Cry Little Sister

Cry Little Sister

Chapter One

“Right there.”

Silence.

“Right.
There
.”

That growl was Gareth’s, no doubt. Jordan crept through the house. She hadn’t thought that using her key, even after all these years, would be wrong. But it sounded as if her brother was fighting with someone.

She didn’t want to interfere, but she did want to make sure he was okay. She’d just peek and sneak back out and call before pretending to show up. This hadn’t been her home in years, but it had been his alone for quite a while now.

He came home to take care of dad and you stayed…gone.

No time for guilt. Her mother had always said it was a wasted emotion and Jordan figured her mother would know. Kelly Davis had been gone with the wind for years. Since she was thirteen and Gareth fourteen and a half.

“Right. Fucking. There.” He growled it out and in the silence of the house his voice sounded nearly monstrous. The boogie man in the closet. The big bad wolf on the prowl.

The hair on her nape prickled and she dropped her bag by the archway that divided dining room and living room. She’d snag it on her way out.

The downstairs bedroom was the master suite and had become Gareth’s room as he cared for their dad. He’d put Doug Davis, and all the medical equipment he required at the end of his life, in the study where there was more light and more room to operate.

The master suite was big, but not as big as the study.

Jordan walked as silently as she could on the cream colored carpet and approached the cracked bedroom door.

“Do it. Do it.”

“God damn it, Gareth. You are so not supposed to top from the bottom. You told me I could try.”

“Well you suck at it,” he snarled.

She gasped—whoever
she
was—at the insult. Jordan knew at that instant that she should turn tail and run, but she didn’t.

This isn’t the first time you’ve snooped on him while he was doing it…

Another rogue thought, another chance to ignore her annoying internal critic. Instead she took another step toward the cracked bedroom door.

She had long red hair. Bottle red—the color of artificial cherry candy. She was long and lean with large breasts and a small waist and pale skin. Her hair swung around her jaw line as she straddled Jordan’s brother. Gareth was also long and lean but more muscular that most men with his body type. All that time working outside, busting concrete or laying fresh road, or roofing and installing windows. All the hard work had left him sinewy and buff. He kept his wheat colored hair close cut but in style.

The couple on the bed could have been brother and sister. They looked more alike than Jordan and her own Gareth ever would. And speaking of her brother, he was the one currently tied to the bed with black silk scarves. His cock was hard and long—and she remembered that yes, this was not the first time she’d seen him this way—naked and erect. And with a woman.

She—whoever she was—lowered herself an inch at a time while Gareth jerked up  under her.

The girl swatted his chest and the sound was crystal clear and sharp in the silent house. “Stop it. I’m in charge. Now lay still.”

He growled and made himself still for a moment and his lover rocked from side to side, grinding her body down on his. Her pubic hair was gone but for a tiny strip that was black. Jordan had always thought that lone strip looked silly—like a mustache in the wrong location.

A hysterical burble of laughter tried to rumble up out of her but she clamped a shaking hand over her mouth and watched the girl ride her brother. Her naked, gorgeous, stubborn and apparently into sex games brother.

Gareth chose that moment to thrust up hard under the woman and he hissed, “Jesus Fucking Christ, Isabel, fuck me or get off.”

“I am fucking you,” she said and pinched his nipple between her dark fingernails.

Gareth roared at her. “You’re only doing what feels good to you. We talked about this. If you’re topping, then your premiere job is finding the balance between your pleasure and your bottoms. And you are only worried about you.”

She pinched him harder, her mouth had narrowed down to a mean line and that alone made it
almost
possibly for Jordan to ignore the very real and very inappropriate thump of arousal in her cunt. She should totally not be watching this.

“And!” Gareth roared louder. “You are supposed to balance pleasure and pain and not just hurt me because I’m pissing you off.”

He bucked up under her, but not to fuck her. The buck was intended to—and succeeded in—bucking the red headed beauty off of him.

Jordan got another fast, but magnificent glance at her brother’s cock and heat flooded her cheeks. Why was she still here? Why had she not fled the scene?

Pervert.

“You cocksucker!” Isabel shouted. It was a screechy kind of cry that set Jordan’s teeth on edge. Not a sound that evoked sympathy by any means.

“Untie me,” Gareth growled. He was struggling now and Jordan couldn’t quite peel her eyes from the scene. Other people’s sex was very much a car wreck in that respect. His body moved, taut and angry, on the bed and against the bonds on his wrist.

Isabel the Red as Jordan had already come to think of her was busy storming around the room naked, hair flying, gathering her clothes. She shoved her legs into faded jeans without bothering to pull on panties. Those panties were shoved in her back pocket, a pale yellow surrender flag. She pulled on a greenish-blue tank and tucked her bra under her arm.

“You’re so fucking good, G. You go ahead and untie yourself. Maybe your magical dick can help you out with that.”

Jordan took a step back, ready to flee. Her brother’s voice slid along the air like thick smoke. He simply said, “Isabel, if you leave me tied here, don’t come back. Ever. Not drunk, not sober. Not horny. And certainly not because you’re craving the kind of pain with a pleasure chaser you know I can give you.”

Jordan watched her consider it. Even through the crack, she could see the woman waver. But at the last moment she turned on her heels, feet still bare, and stalked toward the door.

“I’ll be just fine,” she said with false bravado.

“I sure hope so,” Gareth said softly and yet it carried perfectly in the still home.

Jordan backpedaled into the bathroom and ducked behind the door just as Isabel flung the door open and stalked down the short hall toward the front of the house. Jordan just hoped the girl was too angry to notice her bag on the floor as she left.

Jordan held her breath and heard Isabel getting her stuff, presumably. And then there was no need to hold her breath to hear that front door slam. Which it did with a resounding boom.

She had two choices here—she could sneak past and pretend to come in, or she could just go and check on Gareth.

…craving the kind of pain with a pleasure chaser you know I can give you…
echoed in her head and she shook it off. What did that mean? But she didn’t even have time to consider the words or what they might mean because she heard the most bizarre thing ever.

Gareth. Laughing.

He was laughing his ass off in his bedroom, still buck naked and tied to his bed.

She damn near rolled her eyes. That was Gareth. Very little floored him and even less upset him. She hurried to help him out, realizing it would mean seeing him naked. Touching him while he was naked. Remembering what Isabel had apparently wanted from him.

All very confusing. So confusing and so oddly arousing, judging by the wetness of her panties, that all Jordan could do was not let herself consider any of it.