He jumped right in. “When I win, tomorrow you wear a bikini around the house all day.”
What? Our parents would be gone tomorrow. They were leaving in the morning for Baja. All day Sunday it would be just the two of us. I couldn’t be next-to-naked in the house with him all day! He’d find countless ways to touch me, tempt me. I bet he’d offer to rub sun lotion on me and I’d be panting and begging under his hands in less than a minute. Unless… maybe I could choose something that really covered up, like a tankini? With a long-sleeve sun shirt. And a cover-up skirt.
“I choose the bikini,” he added.
What, could he read my mind? That would never work. He’d choose a thong with pasties and call it swimwear. “No deal.” I refused.
“How about a kiss, then?” he asked, cocking his head.
“A kiss?”
“Just a kiss. If I win, I dare you to kiss me.”
“Clothes on?”
“Clothes on.”
“No touching?”
He put his hands up as if to suggest innocence.
Well. One kiss. That was pretty harmless, wasn’t it? In fact, maybe it was smart. Maybe it would get Tuck out of my system?
That had happened back in high school with Walt. We’d sat next to each other in Chemistry. I’d had a crush on him for over a year. Nothing like what I felt now for Tuck, but still, I’d wasted time drawing hearts with our names inside of them. When Walt had finally taken me out to pizza and given me a kiss in front of his car, it had felt like getting licked by a reptile, cold and repellant with an aggressive tongue. I’d gotten over Walt real quick.
Maybe kissing Tuck would be horrible? OK, we’d done it at that holiday party and it had rocked my world. But maybe that was beginner’s luck? Maybe now we’d finally lock lips and—poof, problem solved! I’d never want to again!
“Sure,” I agreed, surprising him.
“Yeah?” His eyes heated up and I swallowed, instantly unsure I’d made the right decision.
“Um, I guess. But I kiss you, not the other way around. Once.”
He nodded, so sure of himself. “I win, you kiss me.”
“OK.” I nodded, looking down at the cards. “No touching,” I reminded him. Now I just had to make sure I won.
I won the first hand and the second. Then I got overly confident and he took the next three. By the time we got to the eleventh and final round, it was an even tie, five and five. I’d met my match. Tuck was good at bluffing, raising the stakes when most people would have folded, knowing when to call and force my hand when sure enough I had nothing. My hands shook as I discarded two and drew two more. I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.
His lips were full and sensuous, yet so wickedly masculine. He still had a cut above his eye, from the fight Thursday night. I wanted to kiss that, then trail down to his lips and drink my fill. No touching, clothes on, it couldn’t be that risky, right?
A kindergartener could have seen right through my poker face. Emotions and bluffing didn’t mix. I was a hot mess, sitting so close to Tuck, knowing so much was hanging in the balance, how close I might be to winning and him giving me some space. Or me screwing up and getting what I really wanted.
He laid his cards out on the table. Four of a kind, kings. I had a straight. If my cards all had the same suit, I’d be in luck, besting his hand in style. But they had different suits, diamonds here, spades there. Trembling slightly, I laid out my cards. He’d won.
He looked up at me and the gleam in his eyes was nothing less than predatory. Wolfish. He wanted to devour me.
But I’d made the rules. I’d tightly constrained the boundaries around this kiss. Clothes on, no touching. I’d kiss him. Just a quick lean in and duck out and I’d be done with it.
He sat there, watching the emotions play out over my face. I knew I was showing him everything, an open book. My nervousness and excitement, my apprehension and eagerness all there for him to see.
“Just a kiss,” I whispered, moving slightly closer.
“Just a kiss,” he echoed, though the way he said it, deep and husky, made me shiver with need.
“No touching,” I reminded him, closer still. He kept his hands pressed against the couch pillows as I leaned in, hand up on the back of the couch as I raised my lips to his.
Searing heat, soft velvet, I couldn’t think as my heart pounded against my ribs and I brought my lips to his. His breath, his lips exploring mine, holding back, letting me kiss him lightly at the side of his mouth, down more fully on his lower lip. I couldn’t stop myself, I flicked my tongue against him and his breath hitched. I pressed closer, kissing him more fully on his luscious mouth.
He kissed me back, keeping his hands down, moving his lips with mine, slowly, no rush. He let me explore and taste and I couldn’t imagine stopping, not ever, as I parted my lips slightly and he did as well. Our tongues touched, teasing, flirting the way we’d been flirting around each other the past few weeks, hot, delicious, then intertwined. A moan escaped my lips as he kissed me more fully, taking my lips with his own and stroking me with his tongue.
He made a low growl in his throat and I could barely breathe, never wanted to use my mouth for anything ever again, not eating or drinking or any purpose other than kissing this man. Powerful, urgent, he claimed my mouth and my entire body sang with desire, wanting to feel his hands, his chest. I wanted all of him, not just his lips and tongue, but his entire body pressed full and hot against me exactly like the dream I’d had last night. Only this was real and I never wanted it to end.
CHAPTER 14
Tuck
I let her kiss me. It took all my resolve, all my training, every ounce of strength I had within to let her do it. I sat there and let her kiss me.
She was so eager, so hot and excited to taste me. Her tongue against my lip, testing, needing. I wanted to let it build in her, let her fires start roaring. She needed to lead herself down this path.
I knew I could pin her down, make her whimper and beg in seconds right there on the couch. And, believe me, I wanted to do it.
I didn’t think I’d ever just kissed a girl. Even from my first kisses, I’d always gotten my hands in play, in for a grope, a feel, trying to get the clothes off for more. Always escalating the game. To stay with a kiss, it was torture.
But this sweet, delicious torture? It would lead to the same place, eventually. I’d have her beneath me, begging to take everything I had to give her. And it would be so much sweeter, so much hotter if she got herself there, placed her own wrists in the handcuffs. Her creamy, sensitive skin, her own hands sliding down her panties for her spanking. I loved submission, and nothing would be more sexy than Jewel so heated up, so filled with lust that she gave herself over fully, completely to me.
I could feel her shake and pant. She was fighting it, but I kept kissing her, plundering her with my tongue, showing her how good it would be, stroking and licking and kissing. How it would feel when I used my mouth, my tongue, kissing every inch of her body. Making my way down her stomach, parting her thighs, finding the core of her, where she’d be glistening with heat, wet and ready for me as I tasted her, licking, sucking, fucking her with my tongue until she moaned and begged and came hard all over my face.
She was so tense, so taut, her hand gripping the couch pillow as she pressed into me, still not touching with any part of her body other than her lips. That’s right, Jewel. Get worked up. Test your limits, so I can take you past them. Get yourself to where you can’t think anymore and then give yourself to me. I wanted her panting, senseless with lust, shaking with need so she’d hand me the keys and let me drive.
For now, I kept my hands at my sides. Letting her kiss, explore, taste, lick. Even as I could feel her desire build, feel her breath grow shaky and uneven. Even as I could see her nipples pebble, hard, straining against her sweater, dying to be touched, pinched, twisted, sucked.
Until she stopped. I didn’t exactly know what was happening until she was standing up.
I watched her there, her full breasts rising and falling, her nipples standing out hard against her lacy bra under that ridiculous excuse for a sweater. It didn’t cover up so much as announce her tits underneath, calling your attention to the lingerie and, better yet, the breasts within. I wanted to bring my mouth to them. If she thought my kissing her mouth felt good, she should just wait.
“I’m going to go now,” she said without going anywhere.
I didn’t move from the couch. I knew she didn’t want to go. I just watched her and asked, “Is that what you want to do, Jewel?”
Her eyes flickered closed for a moment, a revealing second in which I could see her fighting back raw lust. No, she didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay and play, let herself go and get properly, soundly, relentlessly fucked for the first time in her life.
“I can’t,” she stated simply. And for the second time in one week I watched her walk away.
I sat there hard as a fucking rock. I dropped my head into my hands and pulled at my hair. She had me as torqued up as a teenager. More than when I was a teenager. I’d never had trouble finding a girl to get me off, not from the very start.
Over the last few weeks, I’d been jerking off like it was my job, more than I had back when I was 17. At 17 I’d fucked my way through a couple of different boarding schools. Partying with bored, slutty rich girls always ended with a bang. But none of that interested me now, none of the girls I’d known, nor any of the girls who hung off MMA fighters like candy canes, draping themselves off of your body for you to lick. I didn’t want them. I wanted Jewel.
And she kept fighting this. I thought I had a lot of will power. Damn, that girl made me look like a fucking pansy. She fought this and fought it, as if her life depended on it.
This was more than just some label. She and I knew the whole step-sibling thing wasn’t going to stick. She was just using that as an excuse.
Deep down inside she was terrified. I scared the shit out of her. She’d never let go before and she was terrified of what would happen when she did.
But it had to happen. This was inevitable. An attraction this strong would not be denied.
And you couldn’t go through your whole life hiding. What was the point? You had to come out into the storm, take off your shoes and feel the grass barefoot, run around and take a risk. And I’d make it good for her. I knew I would. I’d spend all day, all night making it good for her. I wanted her to come and come again, see her throat arched back, her lips parted, her hands reaching out to grab on to something as she felt herself slipping, releasing, giving in to wave after pounding wave of pleasure.
It was just a matter of time. And it wouldn’t be long now. I’d break down her defenses. I knew I got to her, and soon she’d admit it and come to me. Come for me, again and again.
After flipping around looking at a few re-runs, movies, stupid shows, I turned off the TV and decided to head up to bed. I’d wake up early and hit the ground running, literally. Mondays Coach ran a brutal training regimen. I ate it up.
Upstairs in the hallway, I paused outside Jewel’s door. It was closed, of course, shut tight and I bet she’d locked it, too. Keeping me out. Keeping herself in. That lock was going to loosen one day soon.
I could imagine her in there, that sweater off, bra off as well. She’d probably slipped into something else, but I liked picturing her lying on her bed naked, those gorgeous tits arching up. I could remember what she’d looked like when I’d seen her at my doorway, the way her mouth had parted, the sound on her lips.
In the hallway, I heard a sigh come from her room.
Had I made that up? It sounded exactly like in my fantasies, how she sounded when I made her come. I’d probably imagined it. I was so worked up over this girl she was fucking with my head.
I heard it again. It was real. This time, unmistakable. The sound of pure pleasure. I knew what she was doing in there. She was touching herself.
Desire coursed through me, hard and thick. Like a wild beast, I wanted to pound down her door, splinter it with my bare hands, pin her down to her bed and plunge my cock into her wet and quivering pussy. But I also wanted to hear her, panting, moaning in there pleasuring herself. So I stood there still, my dick straining against my jeans as I brought my ear close to the door and listened.
“Tuck.” I heard her groan my name. My name. She was in there thinking about me as she stroked her clit. “Oh! Tuck!” I could tell she was close, she sounded desperate for release, and I thought I’d go out of my mind listening to her. Then her sounds got muffled, as if she’d turned her face into a pillow as she groaned and cried out, burying her mouth to quiet her screams while she came hard all over her fingers thinking of me.
That was it. Fists by my sides, I let my breath out with a silent hiss. I was done playing games. Done fucking around, flirting and kissing.
This week, our parents were gone. We had the whole house to ourselves. We were going to put the time to use. It would be our dirty, filthy secret.
As I walked down the hall to my bedroom, I knew it with absolute certainty. Shit was about to go down. It was going to get raw and nasty. And I was going to make her beg for it. Over and over and over again.
CHAPTER 15
Jewel
Sunday morning I was up and out of the house like a jackrabbit. I hit an early morning yoga class, then grabbed a latte and browsed around a bookstore. I knew I could call one of my friends from high school. I didn’t have anything like the social network Tuck had—who did?—but I knew a couple people who were supposed to be around this summer. But I felt so crazy, so out of sorts and consumed with conflict I didn’t think it was a good idea. This wasn’t exactly an idle topic of conversation. How’s your summer going? Awesome! I have an amazing internship! And, let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, I totally want to fuck my stepbrother!
I knew avoiding Tuck wasn’t solving anything, but old habits die hard. I’d had a lifetime of training—run away and hide!!! In some areas in life, at least. Academically, I’d shone, winning prizes for essays and scoring so high on the SAT that colleges sought me out, sending me fat packages in the mail and offering scholarships. It was men that freaked me out.
Growing up, all I’d seen was a revolving door of guys yanking my mother around in the kind of carnival ride you just wanted to stop. First she’d get up, up, up over some new man. He was the one! This was it! Everything she’d always dreamed of! Then I’d see the telltale signs. The worry fraying at the corner of her mouth. She’d start smoking again, sneaking a drink from time to time when she thought no one would notice. Going on a shopping binge to buy the right stuff to keep him interested. Then the collapse, like the steep downward pitch of a roller coaster only without any of the fun rush. She’d lie on the couch for a month, bottle of booze by her feet, cigarettes mashed out on a plate. The woman who preened and fussed and insisted on looking movie-star glam to run errands was gone, replaced by someone who didn’t shower, didn’t brush her teeth, didn’t change clothes for days on end.
That’s what men did to women—or at least, that had been my side of the story, my version of events. Even the up side hadn’t been that cool for me. Mom didn’t cook dinner or ask about school any more when she was falling in love than when she was falling hard after it ended. Men were all-around bad news.
Up until now, it had been easy for me to avoid them. As a late bloomer, in high school they hadn’t wanted me any more than I’d wanted them. At an all-girls college, it was pretty easy to go long stretches of time without much interaction. I didn’t go to bars, wouldn’t dream of heading to some frat party at a neighboring school. I’d been extremely successful at keeping myself sheltered, practically hermetically sealed away from the opposite sex.
But right now I wished I’d had more experience. Nothing had prepared me for Tuck. Last night, the word “kiss” didn’t begin to describe how it felt, so luscious and intimate, shocki
ngly erotic both because of how good it felt and how much it promised. The man knew what he was doing. Man-whore about town, I couldn’t imagine how many girls he’d kissed over the years. He probably had no idea himself. But he’d certainly picked up some skills along the way. He made me feel like he craved me, like he’d die without tasting more of me, as if he couldn’t get enough and never would.
I knew that couldn’t be true. How could it? I sure felt that way about him, but it had to be a symptom of temporary insanity, a product of my lack of experience. When you’d kissed all of four people, you sure got a kick out of it.
This couldn’t mean as much to him. I’d seen women throw their panties at him. Literally. I’d seen him fucking a model up against a wall and she’d loved it, moaned for more. A man who could have any girl he wanted just couldn’t be hell-bent on me. I didn’t even think I was being hard on myself—I liked myself just fine, knew I was smart as hell and all that, but that’s why I knew, logically, this situation didn’t add up. If I let down my guard with this man, I wouldn’t just have to deal with the problem of having hooked up with my stepbrother. Awkward at the least, totally wrong if you really thought about it.
But I knew that the worst fallout, the worst casualty would be my heart. I’d never fallen for someone, not really, not the way I knew I could with Tuck. And I could tell, if I let myself go, I’d fall so hard for him, down and down the rabbit hole. I might never come up again for air. When the summer ended, he’d be onward and upward, a pro MMA fighter, countless girls waiting for him back in his hotel suite. I’d be a freaking wreck. If I thought I had it bad now, if I gave myself to him, let myself go and surrendered to this madness, I honestly didn’t know how or if I’d ever recover.
My phone blipped with a text. I pulled it out and saw a message from Mike:
Missed you last night.
That’s right, he and Maria had gone to see that action flick. I would have been better off joining them. I wrote back:
How was it?
Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance Page 13
