“I remember.” He leaned in, his voice silky and dark. Close like that I could see the lighter fleck in his brown eyes, the way they almost turned to amber at the center around the pupil.
“You know what I remember the most?” he asked, low and intimate. “The soft moans you made when I touched you.” He kept stroking me, only along my inner wrist, but I felt it all over.
“Don’t,” I pleaded, but my voice had a breathy quality, one of those soft moans he’d referred to threatening close to the surface.
“No?” he whispered so close he could kiss me if he wanted. He trailed a finger lightly down my neck and I could imagine his tongue there, his hot mouth closing in to suck and lick like he had at the party. “You want me to stop?” he asked, low and wicked, teasing.
I shivered, my eyes half closed. “Please,” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.
He chuckled and pulled away. My traitorous body instantly missed his touch.
“Dick,” I hissed, trying to compose myself, masking my arousal as anger.
“Yeah, I’m cocky.” He stood, drawing up to his full height. My eyes remained at the level of his waist. And right below it. I drew in my breath. He was huge, a massive bulge barely contained in his briefs, the thick length of his cock pushing up to his waistband. I could almost see the tip, could see it if I reached over and dipped in my fingers.
“Naughty, naughty, sis.” He wagged his finger at me as if I’d done something wrong. Then he turned and gave me a nice view of his perfect muscled ass as he sauntered into the kitchen while I sat there fuming, breathless. I hadn’t done anything wrong, it was him who crossed the lines, and then he tried to make me feel like the guilty one. He was absolutely infuriating.
§
Late Friday night, I heard a noise out in the hallway. I’d been up anyway, having trouble sleeping. I hated to admit it, but I was thinking about Tuck. I didn’t know why he bothered me so much, how he was so good at getting under my skin. Up until now I’d had no trouble staying far away from guys like him. Dangerous bad boys who fucked their way through countless women like it was their job? No thank you. It was just shit luck that my mother had forced me into such close quarters with one. And that I’d already felt his hot, wicked lips on my mouth, my throat, licking and sucking like I was a rare delicacy.
I just had to make it through this week, then I’d make sure I didn’t see him all summer. With any luck, I’d get that eight-week internship at the center in L.A. I’d be safe there. Tuck’s whole social scene revolved around New York with his boarding school pals and frat brothers. I was sure he’d spend the summer wherever they all headed, probably partying his ass off every night in the Hamptons.
There was that noise again. I got up to investigate. Pushing open my door, I saw them up against the wall. Tuck had a woman with him and held her there, pinning her wrists up over her head with one hand, the other cupping her ass. Her long legs were wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her, pumping into her against the wall.
“Ah!” she gasped as he fucked her, long and strong and hard. He caught her lips with his, silencing her with a kiss as he continued his relentless pounding.
I should have turned away, should have backed into my room and hidden myself like a good girl. But I couldn’t look away. He looked so huge and powerful, his muscles flexing as he thrust into her like an animal. She made noises deep in her throat, guttural, beyond reason. She wore a skimpy dress, the bottom shoved up around her waist, the top ripped down.
Heat grew between my legs, my pussy beginning to throb. His ass thrust again and again, forcing her up against the wall and she loved it. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she bucked against him, her breasts bouncing as he pounded into her.
I’d never seen anything like it. Never seen any porn, certainly never done anything like it myself. What would it feel like to have a man do that to you? To have Tuck do that to me? I could imagine my hands pinned up over my head, his large, strong palm capturing me, trapping me there for his pleasure. I could feel myself grow wet, knew if I reached a finger down into my panties I’d find my folds glistening and slick.
“I’m coming!” she gasped and he clasped a hand over her mouth. I could still tell she screamed with pleasure as she shuddered and convulsed against him.
His perfect ass tensed. He gave one last long, hard thrust and made a guttural grunt. My pussy clenched in response. I wanted to feel his cock in me. I wanted to be the one to take his come.
Almost as if he could hear my thoughts, he turned his face in my direction and looked straight at me. He didn’t seem surprised to see me and I wondered how long he’d known I was there. My eyes widened in surprise and embarrassment at being caught, but I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot. Then he smiled at me, a wicked, carnal, knowing smile that just about melted what was left of my panties.
I fled back into my bedroom and locked my door just in case.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen, his animal fucking, all power, all male. And that sexy beast of a smile he gave me, letting me know, ‘I caught you. I know you watched. And now I know what you want.’
CHAPTER 4
Tuck
She’d watched me fucking and I’d caught her. I couldn’t get it out of my head. She’d watched and she’d liked it. I’d seen her the second she’d opened her door, but I hadn’t looked over. I hadn’t wanted her to leave. I wanted her to stay and watch.
Looking at her out of the corner of my eye as she’d stood transfixed in her doorway, she’d turned me on way more than the girl I was balls-deep in. Jewel standing with slightly parted lips, her fascination and arousal building as I went at it like an animal. I was imagining it was her up against the wall, her ass I sank my fingers into, her wrists I pinned mercilessly to the wall above her head. She didn’t seem able to move away so I had to wonder if she was picturing the exact same thing.
Usually after a good fuck I’d sleep like a baby. That night I lay awake looking at the ceiling, thinking about Jewel next door. Had she ever let loose? I bet not. I bet all she’d done was fantasize, think about it late at night. Maybe she was doing that right now, touching herself, guilty and embarrassed but unable to resist.
I’d never been with a girl like her. I’d always gone for the one and done, the types who didn’t expect more. It made things easier. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Jewel. Jewel in her baggy sweat shirts and glasses, no make up, hair up in a messy bun. She did nothing to try to attract me. But I could sense it, so much fire down below the ice. Inside that prim and proper exterior was a wildcat needing to be let out of its cage.
I’d avoided her all week. Sleeping all day, I’d gone out and partied all night, every night. It wasn’t like my old man was staying home and playing Scrabble, wanting to spend quality time with me anyway. He and trophy wife number three were out attending gallery openings and cozy dinner parties for 50.
That week I’d partied so hard I didn’t even remember half of it. Photos kept showing up on my phone and I had to admit, I didn’t like not knowing. Who were those chicks with their arms thrown around me? What had I been doing smoking stogies? My body felt like a junkyard and I had only myself to blame. I knew if I wanted to get serious about MMA fighting, I had to give up all that shit. You couldn’t suck down a bottle of Jamison, pump smoke into your lungs and then expect to be king of the mountain.
Partying. Womanizing. Working the system. I was just like my old man. I hated seeing our similarities. He loved it. He’d give me shit about it, but it wasn’t the same as with the fighting. Fighting, he hated. He thought it was uncivilized, that I was acting like an animal, and he was right about that. But the real problem he had with MMA was that he’d never done it himself. All the rest of my bad behavior, I knew he kind of liked. He almost sounded nostalgic when he referred to my “tom-catting” and “gallivanting” around town.
Meanwhile goody-two-shoes was lighting it up academically at some all-girls private college in
Massachusetts. My dad loved to bait me with it, use her as the symbol of everything I wasn’t.
“I was too easy on you,” he loved to say. “You’re soft.”
It did me good. He worked up a rage in me that I kept real quiet when I was with him. No sense giving him the satisfaction of blowing my top. But at the gym, I’d fucking pound it out. I’d started amateur fighting and so far I’d won a lot more than I’d lost. Only six fights, but still, I liked my stats.
This break he was pissed as all hell. I’d nearly gotten myself kicked out of school, and believe me, when your father donated as much money as mine that took some doing. I was pretty creative, though.
The way I saw it, I was doing them a favor. Those college boys needed an underground fight club. Most of them couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag. I was doing a favor to society, stemming the tide of over-educated wimps. The university didn’t see it that way. Neither did one of the members of the governing board, whose son happened to split his nose open in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town during a fight. Great fight, by the way.
But Daddy had flown in and smoothed things over. I wondered how big a check he’d had to write this time. Spineless shit that I was, I let him do it. I let him bail me out.
So I owed him. When he told me I had to spend spring break in New York with my new family, I knew I’d better show up and be on my best damn behavior. No dilly-dallying or hornswaggling or whatever the fuck 1930s words he liked to throw around. He was such a pretentious dick. I figured any day now he’d start wearing a monocle and carrying a cane, maybe start saying “old chap” and “bloody good.”
Every night in New York, Jewel stayed home. Near as I could tell, she knew no one in the city. The girl gave new meaning to the word “recluse”.
The thing with Jewel was, she didn’t seem to care. Everything about her seemed above it all. She’d sit there on the couch, curled up with some light reading like War and Peace or The Encyclopedia of Everything You Wanted to Know about Anything and barely looked up when any of us headed out the door. She was completely engrossed, like she had everything she needed right where she sat. She didn’t constantly check her phone like me and everyone else I knew. She wasn’t posting/tweeting/snapchatting. She sat, still and calm, completely absorbed in her own world.
It drove me crazy. My game didn’t work if I didn’t have an audience. She’d been so hot for me back at that party, I’d figured I’d have a lot more traction with her. But in New York, she barely looked at me. She kept her distance, hardly said hello. If she saw me in the kitchen, she’d immediately turn back into her bedroom and close the door. She shut me down.
I couldn’t figure her out and I didn’t like that feeling. I was usually pretty good at sizing up people. I’d been right about her mother, she put the gold in gold-digger. But Jewel? I wasn’t so sure any more.
We were like mismatched magnets. The more I felt drawn to her, the more she seemed repelled by me. The nearer I drew, the faster she flung herself away.
Saturday, she avoided me, as she always did, skittish and tense in my presence. I left her alone. But I was starting to not want to. I hung out in my room watching a boring movie, so that turned into watching porn. What can I say? I never claimed to be a great guy. I was a 21-year-old man pumped up with testosterone and as much as I’d fucked my way through the city the night before—and photos lighting up my phone seemed to suggest I’d done just that—I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl two doors down in the big sweatshirt. Jewel.
She’d been in her usual spot, tucked into the couch, when I’d last seen her. She hadn’t even looked up when I walked through the room. It was like she didn’t even notice me. But I’d caught her watching last night. I wanted to draw her out again, see that look in her eyes, heated, needy.
Our parents’ big party was that night. It was going to be huge, epic as some of my friends liked to say. They’d rented out some exclusive private club and flown in people from all over the world. At least half the kids I’d gone to prep school with would be there.
Getting ready, I felt restless. Not like the buzz or anticipation you were supposed to feel before going out. This shit was getting old. The champagne fountains, the truckloads of caviar. I could cut loose and tear my way through the place, see how many chicks I could fuck and how little I could remember of it the next day. But I was getting tired of it.
The only thing that got me going these days, really got my motor revved, was fighting. And the more I got into MMA, the more I saw this whole scene through a different lens. Most of the guys at the gym where I trained, the guys I’d faced off with in the cage, they were tough as shit. They weren’t playing around. What they’d survived growing up made my daddy issues look like child’s play. They took fighting seriously. They didn’t have a college degree, never mind a billionaire father to fall back on. I tried to keep my background private, but they knew. I was a rich kid. And they hated me for it, wanted to pound the crap out of me just because.
I got it. Hell, I even respected it. I felt the same way myself half the time. I knew I didn’t deserve to win if I didn’t earn it. That’s a big part of what appealed to me about MMA. It didn’t matter who your father was, all that mattered was the fight you brought into the cage.
But that night I knew what had to be done. I went to our parents’ big wedding celebration party and played my part, smiled and shook hands. Every now and then I’d catch glimpses of Jewel like a precious ruby slipping through my fingers. She had on a red dress, nothing too scandalous, a scoop neck, ending at the knee, but it was the way she filled it out. And the way it hid more than it revealed. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
After only a couple of hours, I saw Jewel slip away. No one else seemed to notice. After about fifteen minutes, I decided to follow. The idea of tormenting my shy, nerdy stepsister seemed a hell of a lot more entertaining than anything that party had to offer. I was a perverted fuck, messing with my stepsister, I knew that, but I was just after a little fun. It wasn’t like anything serious was going to go down. I knew she was off limits.
I figured she’d headed back to our penthouse and I was right. I got home and saw her right away, her eyes closed as she relaxed in the hot tub. Naughty girl, skipping out on the party. I liked that side of her, refusing to do what was expected.
The light was on outside on the roof deck, like a spotlight down on the hot tub. It was a great big one, all redwood and jets, the steam heat making a dramatic contrast against the background of city lights. I decided what I felt like right then was a nice soak.
Back in my room I pulled on some swim trunks. I knew Jewel well enough by then, if I showed up and stripped down she’d be out of that tub before I could count to ten. I wanted her to stick around.
“Tuck!” she exclaimed, startled, as I opened the French doors.
“Skipping class?” I teased her. “I like it.”
“What are you doing home? Why aren’t you at the party?” Her eyes as big as saucers, she started to rise out of the tub.
She was wearing a bikini, a skimpy one. The tiny triangles plastered wet against her breasts, barely big enough for her large, round globes. Fuck. I froze, and not from the cold outside. I’d never seen her tits before, not like this. I’d thought about them enough times, remembered how her nipples had hardened at my touch. But these luscious curves, she was beyond hot. She blew my fucking mind.
Realizing her vulnerability, she slipped back down into the water, submerging her body up to her neck. I couldn’t tell, but I’d bet money on it that she was blushing. Her skin was so sensitive.
I slipped in, keeping a respectful distance. She was so damn skittish. I had to be careful not to frighten her off. She didn’t trust me as far as she could throw me. And she shouldn’t.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated, sounding annoyed.
“I didn’t feel like staying.” I shrugged.
“How is New York surviving?”
I liked that sm
art mouth on her. I liked it when she used it to harass me. I’d like it even better if she used it to do more than that.
“The city is shutting down,” I confirmed.
“Flags at half-mast?”
“You know it.”
Funny she should mention half-mast. In the hot water, watching her across the steaming tub, her hair piled up on top with some wispy tendrils escaping down framing her face, I wasn’t half-mast. My cock stood up at full attention, thick, hard and ready to pound. And this wasn’t drunken beer goggles. I had a light buzz going, but this was stone cold lust gripping me hard where it hurt.
She settled back, resting her head against the wood of the tub. She kept her chest submerged, but I could see the strings tied up behind her neck. They’d come apart so easy, just a flick of a finger.
“It’s not my suit,” she mumbled. Clearly, she’d noticed where my attention was fixated. A smile curled at my lips. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” she explained. “I had to borrow one.”
“Let me guess,” I asked, moving slightly closer toward her. Sometimes a predator had to move so slowly the prey didn’t even notice the increasing danger. “You have a one-piece suit.”
“Yes.” She giggled. I loved that sound. She looked so cute when she laughed, all those angry edges instantly melted.
“Is it black?”
“Navy blue.” She laughed again.
“So, it’s not just me you laugh at? You laugh at yourself, sometimes, too?”
“Oh, god, all the time.”
“I haven’t seen much of it.”
“Well, you haven’t seen much of me.”
The words hung there between us. I instantly thought of how I’d seen her last night. When she’d watched me fuck another girl hard against a wall.
She cleared her throat, seeming slightly agitated. Maybe that’s what she’d thought of as well. “I heard you almost got kicked out of school,” she said.
Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance Page 4
