Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (31 page)

I’d never just been
myself around someone before, completely myself. My friends from
school knew my studious side, my intellectual curiosity, my academic
drive. But there was also my mother, complicated, fucked-up Candice
whom of course I loved even with all the crazy, frightening
tilt-o-whirl rides she’d dragged me around on. But the people who
knew her, her few friends who weathered the storms, the men who came
in and out of her life, the career-related make-up artists and
stylists and agents, they didn’t really know me. I’d always felt
schismed, broken, too fucked up for anyone to get close to.

Parents’ weekend at
college, my roommate’s dad would show up, a professor at MIT,
arm-in-arm with her mom, the head of a foundation providing aid to
war refugees. Smart, well-dressed, in their element, they’d tour
around the campus, reminiscing over their own college days. I’d
shrink into myself over those weekends, realizing just how huge a
gulf separated me from the rest of my peers. We might get along
during study sessions, have fun grabbing a frozen yogurt during exam
week. But we’d never really click, me with my mother who’d had me
at 18 and partied her way through the tabloids for years on end.

With Tuck, it was
different. He knew everything about me. He knew I didn’t know my
father, my mother was a crazy drunk lady, I hid behind old sweatsuits
and glasses and liked playing poker for lunch money more than going
out Friday night with the cool kids. And he couldn’t get enough of
me. He looked at me like I was a fantasy come to life, like he
couldn’t believe he got to spend time with me. The way he wanted to
possess me, make me his, I’d never dreamed it could feel that way.

And I realized he felt
something similar. Surrounded by his father’s wealth and his
privileged, prep school network on the one hand, pulled by his
passion for fighting on the other, I got the feeling he’d never met
anyone who’d gotten to know him completely, either.

That night we lay
together, not sated, not done with each other, but resting, giving
each other a chance to catch our breaths. We knew no bounds. Each
time he took me he stoked my fires hotter and I wanted him more. It
was as if I lived on the air he breathed.

As we lay there, I
asked him question after question, about the boarding schools he’d
gone to, his friends, what it felt like during a fight, what he put
in his hideous green and black protein shakes. I wanted to know all
of it, every last bit about him.

“You sure you don’t
want to major in journalism?” he asked me, placing a teasing kiss
on my hair.

“I just want to get
to know you,” I explained, snuggling into his huge, warm chest, his
scent intoxicating me as always.

“You know me.” Tuck
stroked my back, leisurely, reassuringly. He understood how I’d
distrusted him at first, his playboy ways, the consummate lothario
I’d seen in action over spring break. “You know me better than
anyone ever has.” It felt like my heart was too big for my chest
when he said things like that. Like I’d never be able to tell him
how much he meant to me.

“And I think you
might be the smartest, toughest person I’ve ever known,” he went
on, kissing my hair as he said it.

“What?”

“I mean it. I don’t
think I’ve ever really thanked you for kicking my ass back in New
York.”

“You mean when I
chewed you out?” I still felt like maybe I’d gone a bit
overboard.

“Exactly. You held a
mirror up to my face, Jewel. I’d never be where I am today if it
weren’t for you.”

But for a girl who’d
always relied on having a clear path in front of her, always kept
fixed on the brass ring of college acceptance and academic
scholarship, this was major uncharted territory. When I was with him,
I could let myself go and just enjoy it. But when I wasn’t with
him, I worried. What was this happening between us? What did it mean
to him? What kind of a future did we have, confined in this fucked-up
family with our parents? Even if that broke apart—and I had no
doubt that it would, I could already trace the downward arc of my
mother’s emotions—what could Tuck and I mean to each other?

I kept picturing those
ring girls, the ones offering so much for so very little in return. I
knew he was about to blow up huge, how could he not? The MMA world
would love him, huge and gorgeous and covered in tats as he dominated
in the cage. People would have posters of him up in their rooms.

When I was with him,
all worries fell to the wayside. No anxiety could creep in between
us, not with the way he held me, cherished me. And when I wasn’t
with him, I did my best to trust, relax and enjoy, even if I was shit
at it. Even if the steady drumbeat of our uncertain future kept
pounding in my ears, louder and louder with each passing day.

§

Tuesday night, I was reading in my
room, passing the time when my phone blipped with a text.

My
place or yours?

I smiled. He was home.
Quiet, I tiptoed down to his bedroom. Our parents were home, but they
were out poolside last I saw them, bickering as they seemed to do
more and more these days.

Tuck stood there,
shirtless, his eyes burning with passionate need. He was so fucking
delicious, I couldn’t believe I got to touch him, taste him. Those
tattoos twisting along his hard muscles, the V down low in his
abdomen, right above his shorts. I’d had to look and not touch for
so long, now, restraints off, I felt feverish and wild.

Kneeling down at his
feet, I pulled off my nightshirt with one swoop. I wasn’t wearing
any panties, just how he liked. I looked up at him, naked and ready
to serve his needs.

“I want to suck you,”
I whispered, pulling his waistband down his hips until his glorious,
huge cock sprang free.

“Fuck, Jewel!” he
groaned, watching my every move, transfixed, mesmerized. Slowly, I
grasped his length in both my hands and, looking up into his eyes, I
licked my lips. Then I sucked his thick crown into my wet mouth,
moaning with pleasure.

He threw his head back.
“Ah, yes!”

“Mmm.” I sucked and
licked. I wanted him to love this as much as I did. I wanted to show
him how much I craved every inch of him.

Relaxing my throat, I
took him in deep. I moaned as he fisted my hair in his fingers. He
guided me, in and out in rhythm, fucking my mouth. My sex grew slick,
dripping with need.

“I want to come
inside you,” he grunted, pulling out from my wet lips with a pop.
He pushed me onto the bed on all fours, angling me so I rested down
on my elbows, my ass tilted up.

With one long, hard
stroke he claimed me, entering into my soaking, quivering hole,
plunging in thick and full. I felt the orgasm flood me, engulfing
every sense in burning, molten pleasure, shuddering against him as he
continued pounding me through every wave.

“That’s it. Come on
my cock, baby,” he praised me and already, like it always was with
Tuck, I could feel the need building up in me again. Always
desperate, always clawing at me, always ready to burst into flame.

Grunting, groaning, I
took him all the way in, loving how rough he was with me, how he
grabbed my hips hard and forced his way into me again and again,
fucking, pounding. He had to have almost a hundred pounds on me and
he used them, battering into me like a ram. I loved it, losing my
mind in the raw, animal pleasure of it.

Smack, his hand came
down sharp on my bare ass as he rutted into me, fast and hard,
reaching the frantic rhythm he sought right before he came. Smack, he
spanked me again and I could feel an orgasm coil up, ready and
waiting near the surface, waiting for his release. Smack, his palm
came down hard again on my sensitive flesh and I cried out, needing
him to shoot his load in me, dying for his come.

“You like that?” he
asked me, raw and harsh.

“Yes!” I screamed,
bucking into him, taking more of him in. I could feel him tense, like
a taut spring waiting to release.

“You like how hard I
fuck you?” he grunted, pounding into me.

“Nice.” A voice
from the doorway. I didn’t register what was happening, only that
Tuck froze above me.

“Fucking your sister.
I’d expect no less,” the voice continued. Leland, I realized,
cold dread flooding my veins. My stepfather, standing at the door.

“Fuck you,” Tuck
replied. Then I lost his heat, contact with him, as he pulled out and
away. In a panic, I grabbed the covers and tried to roll under them
and hide myself.

“So eloquent, as
always.” Leland’s voice dripped with venom. “Apparently the
internship isn’t the only thing you’ve been lying to me about all
summer. You’ve added incest to the list.”

“Fuck off!” Tuck
bellowed. I drew the covers up over my face, shaking. This couldn’t
be happening.

“Clean up,” I heard
Leland say. “Then come downstairs and explain yourself.”

He closed the door
behind him. I hadn’t heard it open. Had I left it open myself, so
eager, when I’d flung myself at Tuck? Of course this had happened.

“Oh shit! Oh my God!”
I rocked myself under the covers, full-on panicking.

“It’s OK, baby.
It’s going to be OK.” Tuck came to me, wrapping an arm underneath
my shoulders.

“Are you fucking
kidding me?” I burst out. “This is a nightmare!” I felt so
cheap, so disgusting. Incest, he’d used the word “incest.” I’d
never felt so ashamed. I didn’t think I could take enough scalding
showers to wash this feeling off of me.

“Don’t let him do
this to us,” Tuck growled. “Don’t let him.”

“He’s right, he’s
right,” I bawled, overcome. “This is so wrong.”

Tuck’s fist landed in
a pile of pillows. “Fuck!” he yelled, outraged. “I won’t let
him take you away from me!”

That wasn’t what was
happening. I wasn’t some Christmas toy his father gave him then
tried to take back. I felt like I was going to vomit. Sitting up, I
fumbled around for my nightshirt. Whore that I was, I hadn’t worn
any panties. Guess that made getting dressed go quicker. See, every
catastrophe had a silver lining.

“Where are you
going?” he asked, eyes wild, his hands balled into fists.

“I think I’m going
to be sick.” I pushed my hand over my mouth and ran to the
bathroom.

“Fuck!” I could
hear him roar as I made it to the toilet, throwing up violently,
retching as if my body was rejecting itself. Shaking and crying, I
splashed cold water over my face at the sink. Outside I heard Tuck’s
footsteps along the hall and down the stairs. I guessed he was going
down to have it out with his father. Holy shit this couldn’t be
happening.

I needed to get out of
there. I just needed to pull myself together enough to get out of the
house. Barely able to string together a coherent thought, I made it
over to my room. Fumbling, feeling sick again, I pulled on panties
and slipped into flip flops. Tears rolling down my cheeks, I grabbed
a toothbrush, a shirt and shorts and threw them into my backpack.

Creeping down the back
stairway, I prayed no one would hear me, no one would see me.

My mother stood at the
bottom of the stairs in her bathrobe, looking ashen. I froze on the
steps.

Her voice came out,
brittle and hollow as a dead twig. “After all these years. All
these years you treated me like I’m trailer trash. Looking down at
me, like I’m not good enough to be your mother.”

“Mom,” I blubbered,
hating myself, hating this.

“After all these
years,” she continued, hard and strangely emotionless. “You do
this?”

“Mom, please,” I
pleaded, taking a step toward her.

“Fucking your
stepbrother?” she spat out. “How low can you sink?”

I cried out, my hand up
over my face in shame. Flying down the rest of the stairs, I pushed
past her, ran down the hallway and out into the garage. Somehow I
managed to get the key into the lock, the engine started. It felt
like all those cliché horror movies, where the girl can’t get the
fucking key in the fucking ignition, can’t get up and away to make
her escape.

Well, I made my escape.
The only problem was the monster came with me. The monster I’d
created, deep inside, the hot shame and burden of what I’d done
stayed with me. It would always stay with me, no matter how far I ran
or where I tried to hide, eating me alive.

Tuck

That night, I crashed
with Jax from the gym. No questions asked, he took me in and let me
sleep on the couch in his apartment. And the next night, too.

My father cut me off,
threw me out and it felt good. I’d spent too long feeding from that
trough. I should have taken off when I was 18, but at 18 I hadn’t
known what I’d wanted. Now at 21 I knew. I wanted to fight MMA and
I wanted to fuck Jewel.

I called Jewel, texted
her. I got nothing. I was going crazy, no workout at the gym, no run
could work this out of my system. I couldn’t sleep, could barely
eat. I had to at least know she was OK.

Thursday, I drove over
to the Marine Mammal Center. I knew she worked until five. I could go
in and ask to see her, but I didn’t know how she’d react. I
didn’t want to cause a scene, upset her. But I had to talk with
her. So I sat there in my car waiting.

Earlier that day my
father had left me a message, basically telling me to come and clear
out my shit. He and Candice were back in New York for the rest of the
week. When they came back that weekend, he wanted every last thing of
mine out or he’d throw it out.

All right, then. I
didn’t care what he thought of me, what sick words he wanted to
throw around. He was such a fucking hypocrite, like he hadn’t
crossed some lines in his life. He’d cheated on my mom like it was
his job. Now he was trying to turn the tables, make me feel like a
sick perverted fuck for falling for a girl, the first girl I’d ever
really fallen for in my life, just because he happened to be banging
her mom? That shit didn’t matter. What Jewel and I had was real.