Fade Back (A Stepbrother Romance Novella) (9 page)

S
he caught
up to Fitz only a few steps from the restaurant, almost slamming into him.

"I forgot my card,” Fitz muttered sheepishly, and Becka handed it to him. But she wasn't going to let Fitz slink away.

"Look, I know that was an awful thing to see. Like, literally the worst timing of all time. And I honestly, truly haven't heard from dad in weeks, and even if I did, I'd be too busy screaming at him. He's just trying to make our life hell.”

“Are you sure you didn’t say ‘Okay, daddy’ and accept his conditions for your allowance or something?” Fitz muttered darkly, petulant as a child.

“What? I don’t take money from him anymore. I'm twenty-two god damn years old and I have a decently paying job. Listen, I get it, you're special, you're a unique snowflake who understood love and loyalty and honesty more than anyone else ever has, and you don’t want to fight for love again, especially with all these red flags flapping in your face. But I'm not you and I don’t care what our parents say. I didn't know you, despite you being my stepbrother. But now I do. And I want to know you better."

"Look, this is crazy. You’re right, we don't even know each other. I must seem a million years old to you, like some Leave It To Beaver, 1950's relic. I know I might not fit your classic picture of a conservative kind of guy, but... but geez, I don't know. I guess I'm just fucking shy and old-fashioned. And I don't think I could ever be the kind of guy who falls into bed with anyone and especially my stepsister. I guess I can't seem to shake it off like you did, and that just... It just makes me sad. And the absolute saddest thing is, seeing you here, talking like this, looking like this, and I just want to... I want to be with you. But I'm not sure we should be.”

They were both walking at a furious pace, ranting under their breath at each other in the crowded streets. Neither spoke about where they were going, but once they arrived, it was clear to Becka this was where they were always going. 

The upholsterer's shop window was dark, of course, and the stairwell smelled of someone's spicy dinner. But Fitz’s apartment was as bright as before, and Becka followed him silently inside without speaking a further word. She unzipped her jacket and threw it to the wooden floors, hearing the sharp clatter of the metal of the zipper pull reverberate around the cavernous apartment like a starter's pistol, a declaration of intent. Fitz stood before her, impassive, while Becka shed her dress, button by businesslike button. It wasn't a striptease, not as such, but with Fitz’s fixed gaze and the warmth in the room, Becka felt herself starting to sweat. As she slid out of her dress and let it flutter to the ground behind her, she tentatively stepped towards Fitz. The scowl on his face egged her on. She was defiant and sexy, and she wouldn't be written off: not now that she'd discovered so much, and needed so much more.

"Show me the tattoo,” she demanded, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I want to see it." She was only a few steps away from Fitz. She could smell the muskiness of his sweat, the fabric softener in his shirt. She honestly didn't mean to, but her hand lingered over his hip, her fingers slid into his waistband, and she felt it there, hard proof that Fitz wasn't as angry as he pretended to be. Or maybe he was, and he just had a funny way of showing it.

He tolerated the slow exploration of Becka’s hand and didn't protest when she took his and placed it over her now bare breast. As if by compulsion, Fitz’s fingers massaged her flesh and pinched her nipple, expertly bringing it to its most erect state. When their lips met, they were hungry, tongues probing and gulping down air as fast as they could. Suddenly, their hands were everywhere.

Becka dropped to her knees just like she'd been longing to. She tore open a condom wrapper and slid it down Fitz’s shaft with her mouth, looking up into a face, at once grateful and commanding, visceral grunts already slipping from her. Determined not to waste another second, she stood and bent herself over the back of the couch, taking this position to protect her fresh tattoo once again. And Fitz needed no prompting. Taking care not to grip her too harsh, he steered his red-hot phallus into Becka’s sex, no inch of him the gentleman he once had been as he took her rough and hard. Becka, for her part, moaned in ecstasy, returning every frenzied thrust with her own, roaring like a wounded animal and begging him to ride on, ride harder, pound deeper and crueler, make her squirm, impaled by that stiff rod. Fitz had no mercy and rutted like an animal, the hard edge of his breath panting and straining as he worked his hips with more vigor, dug his fingers deeper. Becka, hopelessly turned on by the force, took her punishment and came so hard she wept, and Fitz followed suit a moment later, grunting and helplessly thrusting as he angrily spent himself inside her.

When Becka, still gasping, turned around, she saw Fitz’s cheeks were wet with tears, and she kissed him, as tenderly and deeply as she could. He held her in his strong arms as though she were everything, the whole fragile Earth wrapped up in his hirsute grasp. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he whispered, his voice anguished and so small in his broad chest. 

"No, never."

"Look, I think I'm just... I'm too close to this. I'm too fucked up by this whole concept of us being siblings.” He pulled away and Becka’s arms stayed up, reaching and pathetic as Fitz drifted over to the sideboard and gestured her towards a hall mirror. Becka moved, dream-like, and waited for Fitz to show her what she ostensibly came here to see.

"It's beautiful..." she breathed, looking at the colors dancing under the mirror's spotlight, more vivid than she could have imagined a tattoo could be, her pert breasts flanking the design. "But..."

"But it's not finished." And Fitz was right. The heart at the very center remained blank, and now that Becka saw it without the missing trace of scarlet, the whole image looked incomplete. "Maybe you need someone else to fill the last part."

Becka caught his eye in the mirror, and they were both in tears, their breath catching in their throats, but this time Fitz just looked away, turning his stricken face to the floor. 

"I'm not going to give up on you,” Becka whispered.

"Well, maybe you should,” Fitz said back, his voice dull but just barely under control. “Listen… I don't want you to go around making rash decisions and promises you can't keep. You’re young, and you like to party, you said so yourself, remember? I’m not going to be the guy who forces you down when you want to come up, not with all these obstacles we have to overcome. But I want you to know that if you make up your mind, and you know for certain that you're with me, then we need to be serious about it. If we’re going to fight our parents, I can’t get hurt like before, I don’t think I could handle that, not again. If you make your choice, I'll be there, and I'll be ready to fill that heart of yours. For now though, I think you'd better go home. Give us both some time to think." 

Becka nodded, and said nothing, not trusting her voice to hold out. In her heart, she knew Fitz was right to say it, kind to give her this time to consider her choices and where they would lead. Especially given their precarious situation with their parents. She didn't protest when Fitz handed her the dress, and she didn't try to kiss him as she passed through the door. Fitz wasn't so strong though, and he stole one final kiss, almost chaste and heartbreakingly sincere.

T
his time
, Becka didn't wallow. She didn't mope. She applied for new jobs, she read about grad schools, she started planning the life she needed, without worrying about boys or parties or cool hip things. She thought about Fitz, of course, and she'd be lying if she said the memory of their last encounter, so hard and fast and brutal, didn't make her want to run to his door and beg Fitz to take her again, their parents be damned. But that wasn't how this was going to play out. She wasn't going to pin all her dreams on one man, only to curse him when she didn't live in bliss. 

Mick and Karen visited, and she was kept in the loop about Fitz’s hours, his appointment schedule, his down time. When Becka got home after their abortive date, her mind was a blur, and yet at the center of it, she remained supremely calm. She was going to weather this storm with the kind of resolve she should have had before. 

She thought she'd need longer to figure things out. She really did prepare to confront her soul in a thousand dark and terrifying ways: run through a gamut of self-questioning and emerge triumphant and self-aware at the other end. She was going to return to Fitz a wise and soulful woman. She was going to do yoga every single god damn day until she virtually levitated through all planes of reality. She was going to confront her dad and tell him to get the hell out of her love life, and to tell Eleanor to do the same. They could do nothing to stop them: their children were now adults, and their relationship wasn’t illegal. She’d be the most worldly, sage, and potent character Fitz had ever met.

But then, only a few days into her journey of self-reflection, she caught sight of her tattoo as she got out of the shower, and it took her breath away. In a physical turn Becka had never experienced before, her eyes brimmed over and spilled hot lashings of tears across her face. Bewildered and struck by an almost sublime feeling of bitter joy, Becka knew that the man who gave her this image, who made this feeling possible, was not someone she could easily let go. She didn't need any more time for soul-searching and grasping, she knew exactly what she wanted and precisely where to find it. She was in love with a man so potently, so absolutely, that the mere reminder of his existence filled every nerve in her body with fireworks. She felt, leaning there against her bathroom tile and cringing, that she couldn't find a better way to describe it, as though her body and her soul were having an orgasm at the same time. She knew the moment she felt the throbbing between her legs die away, and the inflamed pulsing of her heart remained, that she didn't need to waste time. She needed Fitz.

S
he didn't consult
with Karen or Mick or Jerome, and instead, for the first time, she trusted her instincts and let her heart lead her. That scrap of bare flesh on her body resonated to her real heart, only inches away from it, and she felt the space calling out to Fitz, pulling her across the city as dusk began to fall and into the arms of her one true love. 

When she arrived at the stairway leading down to Dickie’s Emporium, she felt exactly the same as she had that first time those long weeks ago. She couldn't believe how much had come to pass, and how insignificant it would all seem when she and Fitz looked back on their life together years from now. 

The door was unlocked, but Becka knew he'd be alone. Mick and Karen didn't stay late, their own little nod to anarchy in a consumer-driven society. Becka thought about how unsafe that was, to leave the front open with no one manning the desk. What if someone tried to rob them? Well, Becka thought as she stepped into the neon-lit gloom, strong-armed six-foot Fitz could scare them away! And she almost swooned in the foyer with excitement. Everything seemed more alive than usual, the fluorescent glow of the pink and aqua neons struck her as totally romantic, better than any shabby candle-light. The beaded curtain was the height of chic décor, and the couch looked plenty big enough for two. She found herself amending all her memories of this place one by one, from locations of awkwardness or confusion or murky lust, to bright spaces to be cherished, areas for the moments in which she felt truly and completely in love, even if she hadn't really known it at the time. 

She couldn't hear the usual radio but there was a tinny crackle of headphone speakers. Some kind of loud guitars, heavy bass. She approached slowly, no longer cautious of her footsteps. And there, at his usual desk just behind the curtain, sat Fitz. Three days hadn't altered his appearance, but to Becka’s eyes he was better than ever. No more or less handsome than the first time she laid eyes on him, but infinitely more wonderful for still being as desirable as any man could be. She couldn't imagine ever getting tired of that low, slouching frame, the rippling muscles, and effortless charisma. Fitz’s head bent low over another extraordinary design of intricate loops and finely-wrought edges. He was so engrossed, he didn't notice her slipping through the curtain. He raised his head slowly to see Becka standing before him, and without a sound she slowly pulled off her shirt, knowing the murky light hit her pert breasts irresistibly, knowing the warm air was heating up. She wore no bra today.

Fitz gave away no emotion as he slipped off his headphones. Silently, he reached over to the bench behind him and gathered up his tools. He rummaged through a drawer and found the final color they needed: incandescent red, glowing like blood in the dim light of the deserted tattoo parlor. It hardly seemed the usual place for the consummation of ultimate love, but Becka couldn't imagine anywhere she'd prefer. 

She lay down on the table again, and it felt so right to her. 

“I—” Fitz tried to clear his throat.

"Shhhhh... No matter what, it's you. I don’t want anyone else, I don’t need to party anymore, I don’t care what our parents say. It’s you,” Becka murmured, her eyes closed once again, and she heard Fitz gulp before the pen began to buzz.

Ever so gently, the tiny heart-shaped space in the very middle of her design was filled, line by tortured line, never to fade away. 

She could feel Fitz’s hands, steady and warm against her flesh, which goose-pimpled with excitement as the minutes wore on. She longed for his touch, but the time spent waiting was sweet enough to sustain her, and she wondered if the feel of a tattoo gun and the smell of upholsterer's leather would always bring her to a state of arousal.

She let her mind wander, eager not to assume anything, letting this moment wash over her and simply appreciating it, whatever the outcome. When the pen stopped, she thought it must surely be too soon. She wanted to relish the seconds as they drew out, but the sound of the lotion bottle snapping open, the feel of the familiar damp towel dabbing at her newly-stinging skin, were like Pavlov's bell. She found her mouth was watering, and her throbbing clit was twitching at attention. Fitz stood in front of her, leaning over to apply the soothing ointment on her burning new tattoo. Becka couldn't resist running her hand up that denimmed thigh, feeling the heat as she inched upward, knowing that Fitz was as hard as he was all those times before, so pent up with desire. 

Without words, the two surrendered to each other. They kissed, hard tongues hungrily tasting each other's lips, desperate with need. Becka longed to feel those lips on her clit, that tongue lapping at her throbbing nub, but she also couldn't imagine resisting this lazy, seductive pressing, the tantalizing sensation of a thick, hard rod constrained and withheld. Fitz made that move, teasing down his fly, all the better to press his hardened flesh against her. 

Becka felt ready to explode, her fingers laced in Fitz’s hair, only vaguely aware of his pumping biceps, of the intense rubbing motion that threatened to send her into spasms of inexcusably early pleasure. With all her might, she pushed Fitz away and hopped off the table, stripping down to nothing and beckoning him over, inviting him to lie down. A heart-warming goofy grin overtook his forcefully sullen expression, and the lolling head of his cock grew even thicker as Becka paused while she readied herself. By instinctive memory, she reached for the drawer, and found the condoms Fitz had stashed there.

“A ten-pack? You're a busy guy.”

"I... I wanted to be ready for you."

"Oh yeah?" Becka murmured low and lazy as she rolled the sheath down his cock.

Fitz, breathing heavy and watching her every move, nodded and bit his lip. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice hoarse and ragged with desire, "I bought them right after... right after your first visit."

"Wait, the very first time?"

Fitz nodded again, his gorgeous features making a sheepish face, his cuteness vividly juxtaposed with his dominating masculine nudity. That a man so absurdly hot could desire her so much made Becka even hotter, and she was ready for him now, more than ever. She nudged him to lie down, his manhood almost too big to fit the condom Becka expertly applied, but she gingerly climbed on top of him, rubbing her wetness against his stomach as she dragged her hips into position. With a wince and a soft 'ohhhhhhh' she took all of his enormous cock inside her, collapsing on the phallus that seemed to have grown since their last encounter. Fitz, eyes rolling back in unbridled passion, moved his hips slowly, apparently determined to leave Becka wild and clawing at him, every teasing motion sending shivers down her spine. 

“Shhh, look up," Fitz whispered and winked, and Becka looked in the mirror suspended above them, an aid to the artists and now an invaluable addition to Becka’s experience. She threw her head back, and with her gaze locked on Fitz in the mirror, she saw every muscle in his body flexing, and lazy thrust of their tantalizing hips were matched so perfectly that they seemed to be one heaving beast, etched with ink scales and writhing, groaning together on the chrome and leather table. Becka leaned back on her arms, supported by Fitz’s knees. She saw her breasts, swaying yet firm, and Fitz’s slow smile as he reached up and licked his thumb, then brought it to her clit, turning lazy circles over it. This proved too much for her to take, and unable to resist any longer, she whispered "I love you" to the man in the mirror and unleashed herself with animal groans and shrieks, harmonizing with his tones as they both came together in a torrent of feverish whispers and muttered oaths. 

She sat impaled on his ebbing manhood as they slowly, in unison, tried to catch their breaths. They gazed at each other in a trance, the tiny sounds of Fitz’s headphones finally audible over their frenzied panting.

The tune was something slow and gentle, though far away and unclear to either one of them. But they knew it was there, could feel their song playing. The two of them could make it out—just—somewhere off in the distance. And it waited for them to discover it.