Stepbrother Studs_Zayn

by Selena Kitt

  And why does that thought make me so happy?

  I glanced guiltily over at my best friend as she pulled up in front of my house.

  She sat there, the car idling, looking off into the distance.

  “What?” I asked after a long moment of silence. “What is it?”

  “Is Zayn gay?” She cocked her head and looked at me.

  I laughed. “Are you kidding?”

  “Maybe my gaydar is broken.” She didn’t seem to find the idea as funny as I did. “I didn’t know Chad Trotter was gay. And Zayn’s shown no interest in me at all, at least in terms of sex. He hasn’t shown that interest with… anyone, as far as I know.”

  “Zayn’s not gay.”

  “Does he have a side chick?” She turned more fully toward me. “Tell me the truth!”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “Of course not.”

  “Then he’s got to be gay. Oh my God, how could I not see it?” She put her forehead down on the steering wheel.

  “He’s not gay, Jess!” I was dumbfounded.

  “Think about it.” She shook her head, not lifting it. “It makes perfect sense, Linnie. He’s dating me because he doesn’t want to be outed… and the abstinence contract helps him stay in the closet.”

  “No.” I couldn’t believe what she was saying. But there was a certain logic about it that I didn’t like. “Listen, Jess… I don’t think he’s gay. But… let me talk to him.”

  “No, don’t.” Jess sat up. “I need to think about this for a while. Maybe I’m overreacting. Or maybe he’s planning on screwing my brains out before he leaves for the army or whatever. Or… maybe I’ve been wasting my time for two years.”

  I was filled with a sudden, hot anger at her words. She’d wasted two years on my brother, had she? Just because he wanted to stick to his convictions and stay abstinent?

  “I’ve got to go,” I said, opening the car door before I could say anything I’d regret later. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  I shut the door a little too hard and stalked up the sidewalk to my house, not turning around when she pulled the car away from the curb.

  I went upstairs and changed out of my school clothes, still mad. But by the time I’d pulled out my homework, I was smiling at the idea that Jess thought Zayn was gay. It was almost as absurd as her thinking I had a crush on him.

  Snorting a little laugh, I went to my desk and tried to concentrate on imaginary numbers, but they were too hard. I needed Zayn to help me, and he wouldn’t be home for hours. Baseball practice. The thought of him in his uniform, squatting down behind the plate—he was a catcher—filled my body with an inexplicable sort of heat, like I had a fever. Maybe I did have a fever? I felt my forehead and it was hot.

  I went to the bathroom and got the digital thermometer, popping it into my mouth and closing the medicine cabinet, facing myself in the mirror. I remembered what Jess said about me being pretty, and how Bud apparently liked me. I tucked a strand of blonde hair behind my ear, wondering if it was true. I didn’t feel anything for Bud at all. But it was nice to think that someone thought I was pretty.

  Does Zayn think I’m pretty?

  The thermometer beeped and I took it out. 98.6. I was perfectly normal. So why was I so hot and flushed and tingly all over? I wandered back to my room and decided to try to take a little nap. Maybe I was getting sick and just didn’t know it.

  Or maybe you have a crush on your stepbrother and you don’t know it.

  I turned my hot face into the coolness of my pillow and let out a little groan. It wasn’t true, what Jess had said. It couldn’t be true. When she’d pressed me, I’d managed to describe my dream man, and so what if it turned out to be someone a lot like Zayn? He was a great guy, and we’d lived together for two years. It was only natural he’d be an influence on me and my choices in men, right?

  That’s what I told myself as I started to drift off. It wasn’t Zayn I wanted. It was someone like Zayn. Someone sweet and funny. Someone who made me laugh and hugged me when I cried. Someone who knew what I was thinking even before I said it, who finished my sentences the way he did sometimes. Someone who stuck up for me and told me I had a beautiful voice, even though I knew it wasn’t as good as a lot of other girls in the choir. Someone who let me fall asleep with my head in his lap on the couch watching Stranger Things, who stroked my hair while I was asleep.

  All those things Zayn did already.

  I didn’t understand what Jess thought she was missing. She’d gotten the best guy in school. Bud couldn’t even come close. She’d been right about Zayn’s physique. He went to school early every day to work out in the school’s gym. I’d seen him walking down the hallway at home after a shower, a towel wrapped around his hips. He was tanned and toned. His abdomen alone was like a road full of speedbumps, clear, defined hills and valleys. His biceps bulged when he wore short-sleeved t-shirts, even when he wasn’t flexing.

  And why have you been paying such close attention to his body, huh?

  I rolled over fitfully on my bed, tangling the blankets between my legs. I couldn’t get comfortable. The more I thought about what Jess had said, the more uncomfortable I felt. Well, heck, I was human, wasn’t I? A girl couldn’t help noticing Zayn and how good-looking he was. It wasn’t my fault he was my stepbrother. My mom had decided to marry his dad. I hadn’t been consulted in the matter. It had just been something that had happened, that we all had to live with.

  But what about before that?

  I didn’t want to think about it—the way Zayn had smiled at me, the way his gaze had followed me around the choir room.

  What about the time he kissed you?

  I moaned and tugged the covers up between my thighs, feeling a low buzz between my legs that hummed like something electric. The covers were bunched up against the crotch of my yoga pants and I squeezed my legs together at the memory of Zayn’s lips pressed to mine.

  It had happened at the church, soon after Pastor Dave had started preaching his first sermon—kind of ironic, my first kiss in the house of the Lord. I’d been in the supply closet, looking for packets of construction paper for the children’s program that morning, and Zayn had come into the closet, shutting the door behind him. That left us in total darkness—the only light came from the slit under the door.

  “What are you doing?” I’d whispered.

  “Nothing,” he whispered back.

  Then, he’d reached for me, grabbing my upper arms and pulling me close.

  “Zayn.” I bit my lip, feeling his breath, sweet and warm, against my face. “Don’t…”

  My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. And I had that same feverish feeling, all over my body, warm and tingly.

  He sighed and let me go. “Okay.”

  But I’d stopped him when he reached for the doorknob, putting my hand over his.

  “Wait.” My voice had almost disappeared, had gone all breathy. “Don’t. I…”

  “Linnie, I have to kiss you.” He sounded pained, like it hurt him to be holding back.

  “Oh,” I breathed. “Oh yes. Please.”

  And he had. The memory of his mouth on mine was something I’d never forget, the soft press of his full lips, the sweet way his tongue had asked for entry, how I’d opened to him without a second thought. It was like my body instantly knew what to do. There was no awkward feeling or strangeness about it. Our mouths fit together perfectly. Zayn’s arms around me felt so right. I put my arms around his neck and pressed myself against him. I wanted to crawl right into him somehow, that’s what it felt like.

  When we parted, we were both panting, breathless.

  Then the supply closet had opened and Mrs. Schwab was there, asking if I had found the paper. I grabbed it from where it had fallen on the floor, my face a hundred shades of red, and followed her out. I hadn’t even looked back at Zayn. I don’t know if she ever told my mother or Pastor Dave what she’d seen. I still wondered about that.

  But it didn’t matter—beca
use there would be no kissing in our future, once our parents started dating each other. Given how strong my feelings for Zayn had been in that moment, it had been a kind of relief, knowing he was off-limits. We’d shut the door on that kiss—locked it up in a dark place, like the supply closet it had taken place in, throwing away the key.

  That’s what I’d thought—until Jess hinted at me having a crush on Zayn.

  It’s true. Just admit it. You’ve always had a crush on him.

  I whimpered and turned over on the bed again. What did it matter? There was nothing I could do about it, even if it was true. Zayn and Jess had been dating for almost two years. They were a couple. And Zayn was my stepbrother. He was off-limits and always would be. There was nothing I could do about that.

  But you can keep him from a loveless marriage.

  My eyes popped open. Jess’s words came back to me, everything she had said about her and Zayn. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. If that was how she felt, then she didn’t deserve him. Why wasn’t she willing to wait for him? I would be, I thought, turning my pillow to the cool side and punching it hard to fluff it up.

  No, you wouldn’t. You wanted to jump him that day in the closet.

  I moaned at the truth of that thought. What if we hadn’t been interrupted? What would have happened that day? What if Zayn had reached over and locked the door? Would we have ended up rutting on the supply closet floor like two animals?

  The thought disgusted me. It also excited me beyond belief.

  I closed my eyes and tried to pray.

  Dear God, give me strength. Let me follow the right path, the one you want for me. I’m trying so hard to do the right thing. I don’t mean to think impure thoughts, Lord, really I don’t. But these feelings are so strong, and I just don’t know what to do about them.

  I prayed, but the impure thoughts came to me anyway. All those dirty words that Jess had taught me over the years kept coming back. Words like cock and pussy and tits and, oh God, please help me, words like fuck and, worse, the verb, fucking, which implied an action I wasn’t allowed to take, as much as I ached for it, like there was a hole inside of me that desperately wanted to be filled… fucked…

  “Zayn,” I whispered into my pillow, hoping no one heard me—especially God. “Oh Zayn, I want you, I want you so much…”

  It was an admission even I couldn’t bear. I willed myself to drift away from my thoughts, to go to sleep, so I wouldn’t think these sinful things anymore. But my subconscious was already at work, ready to fill me with dreams of my stepbrother, of his hard, lean body and his warm, soft lips, his big, strong hands. My body twisted, sweaty and hot, and I moaned in my sleep, caught in a web of my own subconscious’s making. I couldn’t escape, even in my dreams.

  I was full of Zayn, full to the hilt with him, and I liked it.

  Oh God, help me, I loved it.

  I woke up shuddering, moaning and throbbing all over, from my toes to my fingertips, the covers a tangled mess, pulled taut between my legs. But especially there, everything spasming with pleasure at my core. In spite of that, there was no release. Because I wanted him, still.

  Zayn.

  I let out a little sob and slipped out of bed, getting onto my knees to pray. I prayed for guidance and strength. I prayed for Jess, and I prayed for Zayn. I prayed he would understand what I had to tell him. He had to know. It was best that he did.

  I decided to tell him that night. It was a Friday and he was up late.

  Mom and Dad were in bed and he was watching the Tigers-Rangers game in the living room. He was on the couch, wearing his pajamas. He didn’t even notice I was there. I’d stood behind him for a while, wondering if I should just go to bed and forget about it. He and Jess were a cute couple, but she wasn’t right for him. I knew that now, after everything she’d said. He would be great for her, for any girl, but Jess couldn’t see that. I didn’t want to break his heart, but not telling him about Jess’s thoughts would only mean I was part of the problem.

  “Hey, Zayn.” I plopped down on the couch. “How’s the game?”

  “They’re down 5-4 in the seventh.” He gave me a quick sideways hug with his right arm. “What are you doing up so late?”

  I couldn’t look at him. Looking at him made me think strange things I knew I shouldn’t be thinking. “Nothing. I just wanted to hang out with you.”

  “Fine by me. Just don’t freak out when I go nuts if the Tigers take the lead.”

  He kept his arm around me, so I tucked my feet underneath me and laid my head on his shoulder. I didn’t mind baseball, but I mainly just wanted to be close to him. I needed to feel his strength, so it would remind me to be strong.

  Finally, I worked up the courage to say, “I need to tell you something.”

  He sensed the worry in my voice right away. I knew he would.

  “What?” He picked up the TV remote and muted the volume. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s about Jess.” I took a deep breath and just went for it. I had to. “She doesn’t love you, Zayn. She only wants to have sex with you.”

  He didn’t say anything, so I went on.

  “She thinks our abstinence contracts are stupid—that our faith is stupid, really—and she can’t understand why you won’t have sex with her. She doesn’t want to marry you and… and she even asked me if you’re gay.”

  Zayn sat silent for a moment, taking all of it in before he let out a little laugh. “She thinks I’m gay? Really?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  He let his head drop back against the cushions of the couch. “Wow. I’m at a loss for words right now. When did she tell you this?”

  “She’s been going on about the sex thing for months, but… the gay thing just came out today.”

  “The gay thing came out?” He chuckled. “No pun intended?”

  I smiled. He could always make me laugh.

  “Seriously, Zayn, she’s only interested in your…” I caught myself gesturing toward his crotch. I yanked my hand back, but it was too late. He’d noticed. I couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Your package.”

  “My package?” He snickered. “Well, I can tell you one thing—I’m not delivering it to her.”

  “You’re not?” Why did that make my heart swell so much?

  “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to break up with her,” he confessed. I gaped at him, stunned. I couldn’t even believe it. “I know she wants to have sex, but I’m not going to give my, uh, package to just anyone.”

  “But you’ve been dating for so long…”

  “I know.” He sighed. “I guess it was easy. I’ve just kind of been waiting for the right girl to come along in the meantime.”

  “That’s… kind of mean to Jess.” I frowned.

  “Oh, I like Jess well enough.” His brow crinkled. “But she doesn’t seem to want the same things I do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like… real intimacy.” He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “I want someone who really understands me. And, to be honest, someone who isn’t so shallow.”

  “She is, kind of…” I nodded. “Shallow.”

  “I want someone who…” He sighed and shook his head, looking down at the floor.

  “Finishes your sentences?” I asked softly.

  He lifted his face to look at me, and I saw a longing there that took my breath away.

  “Someone like you, Linnie.” His hand moved through my hair, stroking gently. His voice trembled a little, and I thought there might be tears in his eyes. That was just before he leaned in and kissed me.

  It brought back our first kiss in an instant. My first-ever kiss. Maybe his, too—I wasn’t sure. But we were older, now. Our bodies had changed. My body responded fervently. Instead of backing away—heaven help me—I kissed him right back. I put my arms around his neck and squirmed closer, felt his hands moving through my hair, tilting my head so his tongue could slip between my lips.

  I breathed in the scent of his cologne a
nd a musky, masculine smell underneath that, something that was uniquely Zayn. He breathed me in, too, his hands moving down to my shoulders, his thumbs stroking my collarbone on each side, sending hot sparks down my arms, all the way to my fingertips. My nipples hardened instantly under my t-shirt, poking out against the material.

  “Linnie,” he whispered when we parted, his eyes fluttering open to look at me.

  “Zayn.” I swallowed, biting my lip. Then my body took over. I wasn’t even me anymore—I kissed him again, moaning softly as I climbed into his lap, straddling him. He was wearing pajama pants and he couldn’t hide his erection. It rubbed up between my legs—I felt it through my yoga pants, making me squirm.

  He moaned, too, when I did that, his tongue stroking a sensitive spot on the roof of my mouth, his hands sliding up my waist, over my t-shirt. I squeezed my thighs together, around his hips, so hungry and eager, rocking in his lap. Zayn’s hands moved higher still, until they were cupping my breasts. I cried out against his mouth when his palms grazed my nipples, making me shudder all over.

  What in God’s name are you doing? He’s your brother!

  It was that little voice that pushed me away from him. I met his startled gaze for a moment before I jumped off his lap and ran to my room. I didn’t look back. I ignored him calling after me. When I got to my room, I locked my door and dropped to my knees to pray for forgiveness.

  Then I hid under the sheets of my bed and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I heard him come to my door. His footsteps stopped just outside. I waited for him to knock, wondering if I would answer it or not. But that knock never came. Instead, he walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  And those thoughts were utterly impure.

  I couldn’t get away from the feeling. The feel of his lips on mine, the pressure of his body against me, the smell of him, the steel bar that rose up between us, like the exclamation point at the end of a sentence, insisting on being noticed.