Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance (15 page)

A text or two at first, here or there. Then ten. Then twenty. Thirty. A hundred. Two hundred. Four hundred? Fuck, I didn’t even know. Still… nothing. Until I finally gave up. Watching me mope around the house day after day, Mom said he was probably on a bender while Jerry explained this wasn’t the first time Ryan had “gone off and done something like this”.

All the same, I’d reasoned, it was a first for me!

“Trust me,” he’d said earlier that very night, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly before I headed up to bed. “You’ll hear from Ryan when you least expect it.”

So I had. Glancing at the clock by my bed, I realized I’d been working on the paper for over two hours. Now it was nearly three AM. Wired from the half-empty can of Red Bull by my textbook, my thumbs hovered over the text keyboard, wondering what to say next.

Should I scold him, using ALL CAPS? I wondered idly, finding the image sorely tempting. Or should I skip the anger and go straight to begging him for information? Where was he? for instance. Was he safe?

Before I could decide, Ryan tapped out a simple, “Sorry.”

I saw the little “…” bubble, meaning he was still texting and sat back, wriggling with anticipation as a flurry of messages began to fill my screen, popping up one after the other, as if he’d been saving up his word count for the last three days and couldn’t wait to meet his new deadline.

“About everything,” he typed. “My moodiness, my anger, my hostility…”

“All my fault, not yours.”

“Forgive me?” he asked and before I could answer, he texted me more: “Before you answer, meet me at 249 Browning Street, Apartment 3-C, in the next hour. Promise?”

It was an easy promise to keep, even if only to myself!

I was already up and getting dressed by the time I remembered to tap out a quick thumb’s up emoticon, figuring it was too early for me to write out all my feelings in a long, boring text message. Better to see him in person and hear it from Ryan himself than misunderstand a black and white back and forth that would leave us both ripe for misinterpretation.

I was still emotional, three days later, and as likely to crumble under the weight of my tears—and fears—as when I leap into Ryan’s arms, as confused by the mixed messages he was sending as the ones I was sending myself. Part of me wanted to shut my bedroom door, climb back into bed and ignore the bleating alerts from my cell phone, fighting fire with fire and ignoring Ryan the way he’d ignored me.

But I knew as I glanced back into my tired, old, claustrophobic room, I could no more ignore Ryan’s texts than I could have gone another sleepless night without hearing from him. My heart pounded with anticipation, and despite myself, desire as I turned from my bed and the misguided thought that I could ignore either one.

Instead, I tapped on the directions in the text message, opening up my GPS app and perusing the instructions as I crept, fully dressed, out into the hallway. For once Jerry wasn’t pacing the halls, the light was out in the master bedroom as I crept by, and I took the stairs two at a time as my heart hammered in my chest. I grabbed my car keys from the hook by the door.

I sat in the car, blood pounding in my ears as I turned the key in the ignition, started her up and backed quietly out of the long, winding drive and down the silent houses in our secluded, tiny subdivision. It felt delicious and wicked to be out on a clandestine mission—one that was as unpredictable as seeing Ryan again for the first time in three days.

Since he’d moved back home, we’d never gone that long without speaking and more recently, without fucking. Now I wasn’t sure what to expect but knew, even if it meant slipping out of the house and driving around town in the dead of night, I had to know what might happen next.

The directions led me to the wrong side of town then straight past it! The streets were deserted at this hour, despite the proliferation of blinking “Open” signs calling out from above the doors of the check cashing stores and corner bodegas that lined the shabby streets as I followed the GPS directions to Browning Street.

My heart hammered as the phone sat on the passenger seat, the calm, clear robotic voice of my GPS app guiding me right to the Towne Square apartments, a new but already tattered apartment complex miles from home. I parked in one of the many open spaces, peering left and right, wondering if Ryan might meet me downstairs like the proper gentleman he was. Or—at least—used to be.

Instead, I saw the only light on at this hour was in the kitchen window of… Apartment 3-C. I paused, my emotions at war with themselves. I should have been mad at him—incensed, even. The asshole had thrown a vase at my head! Then, of course, I understood why. It still didn’t excuse his behavior, but it allowed me to forgive him long enough to at least show up and hear an apology.

That is, if that’s what he intended to do. With no clue what the night might hold, I felt the pull toward the address he’d texted me grow stronger and stronger the more I resisted it.

So I climbed the outer steps, my soft sandals whispering on spotted concrete, the hem of my favorite orange crinkle skirt brushing against my knees, my arms bare and chilly in my black halter top.

I tapped gently on the door only to find it open. Literally—it swung open on the third knock to reveal a small, humble but charming apartment lit entirely by candles. Jar candles, votives, candlesticks, flickering sconces. They all illuminated Ryan, standing in the living room beckoning me forward with soft, gentle eyes and a sad, chagrined smile.

He was dressed casually like I was—camouflage cargo pants and a rust colored tank top, clinging to his manly torso, smile less crooked than annoyed across his face. “God,” he said, no doubt breaking from some carefully constructed script he’d practiced all night. “It’s so good to see you.”

His voice cracked just so, as did mine when I said, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“How could I stay away?” he croaked, opening his arms to embrace me. After a brief—
very
brief—pause where I quickly considered being standoffish, I ran into them, like lovers in some romantic movie, feeling his heart pounding against his chest as he smothered me with big, muscled arms. “I missed you like crazy, Heather,” he murmured, squeezing me tight and showing me just how much he missed me as well as telling me.

Somehow I managed to push away, shoving my cell phone in his face mock-angrily. For some reason, after all he’d done to me, and hadn’t done, I just couldn’t stay angry at Ryan for very long.

“You have some way of showing it,” I huffed, tossing it on the couch behind him. “I texted you, like, 1,001 times, Ryan. Not a single text back until tonight. Three. Days. Later!”

He peered at the phone for a long time as if it held the answer to the questions I was asking. “I felt horrible,” he finally said, sagging down on top of the nearest arm of the couch. “I acted like an asshole. I never thought you’d speak to me again.”

“That’s why I texted you so much!” I said, waving my arms as I stood in front of him, almost knee to knee. “That’s why I rushed over here in the middle of the night the minute you called!”

He smirked up at me, one leg on either side of the couch’s armrest as if he was sitting on a weight bench at the gym. “I’m glad you did,” he murmured, his hands big and fidgety on his lap.

“Me too,” I confessed, peering around at the small but candlelit apartment before glancing back at him. “So remind me again why I’m here?”

“I wanted to apologize in person,” he said, reaching a hand around each hip to drag me gently on top of his knee. As if it had a mind of its own, my skirt blossomed open so all that separated me from the muscly heat of his strong, lean thigh was… nothing.

He sensed it, raising his thigh to meet the slick, desperate folds of my juicy cunt and gently, but quite purposefully, held it there. My warm, wet pussy against hard thigh muscle. The thrill was instantaneous and deliberate, making me realize now there had never been a choice about answering Ryan’s text or not. If this was why he’d lured me over, then I was his—all his. Every ounce, every inch of me. We’d work the rest out later.

“Rushed out without putting on your panties?” he asked, arching one thick, black eyebrow as the heat of our skin melted into one another, making me savor the flesh beneath my own.

“Didn’t bother putting them on,” I sighed, sinking down lower so that my throbbing bud glanced against his firm, strong leg. “I guess, somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped I wouldn’t need them.”

“What if I was still acting like a jerk?” he murmured, flexing his thigh muscles so that they caressed my throbbing clit like fingers, lifting me up and down so that my breath caught in my throat and my belly quivered, alive with butterflies.

“I still would have fucked you one last time, Ryan,” I confessed, tugging off my blouse to reveal bare breasts, my nipples already stiff, peaked and sore, just begging for his attention. “Just for old time’s sake.”

“Even after all I did to you?” he asked, hands gently drifting from my waist to lightly trace up and down my rib cage. “Blowing up at you like that? Throwing that vase? Storming out?”

I nodded, biting my lower lip to keep from gasping with delight. “I trust you, Ryan,” I murmured, shaking the desire from my mind as I focused on forgiveness for a moment. “I know you’re a good man, and even better stepbrother. If you felt that way, there had to be a reason. I knew, in time, you’d tell me, and in time, I’d understand.”

He nodded, glancing the tip of his tongue off first one nipple, then the other, all the while gently bouncing me up and down on his thigh as I grabbed his shoulders to keep from sliding off. Meanwhile his hands crept higher, squeezing each breast in turn and holding them in place as he licked and sucked them in alternating sweeps of his deft, expert tongue and thick, thirsty lips.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized first once, then again, pausing with his lips around each breast so that I could feel the heat of his breath slather each stiff, wet nipple. “So… so… so sorry.”

“I know,” I murmured, forcing myself to press gently away from him so that he could see—and hear—my forgiveness. “Besides,” I added, finding his eyes and forcing him to peer back at me. “Your father already told me about the rose garden. I didn’t… I had no idea…”

“It’s my fault,” he said, pausing in his seduction momentarily to offer a sincere apology. “I should have told you, and even if I hadn’t, shouldn’t have blamed you for something you didn’t know you were even doing. I just get… emotional… about my mother.”

I nodded, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly as my thighs gently gripped his own. “You can talk to me, you know?” I promised him. “I’m here for you, good, bad or ugly, okay?”

He sighed, inching closer to meet my lips with his own. The movement reignited the fire between my legs. I melted on top of him, drizzling and wet where my swollen clit met his thigh. “Right now,” he murmured, drifting from my lips back to my nipples and alternating between licking and sucking them as he explained, “the only talking I want to do involves body language!”

He was as good as his word, enlisting his hands in his sensual assault on my breasts as he alternated between each breast, tweaking then sucking, pinching then licking, all while he rolled my greedy pussy around on top of his thigh as if he knew just what it was doing to my throbbing, pulsing clit.

The combination left me helpless against his advances. All anger, sorrow, fear, and blame drifted away as I panted, hitched, bucked and came, passionately, eagerly, again and again and again.

I was powerless against Ryan’s expert seduction: his fingertips at once so gentle and insistent, his lips equally so and his thigh alternating between pressing flat against my entire pussy and rolling, slightly, first to one side, then the other. When at last my throat was hoarse from squealing, I pushed myself up and away, standing on trembling legs as I tugged at the button of his shorts and yanked on his zipper while he pulled off his tank top in response to my own eager advances.

He went to stand, but I said, definitively, “Stay. Right. There.”

Yanking off his pants and boxers, I found his cock magnificently stiff and splattered with his pre-come, the tip glistening amidst the flickering candlelight as I stroked and sucked it to a ripe, quivering perfection. He felt and tasted so familiar, I thought, watching him writhe and thrust so predictably, in and out of my wet mouth.

How can this be wrong?

I made love to Ryan’s cock with my mouth and fingers, treating it so tenderly it nearly burst with every stroke. Even then I knew it wasn’t just the sex that had us so hot and bothered. It was…us…each other. It was Ryan, and not just because it was taboo to sleep with him. I would have come a dozen times with Ryan if he was just a blind date or boyfriend. He was special, straight up, and I’d do whatever I had to do to be with him, even if it meant sneaking around and keeping the world’s biggest secret from our parents.

As much as I cared about my mother, and more, Ryan’s father, they would just have to understand—or we’d have to get better at keeping what we were doing a secret. Either way, all I wanted at that moment, all I needed, was to taste, touch, and tease my lover—and so I did.

The flames flickered around the tiny apartment as I knelt between my stepbrother’s legs. He was so strong and supple, his thighs spread wide as I gripped the inside of his left one with my hand while stroking and sucking his big, fat dick with the other. He gripped the side of the couch with one hand while gently holding my long, blonde hair to the side with the other, as if wanting to watch every time I slid my lips up and down his stiff prick. He murmured and nodded with approval, thrusting in and out, fucking my mouth. I welcomed him eagerly, wanting him ready by the time I climbed up on him for a big, climactic finish.

I enjoyed the journey, savoring every drop as our juices mingled, my tight lips leaving a glossy sheen of desire behind each slurp and suck. I moved my right hand from the base of his swollen staff to his thick balls, tugging them gently as I sucked and slathered his rod. He responded with deeper thrusts—my lips clinging to the thick tip as I heightened his pleasure to damn near bursting. I could feel him threatening to explode like a geyser with every rasp of my tongue, every clamp of my lips, every stroke of my feverish fingers. His breathing increased to a near pant, his fingers tightening in the pile of my hair he still clung to, desperately, as if holding on for dear life. His belly, merely inches from my face, clenched and clamped as he struggled to maintain control even as I worked hard to make him leave it all behind.