Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance

by Harper, Callie

  A few seconds later he wrote:

  Horrible. I loved it.

  Then:

  They should have given acting credits to the hero’s abs. They were captivating.

  I cracked up.

  Sorry I missed it.

  Before long, he’d invited me to join him at a farmer’s market, which led to inviting a friend of his over afterwards and we all made fresh salsa and ate the whole bowl with amazing thick, salty chips and mojitos. His friend used real sugar cane in the drink and I’d never tasted anything I liked better. I liked them so much I drank three of them and promptly passed out on Mike’s couch.

  The next morning I woke up fuzzy-mouthed and disoriented to the blip of a text message from my phone.

  Squinting, then rubbing my eyes, I read:

  Where are you?

  From Tuck.

  I groaned and rolled onto my back with my wrist up onto my forehead. That was the trouble with avoiding things. The problems just stayed there, waiting for you to return to them, texting you early in the morning.

  “Morning sunshine!” Mike emerged from his bedroom, looking impeccable as usual.

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “I’m so sorry I’m such a mess.”

  “Are you kidding? You were hilarious last night. I want to get you drunk on mojitos more often.”

  “Oh, no.” I covered my face with my hands.

  “Oh, yes,” Mike insisted, hustling into his kitchenette to brew some coffee. I needed some coffee. “I have never seen anyone as wound up as you. You take repressed to the next level.”

  I just groaned again. I couldn’t begin to deny it. Bless the man, he brought me a mug of coffee. I roused enough to take a sip.

  “I never knew you had a thing for MMA fighters.” He sat down next to me. I nearly did a spit-take.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Last night. You were going on about it, how sexy a man is in the cage. All raw and powerful.”

  I buried my face in my hands again.

  “Oh, come on.” Mike chuffed me with his elbow. “Nothing to be ashamed of here. You were speaking truth.”

  “Did I say anything else?” How much had I rambled? I cringed to imagine what he must think of me now.

  “Nothing that made much sense,” Mike reassured me. “But, seriously, Jewel. I can tell something’s going on with you. I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but if you want to talk, or just hang out or whatever.”

  I promptly burst into tears.

  “Hey, what did I—?”

  I sloppy-cried on his shoulder. “You’re so nice. I’m such a mess.”

  “OK, now.” He petted my head like I was a nut case. Which was true. “None of us are perfect, you know. Best thing to do is stop trying.”

  “You’re so nice.”

  “OK. You said that already. And you’ve got to get cleaned up or we’ll be late for work.”

  Shit! I hopped up, regretting the speed of my actions, but I still managed to get into his bathroom and make the most of the ridiculous state of my appearance. Good thing I didn’t need professional attire at the Marine Mammal Center. Yoga clothes from the day before would have to do.

  A few hours later, I got another text from Tuck.

  Where are you? Are you in trouble? Are you OK?

  Crap, I hadn’t meant to worry him.

  I’m fine. Spent the night at a friend’s.

  He wrote back:

  See you tonight?

  Why did that send a jolt right through me? My hand holding the phone started to shake. I was no match for this man. But I guessed I’d have to see him some time.

  I texted back:

  Yes.

  In a few minutes, my phone blipped again from him:

  Good. I have a poker game planned.

  Standing there in the middle of a dusty old storage room taking inventory of archived specimens, I suddenly felt a rush of heat pooling deep inside of me. My pussy clenched, instantly wet and eager. Tuck. Tonight.

  I didn’t respond. I put my phone away. But that was it, for the rest of the day all I could think about was him, like an irresistible magnet pulling me back by his side.

  §

  A seven o’clock Tuck was standing in the kitchen drinking a bottle of water. He wore a shirt but it fit close to his body, revealing his form cut from granite. I could still see the band tattooed along his bicep. I might not even make it through this poker game. Tonight I felt so worked up I might not even wait for the pretense of a dare. I might just climb on for a ride.

  He locked his gaze on me, hot and intense. “You’re all right, then?”

  “What?” I had a hard time thinking around this man.

  “You didn’t come home last night. I was worried about you.”

  “Oh, yeah, I just hung out with a friend and had a few too many mojitos.”

  “Were you with Mike?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why do you sound so possessive and jealous?”

  “I don’t want you with any other man.” He closed the distance and grasped my wrist, circling his thumb along the sensitive skin on my inner arm. It made me shiver and forget all my words of protest.

  “Come on,” he growled, wrapping my hand in his large, callused grasp. “Let’s play poker.”

  I followed him into the room, already heady with his nearness, his scent. He must have just showered, his hair still looked a little damp and he smelled fresh and clean. I imagined him using soap, working up lather all over his body. I wanted to do that, taking my time, lathering every inch of him.

  I need to stop this. I needed to get a grip. I should think of depressing things like acid rain or the deforestation of the Amazon. Tuck would look amazing in the jungle of the Amazon, sweaty and shirtless as he led me through the palm fronds.

  I was an idiot, a hopeless case.

  We sat on the couch and he shuffled the cards, dealing out our hands on the coffee table. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, his hands, the way they worked and moved.

  “You up for a dare?” he asked me, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  This was my chance, my out. I could stand up and leave, have a stern talk with him about appropriate behavior. I could take the middle ground and tell him we should just play for pennies, lunch money, and then head up for bed alone in twenty minutes.

  Or I could be stupid.

  “Yes,” I answered. I was already turned on and he could probably tell. Not much seemed to get past him. After work I’d showered and changed into a sundress. He’d have to know I’d dressed for him, put something pretty on that he’d like. I needed to fight this but I couldn’t seem to remember how.

  “If you win, what do you want?” he asked.

  I closed my eyes, briefly. What did I want? I knew what I should want, so I said that. “Same as last time.”

  “No touching until you beg for it?” he said, desperately sexy. I nodded. I didn’t exactly trust my voice.

  “And when I win,” he continued, “I have a good dare for you.”

  “Wait, don’t you want to tell me what it is?”

  “Not this time.”

  I should set some parameters, I reminded myself. “No taking clothes off,” I warned.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “And I don’t think we should kiss again.”

  “I won’t touch you.” He looked positively wicked, so dangerous and hot like he could eat me up right then. I licked my lips nervously. He had something planned but I didn’t know what it was. Why did I like not knowing?

  “OK,” I agreed.

  We played our hands. He won, I won, he won. He won again. We didn’t even make it past seven—he’d already won five rounds. He dominated.

  “What do you think, Jewel. Have I won?”

  I swallowed. I could tell he meant more than the game of cards. Had he won? Slowly, I nodded.

  He leaned toward me, his arm along the back of the couch. My dress had ridden up my thighs, exposing my skin to him and he rested a hand on my knee. A
safe distance from anything off limits, but still, hot and ready, right there.

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do for me, Jewel.” I started breathing faster, my lips parted. He sounded so commanding, so controlling. My heart fluttered in my chest like a butterfly.

  “Saturday night, I heard you. In your bedroom.”

  I gasped and tensed. What did he mean? He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant.

  He began to stroke my knee, making slow circles on the inside with his fingers. Without thinking, my legs parted a fraction of an inch, on instinct as his fingers began to work their magic.

  “I walked past your bedroom on the way to mine. And I heard you moan.”

  “No!” I protested, ridiculously.

  “Yes, Jewel.” His fingers kept at their work, stroking, caressing, slow yet insistent along my inner thigh. “I heard you touching yourself. I heard you call out my name.”

  “I—” I tried to think of an excuse but it was impossible to form coherent thoughts with his fingers along my thigh, massaging, rubbing, caressing. “Tuck!” I spoke his name, but didn’t even know what I meant.

  “Yes, like that,” he continued, leaning in closer. I could feel his heat, the heat building within me.

  “What you’re going to do right now for me, Jewel, is you’re going to show me. Show me what you did last night. How you touch yourself.”

  “What?!?” I pulled away and stood up, brushing the skirt of my dress down over my legs. Was the man crazy?

  “You heard what I said.” He sat there, confident, not seeming thrown by my protest in the least.

  “I’m not going to do that!” My words came out sounding fussy and prissy, but I meant it. Even the thought of doing that embarrassed the hell out of me.

  He stood now, towering over me, all 6’3” of him honed into powerful muscle. I edged back, moving away until I felt my back up against the wall, breathing hard. He approached, his eyes fixed on my face, his large, strong hands by his sides. He didn’t need to touch me to make me tremble, my entire body responded to just his nearness.

  Then he brought a finger up and stroked my jaw, traced a line down my throat, found the strap of my sundress and toyed with it. I stayed there, caught, unable to pull away from his touch it felt so good.

  “You’re going to show me how you touch yourself, Jewel. Bring your fingers down to your pussy and show me exactly how you give yourself pleasure.” He stepped closer, right in front of me now, then circled one hand around my wrist and pinned it to the wall by my head. “Or I’m going to touch you there myself.”

  “No!” I cried, feeling slightly panicked. He couldn’t touch me there. I couldn’t let him. I’d break apart, come unglued. And I’d have no secrets left. He’d find out instantly, the moment he reached down to stroke me, how glistening and slick I already was for him. He’d never let me go then, once he found out how much my body responded to him, how much desire pooled in me before he’d even lifted a finger.

  He brought his free hand to my breast, slowly stroking my curve, lingering for a moment at my pebbled nipple underneath my dress. He toyed with it between his thumb and index finger and I sucked in my breath.

  He chuckled, low in his throat. “So responsive, my Jewel.” But then he continued his path down my body, down my stomach, down to my hip where he began gathering up the fabric of my dress in his hand. He was going to do what he threatened, he was going to put his hand on my sex and feel me, stroke me, caress me. I couldn’t let him.

  “OK, OK,” I rushed out, breathless. I brought my free hand between my legs.

  “That’s it,” he hissed, tense, his palm pressing into mine against the wall. “Show me.”

  My eyes fluttering closed, I slipped my hand inside of my panties. Oh, I was so wet, my fingers slid right in, welcoming, hot, slick folds awaiting me. He bunched the fabric of my dress up in his hand, lifting it so he could see everything.

  “Pull your panties down, Jewel, so I can watch.”

  I knew I should stop, push him away, tell him this was ridiculous, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to anymore. I wanted to touch myself, finish what he’d made me start. I wriggled my panties down my hips, down my thighs and then returned my hand to my eager, glistening pussy.

  Closing my eyes, I worked my fingers in and out, tilting my hips slightly to apply more pressure. As I thrust between my folds, I brushed up against my clit and it felt so good.

  “That’s it, Jewel. I can smell you,” he whispered hot in my ear. “Touch yourself for me, Jewel. The way I heard you.”

  His words turned me on so much, telling me what to do, reminding me he’d caught me. Next to his musky heat, he felt so huge standing next to me, over me. I felt trapped in all the right ways, forced to do what I so wanted but wouldn’t let myself. Not unless he made me.

  I worked my clit for him, small noises coming from my throat, so filled with lust and desire. When he stroked the swell of my breasts, I opened my eyes and saw him watching me, intently focused on every detail.

  “Like that,” he coaxed me. “You’re so wet, Jewel. I can see your fingers glistening.” His voice sounded thick with lust. He brought his hand to my aching nipples and began to stroke and pull, tweaking and then caressing my needy buds.

  “What do you think about, Jewel? When you shove your fingers into your wet pussy?”

  I whimpered, shoving in my fingers just like he said, brushing against my clit.

  “Do you think about me, Jewel? Do you think about what I want to do to you?”

  “Yes!” The confession ripped out of my throat, I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I needed to tell him, needed to show him how much I wanted him.

  “I heard you the other night, Jewel. In your room. Being bad. I heard you moaning and calling out my name.”

  I moaned, mortified and so turned on.

  “Were you thinking about me? Your stepbrother?” He pinched my nipple and I cried out. It hurt and felt so good.

  “Yes,” I admitted, my fingers slick and sliding in and out. It felt so hot to tell him, to have him force me to admit my dirty longings.

  “Your pussy’s so slick for me. I can smell you, Jewel. So sweet and hot. I want to taste you.”

  Whimpering at his words, I wanted that so much. I could feel tension building inside of me, my clit throbbing for release.

  “You’d feel so good on my cock, wouldn’t you?” Tuck continued, his deep voice fanning my flames. “I’d slide right in and stretch you. You’d take me in, all of my cock. Wouldn’t you, Jewel?”

  “Yes! Oh, yes!” I was close now, so close to feeling the pounding waves of ecstasy, the shuddering release of orgasm on my fingers.

  “If I fucked you hard would you scream my name?” he demanded, gruff, pinning my wrist to the wall.

  “Yes!” I cried out. “Yes!”

  “Scream my name, Jewel,” he commanded. “Scream it and come for me.”

  “Tuck, Tuck!” I screamed as I obeyed his command, coming hard all over my fingers. “Tuck!” I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to, pleasure pouring over me, out of me, creaming and slick, Tuck, all for Tuck.

  “Yes, baby,” he coaxed me, taking in every pulse, every shudder, drinking in every last second of my overwhelming orgasm. I bucked against my own fingers, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me.

  Finally, sated, I dropped my head back against the wall. He brought his arms around me, supporting my weight. I felt like I was going to collapse, in more ways than one.

  He leaned down, brushing his face against mine. “That’s my dirty girl. My dirty, nasty girl.”

  What had I done? Oh my God. I wasn’t a dirty, nasty girl, I wasn’t. I was a good girl and I didn’t want to be this person, masturbating in front of my stepbrother, showing him how I made myself come. That was disgusting and I was disgusting. Shame consumed me, made me want to wretch and scream and run.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as I pulled up my panties and pushed him away, pushed him and started m
oving, blindly at first but then picking up steam as I rushed through the kitchen.

  “Jewel?” he called after me.

  I grabbed my keys and ran into the car, driving out into the night before he could stop me. I could see him as I pulled away, standing in the driveway looking after me, confused, upset.

  I couldn’t look back. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t become that girl, that crazy person who’d just done something so wrong.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tuck

  Jewel didn’t come home, not that night or the next. She stayed away from the house and I did for the most part as well. I had a fight coming up in two weeks. I needed to focus, train, keep my eyes on the prize. I had a lot of pent-up energy, unreleased tension, and I let it all loose in the gym.

  Jewel had me all jacked up. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her face as she’d stroked herself, lips parted, skin glowing, pink. The sounds she made in her throat, how she turned her head away, eyes closed in ecstasy. Even the struggle was hot, the way she tried to fight her own desire. To see her give in, submit to the heat. It made me hard just thinking about it. I was hard all the time.

  I could leave her alone. She said she wanted me to.

  But she didn’t want that, not really. She was scared as hell. She was a virgin, for fuck’s sake. She’d never done this before, any of it. It made my blood pound, boil, seethe. It probably meant I should go gentle and slow, hold her hand and give her boxes of chocolates and flowers. But I needed to sink my teeth into her. I wanted to mark her, take her across my knee and spank her hard. Hear her cry out with need as I made her mine.

  I was an animal, I knew it, but deep down I knew she felt this primal need just like me. She needed this time to flutter and fuss, kick up some dust and struggle. She had a bunch of stuff she was sorting out, morality, convention, her conception of herself as a good girl. I didn’t know exactly what was going on in her head, but I could tell she had her own private hell in there and was flogging herself good.

  She should let me do it to her instead. I’d have her panting and begging for it, juice oozing out of her pussy and running down her thighs. The girl was a born sub. She didn’t know it yet, but she needed a big man like me, a dominant alpha who’d make her do all the nasty things she craved. She didn’t feel comfortable with that yet, didn’t accept that’s who she really was, probably felt frightened about it.