Max: A Stepbrother Romance (10 page)

It comes to her more quickly than she imagines possible. Dante is on the edge too, ready to close in.

"Make me come", Sash pleads, her breathing peaking in shallow, guttural gasps, her fingers moving rapidly to latch onto something before it runs away again.

It has been a long time since she's pleasured herself in this way, and even longer since she's felt this turned on by it. It's been a long time too since she's been able to make herself come so quickly.

"Oh fuck. Your pussy feels so good."

"Come with me."

Sash is right at the edge of it. "Come inside me."

"I'm going to come", Dante confesses, his cock throbbing at the sight of his stepsister already at the point of no return. "Oh fuck, I can't-."

"Yes, uh, that's it."

Sash cries as she imagines her stepbrother's cock head swelling inside her, her own uncontrollable orgasm about to descend rapidly upon her. "Fuck. Oh fuck, I'm going to come. Fuck."

The strength of it is more than she expects. As it explodes out from her throbbing sex, sending electric like tingles into every single one of her nerve endings, she can't help but scream.

With her pussy convulsing strongly, her belly spasming hard, and her legs jerking out uncontrollably, she arches herself upwards and then collapses onto her side, folded into a fetal position. As she continues to throb and heave, wave after glorious wave of increasing pleasure filters through her body.

The sensation is out of this world. For a moment, she forgets where she is, overwhelmed by a feeling of absolute, unadulterated perfection. She is unable to do anything else but lie there like an epileptic in the throes of a powerful fit, and let it wash over her, her fingers held tightly between her legs and her feet locked together by the ankle, in case moving them might make the sensation too much to bear.

She cannot think for sensitivity. She cannot begin to slow down her thoughts. She is as close to perfection as she has ever come, a sense of fulfillment galloping through her, more real than anything she's ever felt in the last three years. And then, like a mountain appearing through thinning cloud, she remembers the man on the other side of the glass. The man who she's shared this with. The man who made her come.

Breathing heavily, like some kind of trapped animal a passer-by might not be able to guess is caught in the wonderful net of pleasure not pain, she risks pulling a hand away from her pussy to press it up against the glass.

Dante sees the gesture.

He raises his head, presses his palm against hers and lets out a deep grunt of animalistic need.

S
he's still tingling when she finally collects herself enough to get her clothes back on. Dressed again, she takes one last look through the mirror, desperate to see what she knows she can't on the other side.

"Well?"

Suddenly Isabella is behind her, and Sash gives a little jump. She hadn't heard the door open.

"That good, huh?"

Isabella can see the color in Sash's cheeks.

"You scared me."

"The first time is always the best."

Like an old friend who's shared the same experience, and knows its special qualities intimately, Isabella takes her arm.

"Come on."

She guides her back to the door. "It won't be too long before you get to do that again."

Dante is waiting for her out in the foyer, leaning casually over the desk and talking to one of the dancers. Sash collects her coat and eyes her stepbrother suspiciously.

The dancer smiles at Sash, before disappearing back into the shadows, swallowed by the belly of the building. Isabella and the girl with the pigtails watch on, as though the only audience members for an intimate performance.

"What are you doing here?"

Sash's voice is taut with suspicious curiosity.

"I like to check on all my staff, especially on their first night. How did you get on?"

"Fine", Sash says, trying to read him.

"Oh I reckon you did better than fine", Isabella interjects, one hand around her waist now as if to show her off. "You made one of our clients very happy indeed. That's a special skill."

Sash starts to go a little red, but it doesn't stop Isabella from continuing. "In fact, he was so happy, he even gave you a tip."

"That right?"

Dante raises an eyebrow. "A natural, huh?"

"Yeah, right. Who isn't a natural at taking their clothes off?"

"Some people just know how to do it with style, that's all honey. So when are you coming back?"

"I don't know."

She turns to her stepbrother. Isabella looks at him too. She has a wide smile across her face like someone who's already worked out the plot of a mystery novel. Sash sees it and wonders what's buried there.

"We'll work something out."

"I hope so. This one's quite something."

"Thank you."

Sash doesn't know quite how she feels. Her skin is still buzzing under Isabella's light touch, and she feels almost more naked now than she did with her clothes off. She's so self conscious, every time someone looks at her, even if it's only to share a sentiment or a smile, she feels herself go red.

"How much did I make?"

The question itself feels like the dirtiest thing Sash has done all night, and because of that, she almost doesn't ask it.

"Boss?"

Isabella flutters her eyelids. "Would you like to pay
your
new dancer?"

The girl with the pigtails smiles, her chipped tooth catching on her lip again.

For a moment, Sash thinks the 'your' in the question is emphasized in a strange way, and then wonders if she's misheard it completely.

"Sure. Why not."

Isabella breaks away from Sash to go and open up the cash register. "Normally the girls have to wait until the end of the week when the accounting is done, but on the first night, we like to make an exception." 

Sash watches her lift out a huge wad of banknotes, before counting them down onto the desk between them. It is more money than Sash has seen for months. It's certainly more than she's ever made in a night before. The most ever for dancing.

"A thousand dollars."

"A thousand dollars?"

Sash is stunned. She looks at her stepbrother. Dante shrugs his shoulders.

"You earned it."

"But, a thousand dollars?"

Sash is still in disbelief.

"He's a good client. He can afford it."

"How much do I have to pay for the booth?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, sweetie, he paid for that too. Now, are you going to stare at that all night long or pick it up and put it in your pocket where it belongs?"

Sash looks from the money up to Isabella and then back down to the pile of notes. Quickly, she picks it up and stuffs it into her pocket, in case somehow they've made a mistake.

"I could get used to this."

"Amen to that."

"Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

"That isn't necessary."

Sash fingers the cash, keen to know where it is at all times. "You know, I can take a taxi now."

"Come on, don't be ridiculous, I've got the car waiting outside."

The security guard hasn't moved. He's still smoking the same cigar, the smoke crawling up through the shadows.

"Goodnight, Boss", he says as he watches Dante and Sash leave.

Rain begins to fall in a fine mist. The neon lights of a strip of shops fall into shallow puddles that make the street look like a digital artists paint pallet. Sash watches the world go by, the darkness of the night turning the city into a different place entirely, almost unrecognizable to her. There are a thousand things they want to say to each other, but the journey passes them by in a heavy silence, the jigsaw puzzle pieces falling into place for Sash, one step at a time.

At her block of apartments, and even though she insists against it, Dante chaperones her to the door.

"So this is it."

They stand together at the threshold to her shabby one bedroom unit.

"This is it."

Sash turns to face him. She spreads herself against the door, trying as best as she can to block his access to it, ready to say goodbye.

"You going to invite me in?"

"No", Sash says firmly.

He places his arms against the wall either side of her, trapping her in.

"You know-."

He is close to her, closer than he has been for a long time. Now, there is no glass to keep his desire hidden.

"Don't-."

Unable to control it, Sash begins to well up.

"Sash-."

Her eyes drop from his to the worn carpet and he knows she knows.

She digs at a patch with the toe of her boot that shows the covered wooden floorboards below. A little larger and she could fall into it, she could avoid all of this. She wipes a single solitary tear away from her cheek. When she looks up again, it's because he has taken her chin and lifted it lightly with his index finger, and she has let him.

Confidence, Sash remembers. He always had the power of confidence and it was something she remembers now was one of the reasons she fell for him in the first place. She always looked up to her older stepbrother, always admired his ability to get what he wanted. Ended up resenting him for it too.

"Please."

She wants to push his hand away but she can't. Instead she takes it and holds it against her cheek for a stolen moment in case she never gets the chance again.

"You're an ass-hole, Dante. You know that. A fucking ass-hole."

Now she allows herself to get angry. She throws his hand away and folds her arms protectively over her chest. "You should leave."

"I only wanted-."

Dante is unable to finish his sentence. "I've missed you, Sash."

"And that's how you choose to show me?"

"It's not like that."

"What is it like? You exploited me."

Sash is getting more angry as she says it, as though speaking the words out loud allow her to understand better the result of what he has done.

She shakes her head in disbelief.

"Why now? You broke my trust. You lied to me. How could you do that to me."

"Tell me you didn't want it too. Tell me you don't want it now."

"We can't."

Sash shakes her head, tears flowing freely now, streaming down her cheeks.

"Listen to me, Sash. I've never wanted anything else. I've only ever wanted you. You know that."

"Leave."

Sash is unable to push him away herself. "Leave before I make you."

"No", Dante says firmly. "Not this time."

"Please, Dante."

Dante pulls her towards him. Before she can stop it, his lips are pressed against hers, hot and wanton.

Only now does she find the strength to push him away.

For a moment they look at each other, a three year gap condensing into a heartbeat, like an unexplainable tear in the fabric of existence.

Before the gap expands again, and Sash changes her mind forever, she pulls him back into her.

Now
her
lips are the ones pressing, urgent with desire.

As though it hasn't left her at all, her skin tingles with heightened sensitivity, her stomach turning butterflies that weaken her at the knees. Once again, she's eighteen years old, in the bedroom she grew up in and dancing for her older stepbrother. Once again she's in the hot, desperate clutches of an impossible love.

A moment later they are almost breaking the door down to get through it.

W
ith reckless abandon they smash through the apartment, fighting each other to remove their clothes.

A lamp crashes to the floor, elbowed there as they sweep past it, the bulb exploding spectacularly in their wake.

A shelf spits its books angrily, like square paper birds attempting to fly, while ornaments and decorations, pictures and prints end up in shattered pieces across the floor.

A T-shirt curls up in a crumpled mess in the corner of the room, and for the second time that night, a bra lies next to it. As Sash tries to guide him to the bedroom, and Dante can't even wait for that, lifting her up against the wall that separates the living room from the world outside it, tearing at her panties like a mad man possessed to get them off her, the whole house shakes as though a train is passing through it, a perfect physical representation of their trembling, uncontrollable lust.

With her bare legs wrapped eagerly around his waist, he's thick inside her before he's even fully out of his clothes, his jeans wrestled just low enough to allow it. Holding her up against the wall, he drives himself as deep as he can go, his cock swollen by passionate need.

There is no escaping it.

No matter where she hides, no matter what she does, she will always feel the way she does about him.

She can't run away.

She can't ignore it anymore.

This is how it has to be.

This is the unstoppable, onward march of their impossible destiny.

Dante grits his teeth. With a twisted grimace of determination on his rugged face, he pins her powerfully against the wall with Herculean thrusts of his hips, holding her magnificently in place between his chest and the paintwork as he ruts away, pushing her towards perfection.

She can feel it rising inside her chest, as though the sensation has never left her. The tingles aching out across her skin, the electrical pulses rising and falling, crawling along her spine and up into her brain, back down again into her convulsing, throbbing, hyper-sensitive pussy. Fuck it feels good to have him inside her finally, to give herself over to him completely.

Dante grunts like an uncaged animal ready to attack, the muscles taut across his neck and chest, each thrust more powerful that the last.

She knows it's drawing close.

She knows that soon it will be upon him.

They've passed the point of no return.

They've done what she promised herself she'd never do again, what every single, solitary fiber of her being was telling her not to do.

She's opened herself up and let him back in.

She's moaning now, her breathing staggered and broken, her breasts rising and falling with each stolen gasp. She can't stop this. She won't. Not this time. Not now.