Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance (11 page)

“You can go at any time, but I’m back here now, and I’m wondering why you’re still upset with me. If you hate me—like you should—you wouldn’t have taken me in,” he says. He slips his right arm around my waist and grips my wrist with his left hand. Even at half-strength, even injured, he’s still a lot fucking stronger than I am, and that sends another message of heat, a lightning bolt of desire, straight through my body.
 

“Let me go,” I say again.
 

“No, not this time. I’m not letting you go, Natalie.”
 

My body is on high alert, like there’s a coil growing tighter and tighter deep inside of my body, sparks radiating through me where his hands make contact with my skin. He slips his hand under my baggy UNC shirt and touches the small of my back, and a shock rolls straight through to my sex. The yearning I’ve felt since high school is apparently not going away, but I think, for one foggy moment, that I should pull away again, that I shouldn’t let this happen. But instead I moan, my lips parting slightly before he claims my mouth. And then the thing happens—the thing that’s happened only once before. He kisses me, hard, his tongue finding mine.
 

This time, though, it’s different. The kiss on the night of my father’s funeral was unprompted, hurried, probably drunk, full of bravado. But not this kiss. This kiss is long and full, deep and slow. It’s the kiss of a grown man, patient and tender, belying a passion I haven’t felt anywhere else—ever. I pull away and bring my fingers to my mouth, running them over the swollen bottom lip he took between his teeth. My body feels like it’s melting, and just like before, I want to sink into the wall.
 

“We shouldn’t, Josh. This isn’t—”

“It’s okay, Nat. I understand.” He brushes the thumb over the small of my back, and my sex throbs in response.
We shouldn’t.
But it’s not like I don’t want this. It’s not like I don’t want his lips again, not like I don’t want his hands on me, brushing over my breasts, taking my waist, moving lower. “I’ve been waiting for years, and now that you’re back, you’ll have to put up with me. I’ll bide my time until you tell me otherwise.”
 

“It’s not wise,” I say, because nothing else comes to my mind. His left hand still holds my wrist, and he kisses me there, on the pale, sensitive inside of my wrist. He pulls me in closer, his hand gripping my waist, and I feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing into my thigh. “I can see that—”
 

“That I’ve been thinking about you too, like you have been at night. See, I sleep light nowadays,” he says. He pushes into me again, and I think about what I wanted that night, what I needed to take the pain away. And I still want it. God help me, the need that pours through me nearly obliterates everything in my mind. My body pulses with it, reaching out to the man in front of me.
Is that what he is now? A man?

 
My left hand still rests on his forearm, and I glance at my watch. “Shit,” I mumble, pulling away from him. “I have to go to my shift.” He nods, doesn’t say anything else. “I’ve gotta go to my shift,” I repeat dumbly. “When I get back, we’ll work on some more exercises...”
 

“Sure, Nat. Whatever you want.” He nods at me again, and I avoid looking down at his ever-present basketball shorts. If I think any more about his body, my brain will fucking explode. I grab my scrubs and stuff them in my purse, and I run out of the house because now I’m running late, and I never run late for anything.
 

What is he doing to me?

I watch Nat’s ass as it sways out of the door. The door slams behind her, and I nearly say a prayer of mourning. My cock strains against the fabric of my shorts, and every tiny movement of my body sends shocks through my body. Apparently my dick hasn’t gotten the message that Nat’s gone to work for another shift. I’ll be left wondering if she still hates me, if she responded to that kiss just because I caught her off guard.

“I feel like a fucking pussy. Waiting for a woman,” I mutter. I think of the fight, try to focus on it, but all I can see in my mind is Natalie, sweet Natalie, pushed up against the wall, looking like she was ready for me—like she needed it bad and was just trying to hide it all week.
 

I try the masking tape line again. I don’t do as well this time, but it’s probably because my dick is still semi-hard, and my shoulder is still fucked up. The shoulder wasn’t part of my plan either, but it happened. And it brought me back to Natalie before I intended to see her again—scratch that, it gave me the
opportunity
to see Nat again, to change the plan, to win her once and for all. “Fuck, man. What now?”
 

I stumble into the bathroom and turn the shower on, letting it run until a cloud of steam fills the tiny room. The bathroom is immaculately clean—leave it to Nat to keep such a shitty place feeling so fresh—but the linoleum is peeling up in the corners of the room, and the paint is flaking off the ceiling.
If I thought I was an anchor, this place is far fucking worse.
I strip down my shorts and kick them off, leaning against the wall to steady myself.
 

And then I do what I’ve done a million times since seeing Natalie again, but it’s far more intense today, far more imminent. I step in the shower and grip my cock. I let my hand rest there for just a moment, letting my thoughts drift off to Nat. The closeness of her body—her softness and her curves—it felt so real today. Despite all my planning and saving money and hard-won sobriety, I still can’t see myself as someone different, someone who Nat would actually want, for real. I can see her fucking me once, getting it out of her system, and then moving on with her life.
 

My mind settles on Nat, just Nat. Her blond hair wavy over her shoulders. Her plump, swollen bottom lip. She looked like she was up to no good after I kissed her. I think of what that curvy body would look like if I stripped her of her scrubs, if she’d look just as good without her rumpled loungewear as she does in it.
 

“Better,” I say, groaning. I stroke faster, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip of my cock. “Fuck, Natalie.”
 

I think of kneeling between her legs, of making that stressed out look on her face disappear as she comes hard for me, on my tongue, her sweet taste all over my lips. I stroke faster, the images disjointed and blurring together in my mind. I think about what would have happened that night three years ago, if I’d come back, if she’d let me stay. In my mind, I take her and own her on that couch she’s got me sleeping on. I put her ass in the air and rest my cock against her entrance, make her beg for me to fuck her, make her beg for my cum inside of her. I think of her ass rocking against me, her pussy throbbing against my cock. I’m almost certain she’d be a freak in bed, that she’d end up wanting it all the damn time, that she’d lust after the taste of my cock, the feeling of me buried inside her. I stroke faster, holding onto that image of thrusting inside of her for the first time, grabbing onto her luscious hips and fucking her until she can’t remember her own name. The thought sends me over the edge, and I come, harder than I have in a long fucking time.
 

I stand there for a moment afterwards, the aftershocks of pleasure running through my body. I wash, nearly falling once. I close my eyes as the water washes the soap away, washes my slate clean. There might not be a chance for me with this woman, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least fucking try. I stop the shower and dry off, hanging the towel around my waist.
 

After I pull on a fresh pair of boxers and my shorts, I keep checking my phone, ignoring the twelve text messages from Frank. He wants me to train, wants me to fight, wants me to make weight by next week for a battle with a new kid. For the first time since everything has started to come together for me, I don’t respond to Frank, don’t try to move everything forward. All I’m worried about right now is sitting still, waiting for Natalie. After a while, I doze off, and when Natalie finally appears, it’s like she’s coming out of a dream, my dream. She’s got that baggy shirt and leggings on again, and I wonder if she changed at the hospital. She sits down next to me and puts her hand on my arm.

“Hey,” she says.
 

“Hey yourself.” I sit up and wipe the sleep away from my eyes. Natty is tired, the way she looked after I first showed up at the house—and about a thousand times since them. It occurs to me that I’m the reason she’s so fucking tired this week, but fuck it, I have limited chances before Frank or Ash pushes me to start training. “Natalie, about this morning—”

“Yeah, you really need to work on your balance or you’re going to get clobbered in the ring. Or the cage, or whatever.” She smiles, but I see concern in her face too, and it’s probably not due to my lack of balance this morning. “But about the other thing—”

“The kiss? There’s more where that came from.” I grin. She raises her hand to stop me, purses her lips in seriousness. I can tell she wants to say something sharp, something sarcastic, but she’s desperately trying to be serious. Serious hasn’t ever been how we do things, this girl and I.
 

“I can’t.” She opens her mouth to say more, but she doesn’t. It’s just out there, like that. She
can’t
. Didn’t I always know she couldn’t? But right now, after this day, it’s not good enough. I raise my hand up to her face and turn it to me. Her amber gaze meets mine, her eyes flashing gold in the dim light of the room.
 

“I know I can’t convince you with words, Nat. I’ve tried and failed here a number of times.” I inch closer to her. I don’t want to scare her off. The need—intense and raging in my blood—it makes me want to take her by both shoulders and corner her against the arm of the couch, rip her cotton t-shirt.
Not yet. Slow, gentle
, I think. I tip her face toward mine, and she draws in a sharp breath. The sound of it sends a shock to my core. She doesn’t move away, doesn’t get up to go to her bedroom, doesn’t say a word. I cover her mouth with mine, drawing in her full lower lip. She’s still for a moment, rigid, like she wants to shout or leave. I lift my hand to her cheek again, brushing a stray wave behind her ear. Then she responds, finally, kissing me back, her tongue finding mine, her taste sweet on my lips. I feel her melting into me, her body going slack, responding just like it did this morning. I move my good hand down her back and slip it under her shirt, squeeze her side. She squirms, but then she moves closer to me instead of pulling away. Gently, I put my thumb in the waistband of her leggings, and I bring my hand around to the front, slipping my fingers inside her panties and angling my body so I can get to her pussy—if she’ll let me.
 

To my surprise, she keeps kissing me, and I tease her, pulling her panties away from her skin. She gasps and moans a soft little moan into my mouth. I pull my hand away and her eyes flutter open, looking into mine. I’ve seen this look on her face so many times—like she’s holding this heavy burden, like she’s thinking too much about everything. Well, that’s my girl. She’s always been thinking way too much about everything. If I can touch her, if I can make her come, maybe she’ll let her mind run free for just a moment. I kiss her once more, then move my right hand over her waist and then between her thighs.
 

“My one hand can’t do everything it wants all at once, Nat.” She smirks, doesn’t say anything. I bet she thinks if she does, it’ll all be over with—at that point, she gives in, or she doesn’t get the release she needs, the climax waiting for me underneath her skin.
 

I bring my hand around to the perfect orb of her breast, and slowly, I move my other hand over and lift her shirt and bra up so they’re sitting on the top of her lovely, ample breasts. I cup one and then the other, grazing my thumb over one nipple and watching it rise under my touch. She whimpers, and I swear I’ve never heard anything so beautiful. Moving to kneel in front of her, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I take one pink nipple in my mouth, sucking and licking on it until I hear her breath coming in shorter and shorter rasps. I move my mouth to the other breast and cover her nipple, bringing it to stiffness with my tongue and biting down until I hear her moan, feel her fingers combing through my hair.
 

“Fuck, Josh... we can’t... we shouldn’t...” Her voice trails off, and I suck hard against the nipple one last time before pulling away and letting my hands fall to her waist. My shoulder throbs, but the aching need in my cock outweighs the pain.

“Do you want me to stop, Nat?”
 

She shakes her head, stays sitting there, exposed and ready. I bring my mouth to her breasts again, kissing one and then the other, flicking my tongue over the soft swell of her nipple. She groans again.

“No...don’t stop,” she says. Her voice comes out like a whine, not sarcastic, not authoritative, not brainy—not all the things she usually is. I take my mouth away and stand up in front of her. I don’t give a shit if she sees how hard my cock is. By the end of this, she’ll be begging for it anyway.