Dirty Wicked Lust: A Stepbrother Romance (16 page)

Only when he was finally ready to burst did I climb on top of him, sliding down his ramrod prick with a familiar perfection that found him filling me, inch by inch, as his hands gently clasped around my ass.

Even when I was in control, sitting on top of him, Ryan used those strong, thick hands to drag me up and down his steely prick. My thighs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossed and my toes curled as he thrust in and out of my welcoming pussy like a piston seeking oil—pumping, drilling, and then finding, faster and deeper. I clung to him, my arms across his shoulders, hands clasped behind his neck, dripping with sweat and more as he gradually turned makeup sex into an exotic art form!

I panted and quivered, the breath rushing out of me with each forceful thrust as he fucked me with an intensity I’d never felt from him–or any other man–before. Faster and faster he pumped, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, sweat dripping, lips glancing against one another’s, bodies tight against each other as I felt the explosion rising quickly to the surface.

When at last he came, thickly and explosively, I did, too. We melted into each other, our pelvises slick, wet, and fluid as he gently writhed beneath me and I on top of him, mining his rock hard waist for one last climax before I collapsed, spent and sticky against his chest, both of us gasping for breath.

We sat there like that for some time, him still straddling the armrest of his poor couch, bodies quivering with delight, chests heaving, mouths panting, skin flushed and sweaty until, threatening to overheat from the crotch outward. I gently peeled myself off of him and collapsed, naked, splayed, shameless and sticky, on the couch beside him.

“Move over,” he grunted and smirked, slapping his thigh playfully, I did. He sank onto the cushion next to me, our thighs side by side as we sank into the worn, buttery leather beneath us.

As my mind reeled with happiness, I blinked away the sweat that stung my eyes to peer around the apartment. Now that what I’d come for was over—hot, passionate, body slapping sex—I could focus on my surroundings.

The walls of the apartment were beige and bare as if he hadn’t had time to hang any wall art yet. The furnishings were limited. In fact, other than the couch we’d just fucked on and a coffee table or two, the living room was empty, every available surface covered with cheap jar candles from Value Mart.

An open bedroom door just beyond featured a bare mattress, on the floor, a pile of laundry heaped high in its middle. Other than that, the only other furniture in the apartment was a small kitchen table in a smaller breakfast nook, both so close to the kitchen they might as well have been a part of it.

I wondered if it was his place, or if he was just borrowing it from a friend.
Is this what he did for the last three days?
I wondered as I sat, splayed out on the couch next to him, my cunt still throbbing from his erotic acrobatics only moments earlier.
House or, at least, apartment hunting?
Is this why he hadn’t answered my texts? He’s too busy shopping at furniture stores to reply?

I shrugged. A man like Ryan might always be a mystery to me, and I realized—perhaps for the first time—I was okay with that.
More
than okay with that. Maybe Ryan’s aloof nature, his dark nooks and crannies, his scars and tattoos, his wounds and secrets, were what drew me to him in the first place, and once captivated—kept me guessing every twist and turn of our ride together.

We sat silently for a moment, a long, comfortable, quiet moment. Aside from our breathing and the sound of late night traffic outside the open window across the room, the room was still and golden with flickering hues of light. When I’d finally caught my breath, I leaned my head against his shoulder and said, “So, that was makeup sex, huh?”

“You’ve never had it before?” he asked, tilting his head to rest against mine.

“I never cared about anyone long enough to makeup with them,” I confessed, cringing at the long lines of frogs I’d kissed before I’d finally met my prince—even if he
did
happen to be my stepbrother. My older, scary, sexy, badass stepbrother.

“Me either,” he sighed, making me glad we were sitting side by side so he couldn’t see the warm, triumphant smile cross my face.

Chapter Nineteen

“Red or white?” he asked, holding onto the refrigerator door with one hand as he scratched his beautiful bare ass with the other. The dim light in the otherwise dark kitchen reminded me it was still the middle of the night, a fact that hardly mattered seeing as I’d never felt more alive—more vitally alive—in my entire life.

I pictured a bottle of wine, dry and crisp, on top of the coffee table beside us as we sat across from each other, knees up like at summer camp. “Red,” I sighed contentedly, understanding his knowing smirk moments later when he returned from the kitchen, a can of beer in each hand.

In reply to the questioning expression on my face, Ryan handed me one of them, pointing out to the color of the label. “You asked for red,” he pointed out, sinking on the couch next to me and cracking his open.

I smirked at the label of a beer called “Summer Ale,” the label featuring both red and white. I recognized it from one of my many trips to the local Stop ‘N’ Go across from campus with April. “I guess I would have gotten a beer no matter what my answer was, huh?” I teased, taking a long sip.

“You were expecting wine, perhaps?” he teased, his lips frothy with cheap beer foam as he covered himself with an equally cheap throw pillow. I followed suit, sitting up across from him at the other end of the couch, resting the beer on top of a throw pillow on my lap.

“I didn’t know what to expect when I showed up here tonight,” I confessed, the beer an afterthought as the very sight of him, naked and glistening from a recent romp, was more intoxicating than mere alcohol.

“Except makeup sex, right?” he reminded me.

“Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

Our eyes met, his alive with the reflection of a dozen or more flickering candles glowing throughout the room. His hair was scruffy, his face scruffier in the room’s amber glow. “A guy can too, you know?”

I smiled, my heart leaping to think he’d been dreaming of this moment as well. “You never have to dream with me, player,” I assured him, reaching out one foot to glance along his shin. “I’m always up for makeup sex with you.”

His face grew concerned, a soft shadow crossing over it as if perhaps a cloud had momentarily covered the candlelight’s glow. “Minus the fighting, I hope.”

I shrugged. “I don’t mind the fighting as long as it’s fair, Ryan,” I assured him. “You’re a strong man with strong opinions and a tragic past. You’re bound to have… flare-ups… from time to time. I get that. You just have to let me in so I can understand what you’re going through, and why you act the way you do.”

“I do have a past,” he said. “Losing my mom, the way I did, when I did, broke something inside of me…”

His voice drifted off, soft and low like the candlelight, his beer forgotten as he searched for the words to complete his thought. “I thought becoming a man might help,” he continued, finally, moments later. I sipped my beer, relief flooding me as I sensed a breakthrough moment in him—in us. “That’s why I joined the Marines the minute I turned eighteen. I didn’t care about school. I was skipping classes, getting high with a bad group of kids. I was about to get kicked out anyway, so why not go somewhere I could really challenge myself, right?”

I nodded, though he wasn’t really looking for an answer. His eyes, in fact, swam past me, glancing somewhere over my shoulder. Perhaps out the open window at my back. “Plus, being in the military kept me busy. I could bury the grief every day, in boot camp, then training, then more training, by just wearing myself out. But then more grief came as I went overseas and saw, firsthand, the power and destruction of war. I realized that being busy could only help so much, especially if I was busy… killing.”

“Oh, Ryan,” I said, my voice low and soft to meet his own.

He smirked, his eyes moistened, but not full on crying. “I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me, Heather,” he insisted. “Really, I’m not. I just want you to understand why I felt so powerfully about that rose…”

“I know now,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he said, more insistently this time, as if growing impatient with my interruptions. Content to let him tell his tale, I nodded silently and continued sipping my beer. “I just meant, sometimes I go into a blind rage, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t control it.”

I nodded, leaving my lips around my beer can a little longer—not wanting to interrupt. As if he were expecting me to and then disappointed when I didn’t, he continued. “I tried really hard to control it that day, with you, in the kitchen, Heather. I wanted to, so badly. I care for you so much and… and… I just couldn’t. Once I get going, I’m like a runaway train…”

He paused, paused so long I knew his confession, had come to an end. “There’s help for that, you know?” I explained, breaking the silence that had taken hold of the small, intimate living room. “People, counselors, experts that can help. You don’t have to do it all alone.”

He reached out then with his free hand to gently clasp my ankle. “I’m not alone anymore, Heather,” he said, his voice so low and quivering I knew he truly meant what he said. “Right now, right here, you’re all the help I need.”

I rolled my eyes. “How can one little girl help a big, strong guy like you?” I teased, feeling his grip tighten around my ankle.

“By keeping me occupied,” he said, tugging on my foot until my leg stretched out the length of the couch. “And helping me heal, one smile at a time.”

“Sweet talker,” I murmured before tossing back the last of my beer and sliding my other leg, uninvited, out to join the first. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”

“Already?” he asked, tossing back the last of his beer and setting it on the end table behind him.

“Don’t you know a girl like me is always ready for a guy like you, Ryan?”

As if to prove it I slid lower on the couch, legs spreading gently to reveal the new coat of moisture glistening beneath my pussy. “Mmmmmmm,” he said, sliding his foot out until his big toe could press against my tender, swollen clit. “You really are ready for Round two, aren’t you?”

“It’s not me you have to worry about, player,” I teased, slowly grinding my clit against the ball of his foot. “I’m just waiting for you to recharge.”

“Sorry about that,” he said mockingly, holding the pillow away from his lap as if peering down at a limp dick. “Then again,” he teased, tossing the pillow aside to reveal his cock in all its glorious perfection—veiny and slick and a single drop of fresh pre-come glistening on top of the tip. “I’m ready if you are.”

“Jesus,” I murmured as we slid toward each other, the couch just big enough for us to lie opposite each other comfortably. “Will wonders ever cease?”

As our pelvises met, my slick lips caressing his balls, right hand lazily stroking his fully erect cock, our eyes met. “I hope not, Heather,” he said as we began to grind against one another, a new form of foreplay before what promised to be another fabulous fuck session on the poor leather couch beneath our writhing butts. “Because every day I’ve spent with you so far has been, for me anyway, full of wonder.”

“Me too, Ryan,” I purred and put my hands beneath me as I hoisted myself up to glide my glistening pussy lips along the shaft of his thick, hard cock. “That’s why it hurt so much to be apart from you these last few days. All the wonder had gone out of my life.”

He smiled, nodding as he reached out to grab my wrists, dragging me closer to him. My pussy clamped tight around the underside of his cock, lips sliding along either side of it as he began to glide up and down. “I felt the same way, Heather,” he insisted, dragging me up, until I had no choice but to climb on top of him, riding him in my favorite position—Ryan deep inside of me and me peering down into his soft, gentle, sea-green eyes. “Why do you think I begged you to come over at three in the morning?”

I felt him thrusting gently inside of me, deeper each time, my pussy growing hotter and wetter with every thrust. “Uh, hot, dirty, wicked and frequent makeup sex, remember?”

He smirked, thrusting deep and holding it there—just as he held me. “Well, there’s that, too!”

Yes,
I thought, as we began to fuck in earnest.

There was definitely, definitely that!

Chapter Twenty

“Wake up, sleepyhead…”

I blinked my eyes open some hours later, mid-morning light drifting in through the open window as Ryan stood above me, bearing a small, white box circled by a bright red bow. He looked clean cut and polished, glistening and soft, a far cry from the hot, sweaty, naked animal who had ravaged me from nearly the minute I’d walked in through the door last night. Still blinking sleep out of my eyes, I wasn’t sure which look I preferred.

“Did I sleep straight through to Christmas?” I asked, sitting up on the couch where, sore and sticky, we’d fallen asleep hours earlier.

“You wish,” he grumbled, his long, lithe body bare beneath a frayed blue robe that had seen better days. The sash was tied loosely around his waist, hinting at the male beauty that lay just beneath. His body a canvas of hard edges and tight angles, swathed in bronze skin that seemed to glow in the early morning light. “No, I just… wanted you to have something before, before anything else happens today…”

His eyes were somber, his voice intent as I sat up, suddenly feeling the need to cover my nakedness. It was an odd thought, indeed, considering how freely we’d fucked and sucked the whole night long, never caring who might see or hear as we cavorted in our birthday suits until the soft light of pre-dawn found us falling asleep, naked, in each other’s arms. Yet, something about the moment, intimate—yet adult, made me feel more naked than I had all night.

Casting off the soft throw he’d covered us with earlier that morning, I found a T-shirt folded on the coffee table in front of the couch. Ryan’s favorite USMC shirt. I slid it on, feeling it slide down almost to my knees like a nightshirt, the material soft and clingy against my bare breasts and belly.