Burned: A Stepbrother Romance (6 page)

I press my tongue to the top of my mouth to prevent myself crying out at the stars and colors that collide inside my eyelids.

His finger comes out and there’s a terrible emptiness there.

Then I feel three fingers widening me, cupping in and out, shoveling their way into the deepest confines of my cunt and opening up new sensations, finding long-forgotten areas of erogeny.

My head explodes a-new, my body washed with chemicals and strange reactions.

An urge to release, to let go and come rises, but I force it down. I squeeze my buttocks down on the harsh fabric below, forcing my chest out.

My nipples bite into my bra, longing to be freed.

His fingers probe deep into my pussy, hooking up into the fleshy ceiling, grinding against the hard acorn of nerve endings there and sending a new wave of sensation fresh through me.

He’s breathing hard, trying to muffle the sound.

I can’t close my mouth as his palm rubs back and forth over my clit, now rising to attention. I turn my head sideways and bite into the back of the chair to stifle my moans.

I can hear his fingers below, the squelch of fluids as they move in and out, picking up pace. I feel my outer labia flex in and out with the effort, his three fingers filling me, and I picture them as his cock, smooth inside me, stroking out wet up to his balls.

The sound of his fingers pushing through my cum is loud, but the soundtrack rises in intensity and washes it out. I’ve never been more thankful for a chase scene in my entire life. Lights flicker on and off. Speakers boom. Noise and sounds and colors and feelings bounce around in my head, a never-ending tempest of sensation while his fingers plunge into me again and again.

The urge to let go is knocking. I need to take the edge off. I need a distraction before I come, writhing against his hand.

Clenching the armrest tight with my right hand, I keep my left low, moving it to the front of his pants, walking my fingers up to his belt. I work at the buckle, feeling his heartbeat reverberate through the metal, the constricted head of his cock desperately pressed against denim.

The buckle loosens with an audible
click
and I’m pushing it away, twixing his top button in one hand, bending my elbow to run my hand through his pubic hair. It goes underneath the waist band of his jocks and grabs the bulbous head of his dick, already wet with pre-cum in anticipation.

I wrap my fingers around this warm organ, lift it upwards and into the air so that we’re both exposed. He desperately tries to maintain composure. His free fingers brush my own, my hand already slipping down his shaft from the wetness that’s gathered at the top. I roll my fingers over the head and it’s as if he’s been stabbed such is the look on his face. Momentarily, his fingers stop moving inside me, but I press forward with my pelvis and they resume their motion, quickly bringing me back to the peak.

The soundtrack is building in strength, moving to a crescendo. There’s an orchestra hit, and another, as a car swings in and out of focus in my periphery.

I’m jerking Brock off with my left hand, running it up and down his cock. Each downstroke pushes his jocks around the base of his length, spreading his jeans open like a paperback. Pre-cum dribbles over my fingers and I relish it, that I can make him, my very own stepbrother, this hot so fast. His head is back. His fingers rush in and out of me faster than ever before, a sloppy smacking sound as they slap against the bone and the puffy swelling of my labial lips.

I push my stomach out, my breasts pressing painfully against the front of the dress. I reach up to hold one in with my right hand, knocking old popcorn aside that was resting on the armrest there. It spills out between my legs.

I smell the salt, the flavoring, all of it mixing with the sweetly scent of sex.

A piece falls between his legs and my thigh, rolling until it’s trapped by my ass cheeks, tucked up against the puckered opening of my anus.

My hand is slick as it runs up and down Brock’s dick, making a wet flapping sound only we can hear. I temper it back, concentrating on squeezing his glans before I roll back over his head, twisting my wrist and making him spasm in delight.

I press my stomach forward again and sit into his hand, pushing it deeper and further than ever, his fingers as far as they can go.

As they work me, riding no deeper, it becomes too much. The music builds to a climax and so do I. Brock bucks his hips to meet my thrust.

I have his cock in one hand. The other is over my dress, my breast. Half his hand is buried in my cunt. This equation, this mental addition in my head, is the final straw.

I’m about to come when I feel his breath on the side of my face.

“I’m going to come,” he announces in a rushed whisper.

I realize he can’t just come here, all over his pants. The walk of shame would be too much.

Between deep breaths, biting my lip to keep the orgasm at bay, I scan the head of the cinema’s occupants in front of me, but they are too engrossed in the movie to watch us making out like teenagers in the back.

The projection beam burns overhead.

I take my hand off Brock’s cock, already starting to contract, to reach between us and take my panties, still wet. I bunch them in my hand and place the crotch over the head of his cock, wrapping the rest of the silk around the thick length of his pole. I move it, using the silk and my wetness to masturbate him. I barely recognize this sudden seductress I have become. Officer Collins has left the building.

He adds a fourth finger to my pussy, stretching it to its limits. The extra feeling of fulfilment brings on an orgasm so hard and strong I’m unable to stifle myself.

I moan with a deep, guttural vocal heaving, pushing deep into the seat as waves and waves of bliss wash over me, exploding out from within. I’m numbly aware of his hand over my mouth, pressing me hard against the back of the seat, the flicker of light and my hips bouncing up and off the seat as contractions pulse through me.

My hand is pumping his cock all the while. His body stiffens and he grunts, his hips thrusting forward, his cum filling my panties. I hold them tight around the base, feeling the warmth flood through them, a darker patch ballooning at the top.

The movie continues on in Technicolor.

Finally, we sit there silent with the immensity of our actions finally weighing in. Brock wipes his cock, quietly zipping back up his pants.

We watch the rest of the movie in a sort of post-sex haze, the smell of cum heavy and heady in the air around us.

The hero, anti-hero rather, of the movie crashes into two bulldozers, a fiery explosion following.

The lights come on I see my pussy lips raw and red. I quickly scan around, I stand, and in that brief second my cunt is exposed for all to see as my dress falls back into place. I’m flushed, my hair is disheveled, and I have drool on my face, but in the dim semi-light of the cinema I take Brock’s hand, slippery with our act, and we exit the cinema, smiling at each other as we step out to the car, our secret tryst complete.

Brock holds my hand, fingers dry with my juices. Outside it’s still warm. “So, what did you think of the movie?”

“I think that was a fucked-up ending.”

Brock laughs. “I like to think of it as existentialist.”

I actually stop and turn to him. “What did you say?”

“What? I can’t have an opinion, a brain? Clearly, Kowalski drives simply to drive. There’s no purpose. It’s about freedom, over your actions, over everything.”

“Wow, and I thought you dropped out of school.”

“I did.”

He kisses me then, the street lamp watching over us, burning into my eyes, as I take his tongue deep into my mouth.

We break apart breathless.

“Well, call me surprised,” I stammer. “What are you going to do next? Tell me you just got a job at NASA?”

He smiles, squeezing my hand. “Why would a need a job like that? You just took me to the moon.”

I slap his shoulder. “You’re giving Cheetos a run for money in the cheesiness stakes there. What did you do with my panties?”

A breeze runs under my dress. “Shit, my panties.”

Brock just smiles. “You won’t be needing them.”

*

I wake up looking at that damn kitten poster again. I snap to another level of attention, conscious of the thick arm wrapped around me.
You’re naked.

Yes, it would appear so.

Not again.

“Brock?” I whisper.

He presses his erection into my back. “Why hello.”

“Was I sleepwalking again?”

“I don’t think it matters. You’re right where you belong.”

I go to move. Here in his actual bed, my old bed, it all seems too real. “I should-”

He holds me tighter. “No,” he says firmly, a hand curling and cupping the hot mound between my legs. “Stay.” So I do.

Afterwards, both of us sweat-soaked and the heavy scent of sex rising around us, I have never felt so content.

I smile at the roof, at the single bulb blinking back in the moonlight.

Brock’s cell buzzes in his pocket.

“Who is it?” I query.

“Hernandez. He needs to see me. It’s urgent.”

There’s a dull ache between my legs when I arrive at HQ the next morning. Even Lucie on the front desk notices something’s different, the extra spring in my step. “Someone’s in a good mood,” she announces.

I hold up my coffee—extra shot of vanilla.

She shakes her head. “If that’s the coffee, baby, I need one. Stat.”

I drop off the new recordings from my wire at the audio lab.

The last guy I dealt with is gone. Now a young woman with frizzy hair puts everything in order. For some reason she won’t stop smiling.

“Everything okay?” I question.

She winks. “Have fun last night?”

Fun? I wasn’t wearing a wire. How could she…
“They’ve got you monitoring my phone as well, probably hear every damn thing through the mic, right?”

“All day, all night,” she says, emphasizing the latter.

“Fucking captain.”

“Oh, come on,” she says, patting the chair beside her. “I don’t blame you. He’s seriously hot.”

I act dumb. “Who?”

“Brock, silly. Your stepbrother?”

I look around in sudden alarm and close the door, face suddenly super-serious. “How did you know that?”

She gestures to the computer in front of her, a series of audio files on screen. “It wasn’t hard to piece together.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course not, but they’re going to find out. I’m just a lowly bottom dweller here in my acoustically perfect cave. I don’t get in on the real op work.”

“Please, what’s your name?”

“Brittany.”

Spears?
She certainly looks like she just stumbled out of a trailer park. “Brittany, I really need to keep this a secret for now, for my cover, okay? I’ll tell them when the time’s right.”

She salutes me. “You’ve got it,” adding another wink. “Just make sure you keep your phone on. That shit was better than Fifty Shades.”

*

“Collins! How goes it?” The captain’s in a particularly good mood today. I was going to bring up the phone spying thing, but a happy captain is a rare phenomenon not to be fucked with. 

“Another bust?” I offer.

“You bet your heiny. Raided a group of bikers and came away with so much ice you could start a ski resort.”

“Bikers?”

“We think they’re the ones bringing the shit in.”

“And the street racers distribute it to the dealers, move it around?”

“Precisely.” He looks hopeful. “Do you have something new to back that up, Collins?”

“Nothing concrete, sir.”

“But you’re getting close to him, right?”

If only you knew.
“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He opens his drawer and tosses a flat, puck-like disc across a coffee-ringed desktop.

I pick it up, surprised at how heavy it is. “What’s this?”

“A tracker. You’re going to attach it to his car.”

“I’m not James Bond.”

“The tech guys will fill you in. It’s all very easy, and this way we can get a better idea of what our boy is up to.”

I take a deep breath. “Like I said, I’m not sure Brock is masterminding it.”

“What makes you say that?”

I practically slept with him and now I’m compromised.
“I just have a feeling.”

“I have a feeling I need to piss, but that means shit, doesn’t it, Collins? What we need is something a bit more concrete, yeah? You gave the recordings in?”

“I did. They’re just preparing them now.”

“No nasty surprises?”

“No, sir.” I’m just crossing fingers that Brittany, my new BFF, holds up her end of the bargain.

“It’s a lot to handle, Collins. I know that, and you’re young, but you
can
handle this.”

“Yes, cap.”

“Good, now fuck off. I’ve got work to do.”

*

The captain’s words are still echoing in my ears as I hit the crash mat—hard.

“Collins!” shouts the PE instructor. “This isn’t Miss World. Get the fuck in there and take him out!”

‘Him’ is Officer Lewiston, a human Hulk. I’m all for gender equality, but this is ridiculous. Only in Idaho do they breed them like this.

Lewiston knows he could crush me with a swipe of his arm, so he sort of plays around and opens up his stance, inviting me in.

I make my move and grab a leg, pulling, trying to twist him down to the mat. He sort of half falls and goes down, no thanks to me.

The PE instructor has bought it. He claps. “That’s what I’m talking about. Everyone else take notice. It ain’t going to be fair on the streets either. No matter the size of the perp, you strike hard and fast. Now, rolls.”

I shake Lewiston’s hand, whispering “thanks.” He winks. “You owe me.”

Seems like I’m starting to owe a lot of people these days.

I don’t even know why we have to go through this whole physical education thing every week. Didn’t we do enough of it at the damn academy? But no, no, no. New commissioner, new overhaul to get the force looking nice and shipshape.

So, we practice rolling. Front rolls, back rolls, side rolls, the plastic gun in my hands feeling about as real as a banana. These skills might come in handy for the next set of Mission Impossible, but I can’t ever see when I’m going to have to get all Van Damme like this out and about. Look out! Police coming through! Side roll, high kick.

What a joke.

The PE guy’s really into it, though he could probably spend a bit more time making sure he packed his scrotum into his shorts next time.

*

Exhausted from the session, I swing by the house, Dad set up in a Snuggie on the couch looking suspiciously like a giant, cuddly tomato.

“How’s he doing?” I ask Michelle, knowing that I’ll get much more of an honest answer from her than I ever will my father.

“He’s being stubborn. Still jamming away the jerky like it’s going out of fashion.”

“I like my jerky!” Dad cries. “Jesus, is it such a crime?”

“Why don’t you tell yourself that when you’re trying to call up from the fires of hell?” says Michelle.

“You think I’m going to hell?”

“In a handbasket.” She shoves a juiced mix of what looks like grass and egg in his face. “Now, drink this. It’s good for you.”

I take a seat next to Dad.

“How’s work, kiddo?”

“Busy.”

“I bet. They got you working late?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, if anyone can handle it, it’s you, my darling. Say, a girl came around to see you before.”

“A girl?”

“Said she knew you from back home.”

“From Rosie?”

“Yeah. Everett—I remembered the name but couldn’t place the face.”

Rosie—The small town I grew up in straight out of a Stephen King novel. It must be almost twelve, maybe fifteen years since I was back. “What did you say her first name was?”

“Alice,” Michelle interjects, a droopy look on her face as she takes a still three-quarters full glass from my father’s hands. “She left her number on the table there.”

Alice Everett. I’ll be damned.