Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  “That would be stupid.” Jay spun to keep him in sight. “You'd win.”

  “Oh, I don't know about that. You might win. I haven't competed in years and I'm easily distracted.” Another one of those almost-smiles flickered at the corner of his mouth. “I recommend the backstroke.”

  “I don't have time for these childish games. Just do whatever you brought me out here to do. I want to go back to sleep—and I don't want to race,” she said irritably, folding her arms tighter.

  Nicholas glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before diving again. Where did he go? She turned, looking around for him in the pool, but his trunks had been blue like the tiles on the bottom and they had drifted from the lights. “Nick?” she said.

  “I'm sorry,” a voice said, inches from her ear. “I didn't realize I was wasting your time.”

  Startled, she backed into him. Gasping, she skittered away and he laughed and dove again. When he resurfaced, he was in front of her, slicking his wet hair out of his face.

  “Remind me, how much did we decide your time was worth, Jay? Thirty-two dollars an hour to have you sit at a desk and five thousand an hour to bend you over one, wasn't it?”

  “You're disgusting,” Jay hissed.

  “And you're nervous.” He was hedging her towards the deep end. “Can you swim?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Good.” He lunged.

  Jay shrieked, kicking away from him to dive. Like most kids in California, she had been taught when she was young, but only enough not to drown in a community pool. She was a little horrified at how fast he was in the water, and how easily he caught and wrestled her to the surface.

  “You are such a bastard!”

  He laughed, waiting a heartbeat for her to catch her breath, and then he kissed her. His lips were wet and tasted like chlorine. She could barely see him because her eyelashes were covered in drops of water and burning from the chemicals. This time, there was a hint of restraint in the way he touched her: control tightly leashed. It left her aching for something stronger, and she was glad the water carried her, because her knees felt so weak.

  Nicholas abruptly scooped her up beneath her ass and backed her against the wall, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist to stay buoyant. She felt him push against her underwear and squirmed, a nervous sound escaping her lips when he pried her arm away from her chest and gathered it, along with her other wrist, behind her back.

  The look in his eyes—Jay swallowed hard. “You're not going to . . . to fuck me in the pool, are you?” she asked weakly.

  “No.” He lifted his eyes, pushing a few damp curls of hair out of her face with his free hand. “I'm not going to fuck you in the pool.” He mocked her tone, giving the 'F' in 'fuck' a slight buzz. “I do suggest you hold on tight to me, though. I'm going to be needing this other hand.”

  For what? “For what?”

  He flicked her nose. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

  Trapped without the use of her arms, chest-deep in water, Jay felt a bolt of pure, white-hot fear lick at her from the inside. She tugged at her arms and Nicholas made a soft, admonitory sound as he began to move against her, rubbing his body against hers as he captured her mouth in another searing kiss, using that gentle friction to part her beneath her clothes until the hard ridge of his erection was rocking right against her—

  Jay's hands convulsed behind her back.

  He bit gently at her lip as his hand slid down her belly and into her waistband. She made a sound against his mouth, which made him kiss her even more fiercely as he began thrusting his fingers. Beneath the chilly layer of water, he was warm, but she still found herself shivering.

  “I'm slipping,” she said piteously.

  “That's why I told you to hold on to me with those luscious thighs of yours.” He shifted a little, bumping her up with his thigh. “Looks like I'm not the only one who gets distracted.”

  Jay let out a rough breath. “Bastard.”

  “Mmm. I don't think you want me to call you that.” He spoke against her lips. “I might not let you come.”

  She met his eyes and felt heat spark in her cheeks when he pulled back to ogle her in a way that made her squirm. “Funny how you think you're required for that. I can get myself off.”

  Nicholas's smile widened. “Not if I tie you up.”

  The sharp gasp that came from her throat seemed to come from someone else.

  “Interesting response,” said Nicholas. “So, what's it going to be? Would you like to come for Daddy? Or am I going to have to tie your hands behind your back so you can't play with yourself while I'm fucking you? Because I will be as soon as we get out of this pool.”

  “Ah.” Jay turned her face away when he laughed quietly.

  “I didn't quite catch that,” he murmured.

  She tensed as that slow, melting heat built between her thighs. “I—I want to come.” She swallowed hard, hazarding a glance at him. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  Wincing inwardly in despair, she heard herself say, “Please, Daddy. Let me come. I've been good.”

  He let out a harshly satisfied sound and finally added the pressure she needed. She arched with a splash, raising arcs of water from the tranquil surface. She felt a low, scarcely-perceptible rumble vibrate through his throat as he slid a hand beneath her head to cushion it from the concrete lip of the pool as he pressed her more roughly against the wall. “Kiss me.”

  She grabbed onto his shoulders with her freed hands. They both broke water and he kissed her like he was trying to devour the very breath in her lungs. With her eyes closed, he could have been any man—a man with the mouth of an unrepentant sinner. He pulled his hand out of her underwear and she whimpered into his kiss.

  Jay felt him smile before he pulled away. “Time to get out.”

  Before she could move or think to protest, he'd already scooped her up. “W-wait.” She scrabbled against him and felt his arms tighten. “Where are we going?”

  “My bedroom.”

  “But the cameras—”

  “Better hold on tight this time.”

  Nicholas walked out with her, still dripping water, through the lounge, into the foyer, and then up the stairs, forcing her to cling to him at an odd, ungainly angle to hide herself from view. In the master, he dropped her ungracefully onto the expensive jacquard bedspread.

  “We're going to ruin the sheets,” she said, as he stripped off his wet swim trunks. “The chlorine is going to make the colors r—”

  “Don't care.” Naked, he prowled towards her in the shadows and all the moisture left her mouth when she caught a glimpse of his cock; it was fully hard, jutting towards his belly. She felt it brush her as he leaned over her body to open the drawer of his nightstand to take out a condom. He rolled it on, barred in ribbons of shadow, and then he yanked her panties down, leaving them snarled around her calves as he pushed her thighs apart and slid into her in one smooth, hard stroke.

  It was more tender than painful this time; he paused a moment, his own breathing quick and light. She could feel him looking at her. Then he bent one of her legs and started to fuck her in a steady, driving rhythm, reaching beneath her backside and rocking her into his thrusts the way he wanted until she was arching her hips on own.

  “Good girl,” he said, letting his hands fall away, which sent a strange tingle down her nape.

  He came very quickly. Maybe because she already had. If so, he fucked differently when it was for his own benefit; it was faster and a bit more brutal, closer to the tempo with which he'd had her suck his cock. It made her feel a little used.

  Maybe that's the point. Jay braced herself against the soaking sheets, pinned at the hips by his final thrust. He had stopped shuddering, head lowered to the crook of her neck; she could feel each of his exhalations fanning softly against her throat, stirring the drying locks of her hair. She shivered. Her arms were still covered in goosebumps from his low, gravelly moan.

  Nicholas
pulled out of her and unhooked her underwear from her legs, letting them fall to the floor with a slap. He rolled onto his back and when he pulled her against him, Jay flung out an arm to instinctively halt her roll that ended up draped over his stomach. She felt the taut flesh jump under her touch, but to recoil now seemed like an act of weakness, so she let her hand lie where it was, flat on his abdomen. His other hand curled over his belly to rest on hers.

  Jay let him press her against him, trying not to shake. Her skin still felt stiff and cold. He leaned down and tugged up the coverlet to cover them both. Gradually, she stopped trembling but she was unable to relax completely. His presence was stultifying, suffusing her lungs, seeping into her every pore. He's so warm, she thought, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  It seemed wrong that he should be so warm when his heart was so cold.

  “It's been a while.” She felt him relax beside her, the arm around her waist slackening in lethargic contentment. Absently, he added, “You come like you haven't been touched in years.”

  Jay stiffened. “Don't say things like that.”

  “Why?” He traced his fingers down her back. “Are they true?”

  She didn't respond, setting her jaw in an effort to swallow back her furious retort. But he seemed to feel the sudden tension in her body because his stomach hitched beneath her hand in a silent laugh and he squeezed her a little tighter.

  “Fine. Don't answer. But I am going to find out what you like about the dark.”

  Her eyes, which had started to slip closed, opened wide. “What do you mean?”

  “You enjoy doing it with the lights off.” She heard the quiet rustle of his head shifting on the pillow as he looked down at her. “My little succubus. I heard your breath catch when I mentioned tying you up—what would you do if I bound your wrists and fucked you in the dark?”

  Oh my God. Her fingers clenched involuntarily.

  “I see.” She could almost hear his smile. “Well then. Sweet dreams, blue jay.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Jay woke up wrapped in Nicholas's arms. Or rather, he was wrapped in hers. Her arm was still around his waist. She was curled into his side with her face buried in the crook of his neck. All night, apparently. When she sat up and tried to turn her head she experienced a painful cramp. Wincing, Jay allowed her eyes to bounce around the room. It was still dark. Only a bit of light was flooding in from the window from one of the porch lights; the orange glow of it glanced off the bridge of his nose, the edge of one arched cheekbone.

  Carefully, Jay pushed back the warm sheets and slipped nude from the bed, making a face when she stepped on something cold and wet. Those were probably her underwear, still soaked from the pool. She bent and grabbed them, fleeing to her room and feeling like she was doing the walk of shame through her own house.

  Not my house, she corrected herself immediately. I don't live here anymore—it's his.

  Carbon was waiting for her, prowling around in agitation. He still wasn't used to the new room, which made two of them. Jay fed him before dressing for work, pulling on fresh undergarments, a tie-waist pencil skirt, and an asymmetric blouse with bell sleeves. As soon as she had her clothes on she felt better, more like herself. She grabbed a new book from her bookshelf—Fire & Hemlock—shoving it into her purse on the way out her door.

  Her eyes felt crusty and she swiped at them in annoyance as she went down the stairs. Stupid Nicholas. Why did he have to wake her up in the middle of the night? She felt a rush of heat upon catching a glimpse of the pool from the stairs. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to go near it again. Not without thinking of what Nicholas had done to her in it.

  You come like you haven't been touched in years.

  Who said things like that to other people? What was that even supposed to mean? Jay thought it sounded like an insult and it probably was. He'd told her she was bad at kissing, once. Maybe he thought she was bad at sex, too—although if he really thought that, she couldn't fathom why he'd want to hold her to his stupid contract in the first place. Jay slammed her purse on a bar stool as she brewed herself some coffee, glancing impatiently at her phone.

  Oh shit, she thought, right as the coffee machine began to sputter. It was only 4:30am. No wonder she was so tired. Nicholas didn't even leave for work until 6:30, and his alarm was set for 5:45. She could have gone back to bed and had another hour of sleep.

  Maybe I'll nap on the couch in the den. If she was careful, she wouldn't even wrinkle her clothes. She'd certainly dozed on BART often enough. Jay turned towards the kitchen door, orienting herself towards the drawers for a spoon, and froze at a sudden movement in the hall.

  “Morning,” said Nicholas.

  “Hey,” she said, in as neutral a voice as she could muster.

  He got up earlier than she did, so she had always seen him fully dressed. But now he was only wearing loose pajama bottoms that rode dangerously low on his hips, his hair still mussed and disheveled from sleep—and other things, her brain filled in silently, making her focus intently on the silverware as she selected a spoon with far more deliberation than necessary.

  “You're up early.” He eyed her appreciatively before turning to open the fridge door, giving her a view of his bare back that had her studying the reassuring darkness of her coffee. “Want some toast?”

  “I can't,” she said, watching the bubbles gather on the side of the mug. “Milk.”

  “No bread.” Suddenly he was close to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his skin. Holding his plate in one hand, he tilted his head to meet her gaze. “How do you live?”

  “I bake my own.”

  “You bake?”

  “Sometimes.” Jay looked at him and then away. “If I feel like it.”

  “You can use the oven all you want. I never do and Carmela doesn't bake.”

  Jay's mouth tightened at the mention of the rude housekeeper. “What happened to Yelena?”

  “She had a fall a few years after you left. She quit due to health reasons. Broken hip. I think she lives with her daughter now. Her other daughter—not the one who teaches.” He turned abruptly, dropping the two pieces of toasted bread on his plate. “I send her a card every year.”

  “You do?”

  Misunderstanding her tone, he said, “Not personally. My secretary sends her a card every year. You,” he corrected himself, “will be sending her a card every year.”

  “Is she all right? A broken hip is pretty serious at her age.”

  “I'm surprised you're so invested after what she did to you.”

  “What you made her do to me,” Jay corrected, drawing herself up against the coldness seeping into her chest like icy fog. “You were the one who drove the wedge between us. And anyway, it's called compassion.”

  “Don't worry about it, then. She continues to reap the benefits of her betrayal. I cut her a generous severance check and send her an additional one at Christmas that I'm sure warms her heart even more than the card. Maybe this year you can sign it from both of us.”

  “So generous,” she said flatly, glaring down at her mug.

  “I can be.”

  Nicholas's suggestive tone made her look over at him. He was leaning back on the counter in a way that was making his stomach muscles flex. Almost like he was . . . posing. For her.

  Jay pressed her lips together. She could imagine his brand of generosity. “I really doubt it.”

  “I'm taking you out shopping with me when I buy groceries this weekend.” He reached over and tugged playfully at the bow at her waist, chuckling when she slapped his hand away. “You can get whatever you want. I can't have my petulant little bird wasting away to nothing.”

  “I'm surprised you buy your own groceries,” she said. “Isn't that the sort of thing people like you typically relegate to the help? Like the cooking?”

  “People like me,” he repeated, clearly amused. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Rich assholes. She glared at him, beca
use anger was a more stable refuge than the hurt and regret that were sure to come later once all the bad things he made her feel hit their mark, and far safer than whatever was surfacing in her now as he let his eyes slowly drift to her mouth. You're a bad person, she thought, shifting a little uneasily. Stop looking at me like that.

  “Oh, Jay.” She stared at the hallway, her breaths coming a little faster, when he brushed her cheek, leaning closer. “You really think you have me all figured out, don't you?”

  Jay's fingers tightened on her mug when he set his plate down. Freeing both his hands. “You're not exactly hard to figure out, Nicholas.”

  “And yet, you still let me get the better of you. What does that say about you?” Nicholas laughed softly, watching her face. “I'd say it means you're masochistic.”

  “Thanks for the psychology lesson,” she snapped, angry at herself for rising to the bait. She set her mug down with sudden violence. “You should go into self-help.”

  “Defensive, too,” he observed infuriatingly. “You look so put together, no one would ever believe how easily you come apart.” His thumb caressed the line of her jaw, which suddenly felt as if it might shatter like glass. “If you want to keep it that way, I suggest collecting your clothes from the pool before the gardeners come by today or it might give them something to think about. I believe you left them by the planter.”

  “The planter,” Jay repeated.

  “By the lilies. Where you stripped for me last night.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “You were a bad girl. Turning your back on me and then hiding in the shadows. That's why I'll be getting you some nice things to wear for me. Sheer things that will be more fun to watch you take off than flannel pants and T-shirts—even if you try to hide.” He was playing with her hair now, using a lock of it to trace the outline of her lips. “Any suggestions?”

  “Saran wrap.”

  Nicholas gave her a little swat on the backside that made her hips buck in surprise. His mouth pressed against her cheek and then he got up and tipped his plate in the sink.