Vain: A Stepbrother Romance (8 page)

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Chapter
13 – Time to pay the piper – Sam

After
too much time, I leave the police station. Explaining my side of the story and
giving all the information I could, proved to be exhausting. I am pissed.
Thoughts of Sam are still fresh in my mind as I return to my half-burnt house.
What a humbling experience to know that all I have could have gone up in smoke,
just like that.

         
The thought occurs to me, though, all of these things are just that: things.
There is no love in things—love is what you have for people. My mind is calm
and aflutter all at the same time as I make my way into my beloved home. It
smells of smoke and burnt wood, like a campfire. I do my best not to look, but
I have to. I pick up a few broken picture frames, wondering what memory should
have been in them. But they’re empty. There are no memories in them because, I
have no one I wanted to share memories with. I let out a big sign, turn from
the carnage, and make my way to bed.

         
The US Open is just a day away now, and I have to concentrate on that if I am
going to do as well as I hope. I need to get some board time in. I can’t
remember the last time I had a practice session. It’s always hard for me to
have enough time to practice. These days, there is just too much on my plate.
If I could only get some time at the pier.

         
As I lay down on my bed, relaxing becomes easier. My bed feels so sweet, as it
had been a long day. Just as I begin to drift off, I hear a knock at the door.
I put on a pair of shorts and make my way there. As I peer through the
peephole, I see its Sam. My annoyance shifts to pleasure and excitement as I
fling open the door.

         
“Sam! What are you doing here?”

         
“I came for you, Mick.” She says it in such a sultry voice. My arousal is
instantaneous.

         
Sam leaps at me like a cat stalking her prey. She is here for one reason, and
one reason only. Who am I to deny her pleasure? As she pushes me back I stumble
to the floor, yet she does not belay her pursuit. Looking up as she stands
there, wearing tight PVC pants and an ankle-length trench coat, her intentions
are quite clear.

         
Sam puts her hands on her hips, which are covered by shiny, plastic gloves, and
stares at me. My cock becomes engorged at the sight of her, as a wicked smile
spreads across her face. Her short, hair and piercing stare arouse me in a way
I have never felt before. Sam continues to stare at me, rubbing her pussy in an
almost evil fashion. I sit up in preparation to stand, but Sam places her
stiletto heel upon my chest, pushing me back down. She walks forward until she
has one leg on either side of my body, then turns around and squats until her
ass is just inches from my face. She has a glorious ass, so round and perfect.
I rub her ass, enjoying the feeling of the material on my hands. There is a
zipper in arm’s reach, just below her hair. As I pull it down, the material peels
out of the way as if under pressure.

         
          The musculature of her
back is very sexy. I begin to rub her back as she sits down on my chest. She
peels her arms from the garment, then swivels around, still sitting on me,
holding one hand in front of her ample breasts. Her heels are now by my ears.

         
With her free hand she reaches back and begin stroking my cock. I reach for her
other arm, wanting to pull it away and see her delicious tits. She does not let
me. In fact, she slaps me hard in the face, stands up, and walks away. I have
no idea where she went and I’m not even sure if she’s coming back. I wait for a
second and then jump up to pursue her. My cock is so hard, uncomfortably
pulling at my shorts. I decide to just take off my shorts and be naked. As I
run through the house, I hear her call my name—or rather, whisper it.

         
“Mick… I am in here.”

         
Slowly, I follow the sounds of Sam’s voice, only to find her in my bedroom,
moaning. She is lying on the bed completely naked, with the exception of her
heels. I follow the length of her leg with my eyes to try and sneak a peek at
more of her, but she strategically covers herself. As she motions to me with a
finger, I hypnotically walk into the room until I am at the edge of the bed.
Sam arches her back seductively, never opening her eyes. Climbing up on the
bed, I taste her sweet skin as I run kisses up her stomach to her pert breasts.
I gently flick her nipples with my tongue. A rush of air accidentally escapes
her lips in ecstasy. Sam grabs my back and pulls me in tightly. I can feel my
hard cock rubbing into the wetness of her pussy. From this position, it would
be impossible to enter her—Sam is holding on too tightly.

         
“I want you inside me, Mick. Why don’t you take me?”

         
I know what she really wants. She wants me to control her. Sam bares her teeth
at me threateningly, goading me on. I am not one to shy away, so I force myself
from her grip, backing up hard as I do. I grab Sam’s wrists and force them to
the bed. She smiles and bites her lip, acknowledging my control by struggling
no further.

         
My hard cock now rubs against her wet pussy as she moans with delight. Slowly,
I slide my cock into her, allowing her to feel the full girth of it. She
squeezes her eyes shut even tighter—it’s a lot of cock for anyone to take. Soon
enough her pussy accommodates my manhood in a way that is almost without
friction.

         
Sam is as wet as anyone could be, as wet as is humanly possible. She begins to
struggle against my grip, but I am not about to let go. As she tries to sit up,
I begin relentlessly pounding her pussy. She tries to fight off the feeling of
orgasm; I can see it in her face. She tenses up her muscles, clenches her
fists, and with a guttural scream she comes. Hard, and for quite a long time.
As Sam is writhing beneath me, I hear someone outside, calling my name.

         
“Mick!”

         
They’re knocking so loud they’re shaking the door.

         
“Mick!
Mick!
Open the damn door!”

         
I pull away from Sam and press a finger to her lips, indicating for her to be
quiet. Then I grab my shorts, walk over to the door, and reaching down, I grab
for the handle.

Chapter 14 – Competition Day – Mick

         
Reaching down, I grab for the door handle, and in a flash, I am awake. A cruel
fate—this had all been a dream.

         
My phone is vibrating beside me. It’s Delia. I reach to answer, but then think
better of it. I’m tired of her, tired of the drama, tired of the fighting—just
tired. Never mind the fact that she just set my house on fire. Delia is a
chapter of my life that I am glad to put behind me.
          Taking stock of what
survived the flames, I realize I lost several treasured items to my ex’s wrath.
Some old letters from girlfriends and family keepsakes, but thankfully, my
father still has my board. Life was so simple when I rode that board. It was
the first board I rode, and I rode it until I was sixteen. I guess I was just a
child then and didn’t really understand how complicated life could be. In
retrospect, it sure felt like I knew a lot more back then than I do now. I
guess life was just simpler then, easier and carefree. I long for those days once
again.

          Looking over to the
clock, I see it’s only six a.m. I remind myself it’s also competition day.
Thankfully, I don’t have to go to the prelims if I don’t want to, but I do want
to get some time in. I’ll show up there around ten or so.

          My thoughts are still of
Sam. That dream last night has my mind reeling. I’m not even sure, at this
point, if she wants to see me. There are other things that require my focus
today.

My
phone rings again. This time, it’s Jaime.

         
“Hi, Jaime.”

         
“Mick, what the fuck, man? I have been knocking on your door for an hour. We
have to get down to the beach. What the fuck happened to your house?”

         
“Jaime, go home. I am not going to the beach now. This is competition day. We agreed
that you would leave me alone on competition day.”

         
“I know, but we have an interview with USA Today. This is big man, really big.”

         
“Jaime, leave me alone. We had an agreement. I am not doing that interview.”

         
“What’s with you these days, man? You’ve changed. I think I need to find new
talent.”

         
“That’s fine, man, go ahead. Maybe this whole surfing thing isn’t for me, after
all.”

         
“Fuck, Mick, come on! Do me this one favor.”

         
“Forget it, Jaime. I am hanging up now.”

         
The phone goes dead. This isn’t the first time he had threatened to get rid of
me. I know he must have promised someone an interview and is now in hot water.
I’m just relieved he’s gone.

         
I have a ritual before every competition: I go into my surfboard room and
select the best board for the conditions. I usually bring a few, in case the
weather changes or something breaks. I have never broken a board, but I have
seen it happen. Well let’s just say someone in my life has broken boards
before. What an idiot she is.

         
As I get dressed and ready, something feels different. I don’t really want to
compete today. In fact, for the first time ever, I feel a little scared. Being
nervous is one thing—that’s always a rush. But I don’t feel nervous. I feel
terrified. I feel as if going out there is just too… dangerous.

         
I shake the feelings from my mind. I am a professional, after all, and I have a
job to do. I select my boards, then prep and load them into the car. I get into
the old beater and turn it on.
One more try, Sam, one more try.
I send
her a text.

          “Competition day today.
I have made arrangements for a special seat for you. I hope you will come.”

          I don’t really expect a
response, but I make sure before turning my cell off and stuffing it into my
glovebox for the day. It’s time to get in the game.
Let’s go get what’s
ours, Mick! You’re the best in the world!

          Driving to the beach,
it’s impossible for me to get Sam off my mind. Thoughts I have never had before
also ring around my head. Visions of getting hurt out there in the water, being
washed up—none of them will leave me alone. I pull into the restricted parking
lot, get my gear, and angrily walk my way to the beach.

         
The loudspeaker blares:
          “Please welcome your
2014 World Champion, Mick Anderson! Let’s give him a hand.”
          The announcer expects me
to say a few words now. I better say the right thing here. All of these people
are expecting the mighty Mick Anderson to respond.

         
“Hi, everyone. It’s a great day to surf, and I am looking forward to a weekend
of amazing competition. We have the best surfers in the world here, in the best
city in the world, and it’s going to be great.” I can hear myself speaking the
words, but can’t make them sound interesting. There is more on my mind today.

         
The announcer gives me a pitying look. “A hand for Mick Anderson.”

         
With that, I prepare myself put all of my boards in the designated area and get
dressed. I’m as ready now as I am ever going to be.

         
I run out into the ocean. The cool sting of water shudders through my body.
Thankfully, the wetsuit has kept out most of the cold. Flopping onto my board,
it’s time to paddle out. There are a few of my surfing buddies here, but
they’re all in competition mode, too. We politely nod to each other,
understanding just how much is riding on today’s competition. The waves are
really nice today, so I should be able to get a few good rides in.

         
I find a spot in line just as I pick out my first wave. Usually I wait, but
this one is too good to miss. I paddle in and I’m not disappointed.

         
I tuck down as the wave envelops me—to my shock, I’m
in a barrel at the Pier. I have been surfing here for over twenty years and
never made, nor had I ever seen anyone make, a barrel. I can hear the announcer
going crazy. Other than that, all that can be heard is water. Water rushing
over my head. A hollow echo in my ears. There is a great deal of peace in it,
which is making the moment seem to last longer than it really is.

         
Taking a quick look back, I see the wave is closing fast.
Time to get out.
Putting my weight forward, I emerge with a victorious fist in the air. The
crowd is screaming and cheering. Seems as though they liked it as much as I
did. That may have been a lifetime best wave for me at the Pier. Maybe I was
wrong about my feeling this morning. Maybe this is the best time to be in the
water.

         
I paddle back out to my spot with a big smile on my face. The other surfers are
clapping for me. If that ride had not been extraordinary, they would never have
clapped. There’s true admiration from them, which fills me with a sense of
pride.

The surf dies after that. There is no wave I want to
enter into. Knowing this is a timed event, I will have to take a wave, but I
just can’t find one. I watch the other surfers catching small waves, making the
best out of them. They won’t score higher than I did on that barrel. I know the
competition is close, but not close enough for them. There is it—I see another
wave like the one before. Positioning myself I begin to paddle in, but something
bumps me. I’m knocked from my board. What a strange feeling. Was it a rock? Or
a turtle?

         
I cling to my board, scanning the water. Only hoping it isn’t what I think it
is. Though, I see nothing. Alarms and horns begin blaring. People on the beach
and pier began to scream. “Shark! Shark!” That’s the last thing anyone wants to
hear. Paddling frantically, I make a break for the shore.

         
If I didn’t look back, I would have never seen the fin coming at me with speed.
I never would have noticed the teeth bearing down on me. This isn’t just a
shark—this is a monster. Its mouth is as tall as my board is long, and as he
clamps down on my leg, white flashes of pain take my breath away. Instinctively
I turn around as best I can and punch the shark in the nose and eyes. I don’t
stop punching until he lets me go. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it
in my ears, and I swallow hard as the shark spits me out and quickly swims
away. I am in trouble, though. A trail of blood leaks out behind me from the
gaping wound in my calf. It’s a gruesome sight. The announcer is screaming for
a medic and the sounds of approaching jet skis buzzed like hornets in the
distance as I slipped off the board and into blackness.