Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  “I've spent a lot of time figuring you out. That's why I know when you're lying to me . . . just like you're doing right now.” He lightly grazed her with his teeth, the touch making her jump as much as his words. “Why lie, though? Unless you think about me often.”

  Fuck. Jay sucked in a breath that still tasted like mint. “I don't think about you at all.”

  “I bet you touch yourself while you're thinking about me.” Nicholas sat up to take his shirt off before sliding her robe off her arms. “Just like I would.”

  She could taste herself on his mouth as he kissed her, just beneath the mint. The kiss was as impassioned as his words were cold and the sound that came out of her mouth didn't sound much like denial. His fingers knotted in the fine silk, working the hem higher and higher until lifted her arms, and he broke the kiss just long enough to tug her camisole over her head.

  Nobody touches me like this.

  Jay closed her eyes against the traitorous thought as his lips returned to hers and her shorts were pulled from her legs. He slid his hand between her thighs, stroking over her folds in a casually exploratory way before plunging two fingers inside her and crooking them. Jay gasped into his mouth as he stroked her from within, before slowly withdrawing his hand and thrusting into her more quickly, this time while pressing down on her clit. She found herself gripping him as if she wanted to climb him. She could almost forget he was paying her to do this.

  Almost.

  “Just listen to you.” A shudder wracked his shoulders as her hands dragged over his sides.

  All she could think about were his fingers and the seductive menace of his words.

  “I want to see you come,” he told her, as she gasped for breath. “I can feel it, but I want to watch it—I want to watch you. I still remember how you bit your lip—the way you arched your back. You were so rough when you touched yourself.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant and when his arm moved, she panicked, all of her desire abruptly swirling away like paint down a drain. “No.” She grabbed his free hand before he could move towards the light. “Don't do that. Please.”

  “Why not?” He slid his fingers out of her. “Tell me why.” At her silence, he pressed on, sternly. “Did something happen to you? Did someone do something to you?”

  Yes, she thought, as her breathing quickened involuntarily. You did.

  Wetting her cracked lips, Jay managed to say, in a level tone, “I don't want to look.”

  “At?”

  “Anything.” She exhaled slowly. “So, please. Don't.”

  Nicholas considered her words. The silence stretched.

  I know when you're lying to me.

  “You're breathing very fast,” he said, which made her eyes snap automatically towards him, even though it was too dark to glimpse his face. “You were breathing like this when you ran from me in the den.”

  “I don't know what that has to do with this.”

  “Don't you?” he asked, in a darkly ironic tone.

  Jay stiffened as his hand flexed in hers, freeing himself from her grasp. No, she thought, as her heart began to pound wildly. Suddenly, it felt as if she were fighting herself for control.

  You're a terrible liar.

  When she felt him lean back, she tightened her grip on his neck. His pulse was so slow. It seemed wrong that it could be so slow, so steady. No, he was a dangerous man, and once again, she had allowed him to back her into a corner.

  “Wait,” she said. “N-no. Don't go. Please don't—”

  “I'm not going to post the photograph if you don't let me rape you,” he said coldly, and her fingers dug in. Hard enough that she felt his flesh jump a little under her touch.

  Rape.

  “D-don't say it like that,” she snapped, letting her hands fall away as her panic cracked open to reveal the boiling agony underneath. “Those were your terms. That was your price. You came to San Francisco to . . . to buy me.” When Nicholas remained chillingly silent, she drew in another breath. “But I guess that's not surprising since acquisitions seem to be your specialty.”

  “Jay.” Her name was a snarl on his lips.

  “What? It's not like you really care about me. This is business—isn't that what you said to me, Nicholas? You just want to fuck me. Well you did.” She fell back against the mattress, trying not to cry. “You did. I wondered how you were going to try to break me this time. I knew it would hurt—because it always does—but this . . . this is so much worse.”

  “Is that what you think?” It was the tone he'd used with that man in the conference room, right before he'd said, You must think I didn't read this contract, because there's no fucking way you would ask me to sign this if you thought I did. “You think that's what I fucking want?”

  “Isn't it? I'm surprised you didn't let me get drunk at dinner,” she added bitterly. “Since you seem to be so in love with the idea of a powerless captive you can fuck.”

  When he spoke, there was no emotion in his voice at all. “I see.” She couldn't quite suppress her flinch when his thumb slid down her cheek. His touch was gentle but paired with that icy voice, it wasn't exactly calming, and when his hand brushed against her throat, she felt a chill. “You have no idea,” he began, forbiddingly. “You don't know what you—”

  “What?” she said, when he cut himself off.

  But all he did was laugh—it was a cold, terrible laugh: it was the laugh of a man who knew he was damned, and no longer cared, and it was just wild enough to scare her. “If I were half as depraved as you seem to think I am, ten million dollars would get me so much further than it does with you. I could tell someone to bend over and they'd ask me which direction.”

  “Don't talk to me like that,” Jay said, dizzied by fury and anguish.

  “What's the matter? Too crude? Long walks on the beach and kisses without tongue sound more your speed? Everyone has a price—and I found yours. There's nothing wrong with being mercenary about it. What you're doing isn't that much different from paying off a car.”

  Anger pulsed through her, so hot and bright that for a moment, it eclipsed everything—even the fear—and she couldn't even breathe. He caught her hands in his as she swung out blindly to strike him and arousal pulsed dully through her at the familiar brutality of it. “I hate you!”

  “So tell me to go,” Nicholas said, in that tone of terrible, glacial calm. “Tell me how much you hate this, and I'll leave right now. Otherwise, I'm going to fuck you.” Jay jerked in his grip again and this time, he lowered her hands by the wrists. “Tell me.”

  “Fuck you,” she whispered.

  Nicholas made a sound, too dark and bleak to be a laugh, as he slid down his pants.

  “You're so predictable.” He ran his thumb along the inside of her wrist, still so gentle despite the stinging cruelty of his words. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted another reason to hurt him, when he seemed so immune to it. “I think you're getting off on this.”

  “Fuck you,” she cried.

  Nicholas sank into her as her rage vibrated in her throat like a purr. “Yes,” he said. “Fuck me. Give it all up to me, my sweet, precious bird. I can take it.”

  She thrashed beneath him, hooking a leg around him with such violence that it was more like a kick. It made him recoil. Their hands were still clasped and with his body pressed against hers, she could feel the tension inside him, almost like he was holding himself back. And then he rocked against her hard enough that he knocked her flat on the bed with a deep thrust that made her ache. “That's right. Give it all to Daddy.”

  Jay bucked again, unconsciously tilting her hips to an angle that would allow her to take more of him in. He kept her wrists pinned as another shudder tore through him. This time, the sound wouldn't stop when it left her lips—it took several heaves of her chest for her to realize that she was sobbing, each hitching breath splicing the sound into a ragged cry.

  Open your eyes and look at me.

  The words, relics from her past, s
tole the air from her lungs. I'm close, she thought, wondering at how she could feel so good and so bad, all at once. When she came, it felt like she was on the verge of a black abyss, one hard push from falling.

  “No,” she said, “No, no, no—I can't . . .”

  “What do you mean . . . you can't?”

  “Please,” she gasped. “Let me go.”

  He stilled without releasing her, an indomitable force, and Jay realized, with a sinking sensation, that she didn't even have to wonder what would happen if he didn't stop.

  “All right.” Nicholas rolled onto his back, pulling her against him. She didn't resist—she was too surprised that he had given in. As far as she knew, he yielded nothing to no one. “It's all right,” he repeated, sounding a little strained. “I won't do anything else.”

  She stared bleakly into the darkness as he pulled her hair out of her face. She could feel him twisting it in his fingers, gathering bunches of it in a way that caused a series of gentle tugs at her scalp. The feel of his hands was so achingly familiar.

  That wasn't what I meant.

  “Nick.”

  “Shh.” He brushed the tears from her cheek as she swallowed back another cry. “Don't cry. I didn't mean to make my little bird cry.” She winced, turning her head away until her face was buried against his shoulder, and heard him say softly, “Sweet little blue jay.”

  I'll be so, so gentle.

  She felt like she was drowning in him. What a lie.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, still calm, but with a strange urgency fueling his words. “Name anything and it's yours.”

  “Forgive the debt,” she said brokenly. “Let me go.” When he didn't respond, she swallowed back another sob. “Please. If you ever loved me at all, you'll let me go. You said you would.”

  “No,” he said, after a measured pause. “I can't do that.”

  She pulled away from him, then. She felt his hands tighten briefly, as if he were going to hold her prisoner in the cage of his embrace, but then he appeared to think better of it. Jay grabbed fabric as she left, speeding down the hall, down the stairs, gripping the rail tightly as she was blinded by tears, each one burning as cold as a star in a constellation of abject misery.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Nicholas woke up next to a purring cat staring at him with unblinking yellow eyes. It gave him a start and he stared incredulously as the cat's eyes slowly closed again. It took him a moment to realize that he'd fallen asleep in Jay's bed. The pillows smelled like her shampoo.

  I can't let you go.

  Jay hadn't returned after running off. He was alone, except for the cat, which had made itself comfortable on the discarded camisole that was now sporting many small holes and runs in the silk from being copiously kneaded. Fucking cat.

  He pushed himself up and grabbed his pants, which had been kicked to the floor sometime in the night. The cat hopped off the bed, following him with its tail sticking straight up like an exclamation point as he tried, unsuccessfully, to locate his shirt. An unhappy meow chased him out into the hall as he shut the door on its expectant face.

  From his bedroom, Nicholas got a different shirt, glancing instinctively at the sofa and the bed, even though he knew he would find Jay in neither place. If she hadn't felt comfortable returning to her own room, she certainly wouldn't retreat to his. It occurred to him that she might be upset enough to leave but—no, she wouldn't abandon her pet. Not with him.

  It had been like that before. The night of his father's party, he had returned to find her gone. Her cat, her clothes, her favorite things. She'd taken what she wanted and left everything else. For weeks, he'd wondered where she'd gotten the money. Who had helped her get away.

  And then, he'd only wondered at how to get her back.

  Nicholas walked downstairs and heard a very soft noise come from the direction of the den. He stopped walking and turned around. There, in the bluish gloom, Jay was curled in her robe, wrapped in the tasseled throw on the sofa with her arms wrapped around one of the cushions. Her eyelashes were clumped, like she'd cried herself to sleep.

  As he watched, her eyes opened slowly, and he saw that they were red-rimmed. She froze, her fingers seeking the edges of the throw as if to check that she was still fully covered. The hunted, desperate look on her face made his chest feel curiously tight.

  Did I push her too far?

  Nicholas thought she might scream at him but instead she looked away. Her jaw was tense and she looked like she might bolt if pushed. He couldn't think of anything to say to her that would be reassuring, so he went to the kitchen, hovering by the door, and heard the soft creep of her footsteps disappearing up the stairs. Moving quickly. Nearly running.

  Her door was closed when he walked back into the hall. He could just glimpse it through the rails. She was going to hide. Nicholas bustled around the house impatiently, waiting for her to come back out, but the door remained shut. He had the key, but he knew that using it would shatter whatever remaining shards of trust that still hung tenuously between them, if any.

  He went to his room to shower, and when he came back down to the kitchen, there was a new plate in the dishwasher, as well as several bottles missing from the fridge. Almost like she'd stockpiled a hoard of food and drink up there with the intention of waiting him out all weekend.

  If you ever loved me at all, you'll let me go.

  Manipulative words. Desperate words. But if she were really that desperate, why not leave?

  Maybe she didn't feel like she could.

  Nicholas knocked on her door. He could hear shuffling sounds inside and then it opened and she was looking up at him with a more composed version of the look she had given him last night. “Blue jay.” He reached for her, letting his hand still when she shied from him.

  “What?” she asked. “Are you here to fuck me?”

  “No,” he said. “Not right now.”

  “Are you sure? You're paying a lot for me.” She folded her arms. “Don't you want your money's worth? You told me yourself, you don't call me down to talk.”

  Nicholas felt a flicker of anger and wasn't sure who it was directed at, but he recognized the sound of his own words being thrown back at him, delivered in a mocking cadence of his own voice. She had gotten good at wounding with her words before she left. When she had first come to this place, she hadn't been vicious. She had been an odd blend of naive and jaded, but there was no bitterness. Not then. But that had changed—she had changed . . . and so had he.

  He regarded her as she continued to stand there, bracing herself against the wall. As if that could mask the trembling in her legs. He saw the resolve begin to crumble from her face as she fought the urge to look away, and when he took a slow step forward, she flinched towards the door. Nicholas stopped moving, remembering how she had backed herself against the copier.

  “I'm here because I want a hiking partner,” he said. “I know you hiked a lot in Berkeley and that you don't shy away from the difficult trails. I'm willing to bill the hours to pay your debt.”

  She stared up at him, her expression unreadable. “Fine,” she said coldly. “I'll change.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” he said.

  The door didn't quite slam in his face, but she closed it just hard enough to reveal her anger. Too good to be corrupted by the devil, he thought, but not too good to take the devil's money.

  Shaking his head, Nicholas changed into a worn gray shirt and cargo shorts, sticking his sunglasses into one pocket and his phone and wallet into the other. Everyone has their price, he reminded himself. He knew hers—it was her sense of honor, and it was much cheaper than she wanted it to be. But then, honor wasn't particularly remunerative in a world that didn't value it.

  Especially with how quick all of her so-called friends and family had been to sell her out.

  And now, he had forced her to sell herself.

  He grabbed a backpack out of the front closet and began filling it with water and granola bars. Jay ca
me out of her room while he was lacing up his boots in the front hall. He watched her climb down the stairs. She was wearing track pants and a tank top. The jacket that matched the pants was knotted around her hips and she had tied her hair back into a severe bun.

  “I'm ready.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let's go.”

  Jay swung herself into his car and sullenly buckled herself in. Nicholas turned on the radio, glancing at her periodically as he drove. She sat stiffly in her seat with her purse on her lap, picking at the flecking fake leather. Just as soon as it occurred to him that he could get her a better bag, he found himself facing the realization that she wouldn't accept it.

  Nicholas parked the car in the dusty lot. It was a hot day and the hills were blazing with light. There were quite a few other cars—more than he was used to on this trail. Probably people hoping to take advantage of the fading cloud cover before the afternoon heat became unbearable. Even in spring, it was hot. Cracked, dry earth where the trees and shrubs just barely clung to life. Sheets of rock exposed by years of weathering and erosion. The air had a stale, mineral tang that would periodically be seasoned by a whiff of some herbal, verdant smell as some unknown plant was crushed underfoot, releasing its fragrance into the air.

  Jay didn't appear to be in the mood for talking. She walked slightly behind him in silence, redolent of sweat and sunscreen. She had taken a Modelo baseball cap from his car, squeezing her bun through the bracketing like a bunny tail, and despite the heat, she was wearing her jacket to cover her arms. “You're going to want to lose the jacket. You're about to get very warm.”

  She rolled the sleeves up to her forearms. “I would prefer to keep it on.”

  “Your choice.”

  “Is it?” she asked.

  Nicholas unzipped his backpack and handed her a cold bottle of water, letting her question hang in the air as he uncapped his own and took a long, cooling drink.

  I would have let you go.

  Maybe he was even lying to himself.

  The heat was oppressive but it made everything more vivid. Sprays of mustard flowers and California poppies looked almost neon with the sun bathing the petals in pure, saturated flashes of color. It was exactly the kind of thing he knew she loved, and he could tell from the look on her face that she was trying hard not to enjoy it because she was so upset at him.