouldn’t take much. I reach between us, dying to feel how wet she is.

  I groan again, twitching so hard I feel like I’m going to bust through my jeans before she can get me out—she’s soaking through her silly little panties. Wet, purring above me, nails scratching on my skin. I rub her in time with my cock; her hands are still on the band of my boxer briefs as her breath catches. The head of my dick peaks in and out as her hips rock against my fingers and she stares down in fascination.

  I grab onto her ass, shifting her forward. “Pull.”

  She does, exposing about half of my eight inches, sucking in a breath before I slam my lips to hers. One hand on her hip, the other on my cock, I run her wet panties up and down my shaft, pressing into her pussy, hitting her clit, thinking about tearing them from her, then pushing her down on me.