Crude: A Stepbrother Romance (8 page)

What the fuck is wrong with me? There’s “off-limits” and messing with what you shouldn’t, but I think we’ve established that “do not touch” isn’t really a warning sign I tend to pay attention to. But it’s more than that with this girl, and I
know
that. A girl as tightly wound and as controlled all her life like Paige has commitment and clingy written
all
over her. “Experiment before college?” Yeah,
right
. This is the girl that would be hiding herself away in my suitcase come time to leave.
 

Forget that.

Don’t get tied down, don’t let emotions trip you up; stay moving. It’s basically what my dad did, and I gotta say, it worked out for him pretty well.

I’m sweaty and greasy from the heat and the bike after I come in from tuning up my shifter out in the driveway. I’ve basically turned a little corner of the “car port” - which I’ve come to learn is “rich-people-speak” for that humongous stone-paved driveway turnaround you always see to the side of mansions where they keep all their cars - into my own personal motorcycle service pit. I’m sure King Jo-Jo fucking hates seeing my little grease-pit of “poorness” sitting there stain his view every morning, but I’m guessing it’s one of those things he’s willing to concede on in his quest to be my new father.

Whatever.

Normally I’d give zero fucks about plopping right down on the furniture in grease-stained work-jeans, but if there’s one thing I’ve sort of picked up on living here, it’s that me being messy means some other person under Joe’s control needs to pick up my shit
for me
. This place has a cleaning team of three, a cook, and freakin’ Martin, the butler. Me leaving my shit everywhere or making a mess means
they
have to clean up after me like I’m some sort of toddler, and that grates on me something bad.

So instead, I’m stripping off my sweaty undershirt and shucking off my grease-stained jeans before I swing open the bathroom door-
 

Right
into a suddenly shrieking Paige McCauley who’s frantically wrapping a towel around herself as she jumps back from the door.

OK, I lied before. Remember when I said Paige in those stupid khakis and a long sleeve collared shirt was the sexiest thing ever?
 

I take it
all
back. Because Paige in just a fucking towel, when I know she’s totally naked underneath it and standing four feet from me is
definitely
the hottest thing ever.
 

She glares at me, red faced from the shock of me bursting in on her like this and swears under her breath; “Why the
hell
is there no lock on that door.”

“Maybe there is and you just subconsciously wanted to leave it open,” I say with a grin after I somehow manage to swallow the lump in my throat and teach my mouth to make words again.

She shoots me a sneering, patronizing smile and rolls her eyes. But damn, if she was going with “standoffish and cold” with that look, or fuck,
any
look while she’s standing there in that white fluffy towel hugging her body like that, she’s failed. With that smattering of freckles across the top of her chest, the smooth skin of her thighs showing, and her wet hair framing her those crystal blue eyes and pouty, defying lips….

Yeah, in fact, it’s doing the opposite of whatever she thinks it’s going to do.

I can feel my jaw tighten as I move closer, my eyes locked on her. Yeah, and all that shit I said? It’s going right out the window the longer I’m close to her like this. She bites her lip, glancing nervously up at me with a blush across her freckles cheeks. I take another step, and I can see her swallow, but she’s not pulling away, and she’s not running from the room or telling me to get lost. And suddenly, I’m much closer to her than I ever expected to get to her.
 

She smells so fucking clean, so perfect. There’s something like lavender or some kind of flower scent of her shampoo or conditioner that’s clawing at my mind like some sort of wild beast and drawing me closer, as if I needed any other reason not to move away from her right now.

“So listen, I was thinking,” Of course I’m opening my mouth before my brain can tell me just to shut the fuck up and enjoy the view; “You put any more thought into my offer?”

Idiot; idiot-idiot-idiot.

Paige blushes and finally tears her eyes away from me; “Jesus, Knox. Look, I told you - and I
wish that I hadn’t
,  believe me, but I told that I-”

“Well what if we looked at it like an internship or something?”

An internship?
I need to stop fucking talking right now.

She arches a brow at me; “Excuse me?”

“You know, so you don’t just jump in. You try it out; baby steps.”
 

I’m leaning against the marbled sink counter, and trying to pretend I
don’t
notice the huge hard-on in my shorts. Because while I’ve got sneaking suspicion that I’m ruining this, I’m also really curious to see how far I can push little miss prude here before she runs away or slaps me.
 

But she’s not doing either. In fact, she hasn’t moved back from me at all, and instead, I can see that flush creeping up her cleavage and her neck, and I’m watching her shoulders move as her breathing gets deeper and quicker.

She’s
interested
.
OK, maybe not
interested-
interested, but curious enough that she’s not leaving. I level my eyes with her and reach out with my hand. She bites her lips when the back of my hand touches her collarbone, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder and exposing the skin there, and that flush gets hotter in her face as I feel my own pulse start to hammer in my ears.
 

But she’s not moving away.

“Stop it,” She says quietly, her eyes dropping to the tented front of my shorts and going wide before quickly darting back up to my face. I can feel my cock
throb
at that look; so fucking innocent and so Goddamn sexy at the same time.
 

“Stop what?” I say with a smirk, my eyes leveling at her and my hand still trailing back and forth over her collarbone. Goddamn is her skin smooth; “Hey, it’s just an offer. You know, for
you
. I mean no one wants to go off to college with
zero
experience.” A smile teases the corners of her lips, and I can feel the hammering inside my ears getting louder and louder; “Thought I could just give you some pointers.”

Slap me. Tell me to fuck off. Roll your eyes and walk away from my bullshit
. She needs to pick one, if not all of these things, and do it right now. Because the room is somehow getting smaller, and warmer, and that fucking scent of her shampoo and that wide-eyed look on her face is just bringing me to my fucking knees in here.

But then she opens those perfect, pouty lips, and she doesn’t do
any
of those things; “Like what?” She says quietly.

Oh fuck
. She did not just ask that. Except she did, and suddenly the heat of the room is roaring in my ears.

And suddenly, “baby steps” are the last fucking thing I want to do. I want to tear this towel off her perfect body and push her up against the wall right here in her father’s house. I want to taste that untouched virgin pussy with my tongue until she’s screaming. I want to bury my cock in her for the very first time; feel where no one’s been before and show her exactly what she’s been missing.
 

Of course, there’s also the voice in my head that casually reminds me that even if I haven’t seen them, I’m betting Joe owns guns. And I’m also betting that taking another step across the thin ice I’m already treading on is a great way to see them quicker than I want to.

Fuck
the voice in my head.

“Like what?” I say, moving closer to her, so close that I can just feel the softness of the towel against my bare chest and hear the soft, delicate intake of her breath. I lean close to her ear, my lips
barely
grazing against her earlobe, making her gasp quietly; “Oh, you know, things I’m betting you’ve never tried before.”

Her eyes shut for a second, and I’m watching her lips tremble as she takes a shaky breath; “You
know
I haven’t,” She says in a whisper, opening her eyes and turning to look up into my eyes.  

“There’s only one way to find out, princess,” I growl.
 

She whimpers, and Jesus, I’m going to tear that towel away right here in about five seconds.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” She says, her chest heaving with her breath and her eyes screaming the exact opposite to me; “
We
shouldn’t be-”

And then I just move in and kiss her, and it’s like jumping off the ledge.

The act of
actually
doing it shocks me probably just about as much as it does her, and I find myself dropping in free-fall as I mash my lips against her soft ones.

I never meant to
actually
do it. I mean I wanted to push her buttons, and just see how far I could take things and how much I could tease her before she caved and pushed me away.

But holy
shit
.

It’s like autopilot, and it feels so Goddamn perfect, and suddenly
I’m
the one lost. I’m the one getting tripped up and just letting myself fall as I sear my lips against hers.

I’m so lost, in fact, that I’m standing there with my eyes closed like an asshole when she pulls away.

There’s a flash of fire in her eyes, a gasp, and a hand pressed to her the shocked-looking “O” of her lips. And now this time, it’s me standing there like chump watching her walk away. This time, it’s a taste of my own medicine as she slams the door to her room shut, leaving me alone in the steam of the bathroom and the searing confusion of what just happened.

I spend the rest of the afternoon locked -
actually
locked, this time - in my room, avoiding him. Of course, keeping him out of my room is one thing, but keeping him out of my head is another thing altogether. On that front, I give up, because there is apparently no keeping him from sliding his way in there and occupying my every thought.

I bite my lip as I pace the room, thinking of that one searing, blazing kiss. That forbidden touch, and all the taboo thoughts that come along with it.
 

We shouldn’t have done that. That shouldn’t have happened.

But I’m also honestly shocked at myself for even stopping it once it
did
happened. Because kissing Knox, however horrible an idea, was like sinking into a sweetness; like coming home.

I scowl into the mirror above my vanity. I hate that he’s managed to worm his way into my mind like this.
Ugh
. And I hate that he, of all people, saw me that night at the open mic night and that somehow it’s become some sort of
leverage
he uses to get under my skin.
 

And I hate that I know that’s not true. I hate that I know that Knox doesn’t need a single piece of leverage to get to where he is so deep in me.
 

I blush at the thought of that, at the dirty double meaning of my own thoughts.
So deep in me.
I bite my lip, thinking about his offer; his indecent, dangerously tempting offer to “show me.” And I hate that the thought of letting go with him has me, well,
turned on
. My face gets hot even thinking the word; God, I
am
some sort of prude.
 

I’m distant later at dinner. I mean, I’m
there
, and I’m chewing my food, but I’m keeping my eyes on my plate and avoiding even looking his way.