Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance (10 page)

“Excuse me?” he asked, looking down at the same time as I did to find the dog tags loose and dangling from beneath his gray USMC T-shirt.

“Those aren’t yours,” I said, tapping them with the top of my beer bottle. “I can’t read them. I’m not a snoop like you are, but I can see from the number letters they don’t spell out your name, so… whose
are
they?”

Ryan remained silent for quite some time, making me wonder if he’d ever answer at all, or had even heard my question. His face was hard to read, stoic but not stern, his eyes soft and moist but not angry or defiant. Finally, he picked up his beer, swallowed half of it in a single gulp, then set it down roughly on the table.

“Ty Cable,” he finally grunted, glancing from me to a distant corner of the dining room where, peering into the flickering flame of an apple cinnamon jar candle – my mother’s favorite scent – his eyes remained fixed for the remainder of his tale. “That’s why you could tell the name wasn’t mine—it’s way too short. We always used to joke about it with him. ‘Tie a cable around it,’ we’d say whenever it was appropriate, or even when it wasn’t. It was stupid, grunt, ooh-rah, Jarhead stuff, but it never failed to make him smile. But then, Ty was always smiling, even when the ribbing got serious. He was young, about your age, actually… nineteen or twenty. He hadn’t been in the unit long before we got ambushed on a night scouting mission. It’s not…”

His voice faltered, big hands swatting soft tears before they could form in his eyes, then staring down at his thick fingers as if he might see them.

“It’s not like in the movies, you know?” he asked, even though he continued to stare at the flickering flame of one of Mom’s favorite Yankee candles. “You know, war fucking sucks. No matter who’s side you’re on. Ty was dead before I got to him, no time for words or goodbyes or anything. His eyes were open, wide and scared, his mouth bloody and his ear was half-gone. Maybe, maybe if there’d been time to save him, I wouldn’t still be so fucked up about it today, you know?”

I reached out a gentle hand, tentatively gripping, then releasing, his forearm. It was stiff and rigid beneath my touch, like his jawline as he struggled to retain his composure in the face of the heartbreaking confession.

I could tell it had drained him, his entire body sagged in the big chair, making him look almost boyish despite his normal larger-than-life size. I tried to picture young Ty and the rest of Ryan’s fellow Marines, to say nothing of what all those hellish tours in a foreign land might have done to my strong but sensitive, stepbrother.

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” I said, quietly, getting the hint and keeping my hands to myself this time. “I can’t even pretend to understand what you saw over there, or what you and your fellow Marines went through, but I’m here if you need me now. Just to talk or share egg rolls with. I don’t… I don’t know much about heartbreak yet, but I know it can’t be easy to go through it alone.”

I stood then, squeezing his shoulder, stiff and rigid once more as I prepared to leave the room. “So don’t be a hermit, okay?” I said, sincerely, even… sisterly. “Seriously. My room is right across the hall, remember?”

He turned to me, his eyes moist but unflinching as he flashed a crooked, if stiff, smile. It failed to reach all the way to his eyes, a rarity from my frequently smiling, always wise-cracking and smart ass stepbrother. But it was there, just the same.

Then I left the room, eager to let Ryan have his peace and safe in the knowledge that for once, my offer had been sincere, no strings attached. If all Ryan wanted was comfort, I would give him that–even if it meant doing it completely clothed with both feet on the floor.

Chapter Twelve

4:22.

I blinked my eyes, wide awake and stared at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock by my bed.

4:23.

“Fuck,” I growled, tossing and turning one last time before finally sitting up and admitting the cold, hard truth: I wouldn’t sleep another wink that night.

“Shit.”

Not that I’d had much sleep before I finally risked glancing at the clock by my bed, squinting at the glowing red digital numbers in the dark and hoping against hope that I’d slept straight through to morning and it was just cloudy outside.

After leaving Ryan at the dining room table I’d drifted upstairs, paced a little in front of my bedroom picture window then, finally, dressed for bed. Chastely, I might add, just in case Ryan might drift upstairs wanting to talk. By chastely, I meant a longer nightshirt than the soft, pink, threadbare cotton one I’d been wearing for years.

I hadn’t really expected him to stop by, not really, but would have welcomed it all the same. The thought of Ryan suffering—and suffering alone—made me anxious, uncertain, concerned, all at the same time. I’d had plenty of affairs in my young life, though none lasting longer than a few hot weeks, or maybe even nights. With no father around to worry about, the only other person in the world I’d ever given a damn about was Mom. Now that she’d found Jerry, well, her life had been trouble-free for most of the last year. So caring for Ryan was an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, feeling that added an entire other dimension to my already restless nights.

With one eye on my bedroom door, I’d absent-mindedly watched a few boring TV shows on my laptop, read a few pages from my book, then promptly zonked out well before midnight. I slept fitfully for a few hours before my eyes popped open, then slid shut, then open, then shut. Then an hour or so ago, I was firmly and officially wide awake.

I tossed, I turned, I plumped my pillow and punched it, bundled up in my sheets and kicked them off, counted sheep and even prayed, all to no avail. Now, the gleaming clock numbers growling 4:24 at my face. I finally gave in and stood up, pacing quietly across the hardwood floor of my room as I considered my options.

It was Friday morning now, no classes at school, no work until the semester was over and my savings ran out and I had to find a job like every other kid at Chestnut Community College.

I could, and probably should have gone for a run, but I just wasn’t feeling it for some reason. Usually I couldn’t wait to get up and jog a few miles around the bucolic, scenic neighborhood my mom and I had moved into when she married Jerry, but for whatever reason, I just couldn’t muster the energy to drag on footie socks or tie the laces of my favorite pair of pink and blue running shoes.

Though I was far from physically tired, the peaks and valleys, ups and downs of trying – and failing – to seduce my stepbrother had left me feeling tapped out emotionally. I felt drained as if I’d just run a marathon entirely in my mind. I was far from a tramp but had never had trouble getting a boy into bed before. At least, not if I really, really wanted him. Ryan was a specific case, though, one who had high standards, and apparently, high morals.

Go figure!

As a result, I just wasn’t feeling an early morning run, which usually would have been so appealing to me. The endorphins alone would have revived my spirits and maybe helped me get over Ryan sooner, but I just couldn’t muster the energy to get the old legs pumping.

There were other things I could be doing to improve my life. For instance, I suppose I could have done some homework for my Modern Sociology class but fffuuuccckkk that! I could have organized my sock drawer or folded all the tiny panties wadded up on the top shelf in my closet. Again… blah! Nor did the thought of dragging open my laptop and binge watching some new TV series on Netflix have my heart racing, either.

It felt strange, being at loose ends. Despite my “bad girl” attitude of late, I was normally a very pro-active, well-organized, busy, get things done gal. To be frozen by inaction, unsure of what to do – or even where to go – next felt as off-putting as wanting someone who didn’t want me back.

Still pacing, growing more and more restless and frustrated with each aimless step, I happened to glance out my half-open blinds to see the pool, long and shimmering under the soft moonlight.

My lips curled into an involuntary smile as I considered all that soft, warm water caressing my skin, still so feverish and flushed with unrequited desire. Add a few long, luxurious dips in the hot tub to soothe my weary body and mind and who knows – I might just fall back asleep on one of Jerry’s soft, comfy lounge chairs, snoozing contentedly until the warmth of the sun woke me up again. It sure beat binge-watching Season three of Vampire Vixens Academy or rearranging my sock drawer, that’s for sure.

Suddenly inspired, I scoured my walk-in closet for my favorite two-piece bikini and slipped it on, grabbing a cover up at the last minute to drift quietly out into the hallway. I could hear the gentle, rhythmic snores coming from Ryan’s room, and drifting away toward the stairs, descended them with a quiet mix of relief and disappointment.

On one hand, I was glad I wasn’t disturbing him and would have the whole pool to myself. On the other, Ryan was good company and I wouldn’t have minded a continuation of last night’s conversation. He was clearly hurting, obviously suffering, and I hoped, somehow, my little pep talk had helped him last night.

I could easily picture us leaning across the kitchen counter from one another, a pot of coffee brewing, nibbling on some bagels or Danish while I peppered him with questions about what he’d seen overseas; what he’d done. Maybe he’d tell me, maybe he’d not, but in my limited experience sometimes just knowing someone cared to ask was better than therapy itself. Alas, the big lug was sleeping in, leaving me alone to enjoy the entire house by myself.

My bare feet padded across the moonlit kitchen floor as I peered into the fridge, glancing idly at a vast array of bottled juices and sodas but not feeling it.

That is, until my eyes landed on one of the cool, frosty green bottles of Chinese beer I’d bought for our impromptu feast the night before. Sure, it was a little too early for a beer—or was four in the morning too
late
?

What the hell?
I thought, grabbing one and opening it with a refreshing sigh as I took a long, cold sip to fight back the restlessness that had awakened me over an hour earlier and left me tossing and turning ever since. The beer was crisp, cool, dry and tart, both filling and refreshing–and
way
better than caffeine!

“Perfect,” I muttered dreamily, sauntering out onto the pool deck and finding the quiet solitude refreshing and just a little… enticing. After the stilted, fetid atmosphere of the big house behind me, so bursting with desire unfulfilled that it had grown claustrophobic, the patio area and its lush environs were a breath of fresh air.

The pool deck was sheltered from our neighbors, with its towering palms and long, winding fence. Ryan was dead to the world, asleep in his room for supposedly the next few hours. Knowing I’d be alone for at least that long, the musings of freedom came again, making me feel wicked and even a little naughty in their wake.

Sliding off my stringy beige cover up, the fabric caressing my bare skin, I felt the elation of being alone and free overtake me and continued undressing as I untied my powder blue bikini top before stepping out of my chocolate brown bottoms. I felt naughty, naked, and bare to the world as the cool morning air surrounded my feverish skin and slid over my taut, pert nipples and across my belly.

I brought the cold, musky Chinese beer along with me as I stepped into the shallow end, the lukewarm water caressing my skin as I descended step by step, resting the green bottle on the tiled pool deck as I sank beneath the surface, gloriously refreshed and butt naked, emerging to finger comb my long blonde hair behind my back before taking another sip of beer.

It felt vaguely thrilling to be here, naked and submerged, my skin glowing in the pool’s dim light as I swam a few half-hearted laps before the luxurious feel of water against my flushed skin was too tempting to ignore. I smirked dreamily, rising naked and dripping–in more ways than one–from the pool to sip my beer in the hot tub, one hand on the cool green bottle while the other drifted lazily between my legs.

I began to sweat as I toyed with my pussy. The wet, throbbing heat and gurgling bubbles against my ass and thighs loosened my inhibitions as my finger drifted down, lower, to glance across my overheated clit. The slightest touch sent a sizzle of excitement across my skin, I shifted ever so slightly so the water jet hit me right in the sweet spot, just above my asshole. That and my slick, wet fingertips on my clit combined, would provide maximum stimulation to get me off in no time—but I wanted to wait. I wanted this one to be good—no great!

“Jesus,” I gasped, moving my ass gently across the stream. I was so desperate and horny that I’d finger myself at four AM in the family Jacuzzi!
But why the hell not?
I reasoned, a second fingertip joining the first as my eyelids slid half-shut with lazy, overheated desire.

Mom and Jerry would be returning mid-week and what had I done with their time away from home but pine for a stepbrother who only thought of me as a little sister? If he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, satisfy me, I’d just have to do it myself.

And do it well.

I lingered in the hot tub, sipping my beer and teasing myself, wanting it to last, wanting it to build and crest so that I came so hard my cries would wake half the neighborhood. I slid my ass across the water jet again, this time moving up and down so the stream licked me from my asshole to my clit. God, if only Ryan would be so willing!

Forcing myself to slow it down, I stood abruptly from the hot tub, skin flushed and pussy fragrant with desire as I returned to the pool, the water cooler now but no less inviting as I sank beneath its surface and emerged, reaching for my beer only to freeze, hand in mid-reach.

“I thought you might need a new one,” he said, standing in the sliding glass doors, one foot on the deck, the other still in the living room. “You look a little… hot and bothered.”

I nodded, too shocked to speak. What had he seen? “But… I heard you snoring?” I said, instinctively covering my bare breasts as he inched closer, a cold green beer bottle in each large, masculine hand.

He shrugged. “I’ve been tossing and turning all night,” he confessed, looking edible in his standard sleepwear of thin, cotton boxers that, as always, left little to the imagination. “I finally gave up and came down for a glass of water when, lo-and-behold I find my little stepsister, well… like this…”