Fight: A Stepbrother Romance Novella (2 page)

Mia

Wow, he certainly had changed. I still remembered the somewhat-scrawny thirteen-year-old boy he’d been that I had met shortly before our parents got married. I’d thought he was a fun older brother, but he’d pretty much regarded me as a pest. Shortly after he’d moved in, he stopped putting up with me in a nice way and just turned into a solemn brat. My dad had told me it was just hormones, and that I should steer clear of my stepbrother until he’d learned some manners.

That had been our relationship, and it had set the tone. Honestly, when he ran away, I had barely noticed. I’d been ten years old, spoiled and self-absorbed, and it had taken me a while to realize my stepmother was heartbroken her son had left without a word or explanation. Somehow, it had brought us closer together though, and she had started to feel just like my mom.

Actually, better than my mom, because my mom lived in Albuquerque in an artists’ commune and wanted nothing to do with me. Motherhood stifled her creativity, or some shit like that.

When Laura had asked me a couple of weeks ago to see if I could find Paxton, I had applied myself diligently to the search. A private detective had provided some leads for me, at least enough for me to learn UFC fighter Paxton LeChance had started life as Paxton Marsh. Then had begun the interminable process of actually trying to get a message to him or speak to him directly. He had a lot of people between him and me, but I had persisted, driven by Laura’s need to see her son again before she died.

Now he was here, and I should have been flush with excitement that I had fulfilled my mission and granted her dying wish. I was happy to see him, but I hadn’t expected just how happy I would be. Sure, I’d realize how hot he had become over the years, and when you looked at his fight poster from his recent round, posted on his website and the UFC match site, it was enough to make any girl’s panties damp.

Still, I had hoped it was just a reaction to the staging of the photo shot, rather than the man himself. I guess I’d somehow hoped he would have lost forty pounds of muscle, shrank six inches, and maybe turned kind of bald in the three days since I had talked to him and his arrival here at the estate. No such luck, and I was overwhelmingly attracted to my brother.

No, my stepbrother. Hell, he was barely that. We hadn’t seen each other in eleven years, and we’d never been anything closer than friends, at best, when he’d still lived at home. I had no idea why he’d run away or stayed gone for eleven years, though my dad said he’d been involved in drugs.

I guess it was possible, especially considering he was a professional fighter. Steroids or something had probably played a role in that, hadn’t they? It was enough to make me feel sad, and I knew I wanted no part of dating someone involved with drugs, so it should have made it easier to kill any physical interest in him.

It didn’t, as I discovered as soon as I was exposed to him again a few hours later. He knocked on my door and leaned his head in, looking weary. “Hey, do you want to grab a bite to eat?”

I looked at the clock, finding it was almost eleven p.m. The cook had left for the day, and I could have offered to rustle up something in the kitchen, but culinary skills weren’t high on my list of talents. “Sure. There’s a little cantina not too far from here that has the best margaritas, and their Chile Verde sauce is amazing.”

He scrubbed a hand on his face, looking exhausted. “I could use about ten margaritas right now.”

I hopped off the bed, hoping he was joking, even as I wondered if chemical addictions continued to plague him. Maybe I could find out subtly in the coming days, and if at all possible, I could help him. It seemed presumptuous to think that a man seven years older than me, sort of famous, at least in fight circles, and as handsome as he was could ever need my help, but I’d give it if I could.

As I followed him out of my room and down the stairs, my eyes naturally drifted to his taut backside, firmly encased by the sinfully tight jeans. As I wondered if my hands would fit in the pockets, or if there is even enough room for that, I realized I would do a lot of things for Paxton. Or maybe even to him, if I had the chance.

Man, I was in trouble
.

Paxton

No doubt about it, I was drunk. A lot more so than I had planned to be, and a lot more than I’d expected from four margaritas. I leaned against Mia, who was helpfully holding me up even as she lurched a bit too. I think she was as drunk as I was, since we’d both decided to drown our sorrows in strawberry margaritas to see if José Cuervo held the answers to life.

Apparently, his only answer was to drink more, and we had complied. I’d had four, and I think Princess had downed at least three. We’d also had some food, but I guess I’d gone too long without eating before that, or maybe just the stress of the last few days was catching up with me, and the alcohol was knocking me on my ass.

We were trying to be quiet, and I could feel her stifling a giggle as we crept up the stairs, arms around each other in a mockery of support. I had a mental image of missing the step and dragging her down with me. I supposed I should let her go, but I liked holding her, and I liked having the illusion we were sustaining each other.

Somehow, we made it up the landing and to my room, where she opened the door, or maybe I did. I was a little fuzzy on that, but either way, we were soon across the threshold. I closed the door behind me, locking it without thought. There was no way I was going to sleep in the same house as Dirk without my room locked. It was a childish reaction born of fear and experience. I even had the urge to move the dresser in front of the door to block his entry.

Fortunately, Mia distracted me from those thoughts as she aimed me toward my bed. I shuffled beside her and crashed down onto the soft mattress. Somehow, my hands refuse to let go of her hips, and she ended up sprawled atop me.

That insistent, aching urge in my groin burst into life, and I was instantly hard and ready for her. Her eyes widened as my erection pressed into her tummy, and I didn’t know whether to apologize, make an off-the-cuff remark, or say nothing.

She didn’t speak either, but our gazes locked. I saw confusion in hers, along with a strong mix of desire. Shit. She wanted me too.

Shit, shit, shit.

I wasn’t a nice guy. Wasn’t into self self-denial or giving up things I wanted. I’d done enough of that shit in my life, so when I wanted something now, I got it if at all possible. That sounded badass, but mostly meant I just plunked down my credit card.

Still, there was no way to just toss down a credit card to acquire a stepsister. Did I even want to acquire her? Sure, she had a smoking hot body, but it came with a barge full of baggage I didn’t want to examine. For one thing, we were sort of related, and worst of all, she had sprang from the loins of the worst fucking man in the world. What if she was even a bit like Dirk?

On the other hand, she was soft and supple against me when she slowly relaxed. As she leaned a little closer to me, her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of my shirt, making me aware of the hard little buds pressing into my skin. I groaned softly, keeping my hands locked on her hips even as I wanted to move to her breasts, to pull off that short little T-shirt that had teased me all night, and see if she had a bra underneath.

Judging from the hard little tips pressing against my chest, I would guess Mia had skipped one. Her breasts were small and pert enough she could get away with it, but it wasn’t the kind of knowledge that made a man do the right thing.

Since when had I ever done the right thing? Maybe when I was younger, but I hadn’t for a long time. I didn’t give a shit about doing the right thing. Right then, I wanted oblivion, and she could provide it. Surrendering to my baser urges, I slid my hands up her body from her hips to her breasts, sliding under the hem of her T-shirt and finding bare skin, just as I had expected.

She drew in a breath that turned to a gasp when I flicked my thumbs across her nipples, and the hard little points tightened even further. My cock twitched in response, and it was all I could do not to grab her, tear off those tiny little shorts, and drive my cock into her hot little pussy. I had no doubts she’d be sopping wet for me.

Testing my theory, I trailed one hand down her stomach to the waistband of her shorts. She bit her lip, looking like she wanted to protest, and I waited a second to allow her to do so. I might be a fucking bastard, but I’m no rapist. I don’t go that far in taking what I want. This had to be completely consensual, or it wasn’t happening.

She didn’t say anything, and her eyes closed a second later as I caressed her skin with my thumb just under the waistband. She was soft and silky, and I imagined her mound would be even softer.

Seconds later, I found out for myself as I wedged my fingers under the waistband and discovered my sweet little stepsister had also skipped underwear. I groaned again at the discovery, pre-cum leaking from my cock in copious amounts. She was trying to kill me, and she hadn’t even planned it.

Her flesh was silky smooth and coated with her wetness as my fingers slipped lower, caressing the outside of her slit. She moaned softly when I pressed against her clitoris, but I denied her any further stimulation.

She opened her eyes wide to stare down at me, clearly waiting for me to proceed. It was like that, huh? She expected me to do all the work, and then she could absolve herself of any of the guilt later. Fuck that. Guilt I had in spades, and I didn’t need anyone else’s.

If Princess wanted this to happen, she would make it happen. It would be her choice, and her very clear, very explicit, and I hoped, incredibly dirty request. Her gaze still on me, I pulled my hand from her waistband and brought my fingers to my lips. I spent a moment inhaling her scent, savoring it, before I stuck my finger in my mouth.

She let out a hissing gasp, and her cheeks flared with heat as I sucked on my finger. Her essence was on my tongue, and it was all I could do not to flip her over, take off those shorts, and bury my head in her snatch for a long midnight snack of stepsister cunt. Damn, I was a dirty bastard when I was horny.

“It’s been a long day, Mia.”

She nodded slowly. “Stressful too.”

It was my turn to nod. My fingers were by her mouth, and I deliberately ran the same one I’d had in her slit over her lower lip. To my surprise, her little pink tongue flicked out like a Siamese cat and licked my finger very briefly. Then I dropped my hand back to my side, releasing the breast I still held with my other. Now my hands were on the bed, and the only reason she stayed atop me was her own muscles holding her up. With a grin, though I didn’t exactly feel amused, I said, “I’m going to get some sleep now. See you in the morning.”

For just a second, her expression betrayed confusion that morphed quickly to irritation. I did feel a genuine flash of amusement when her lips tightened, though her composure didn’t slip. She looked icily polite as she pried herself off my body, my erection following her as it jutted upward against the denim jeans barely containing it. I made no move to hide my arousal, and her gaze flicked there for a long second.

I was convinced I saw longing in her eyes, but it was gone when she blinked and tilted her head higher, firming her lips.” Well, good night, Paxton.”

She turned and left without another word, though she slammed the door harder than necessary. I was kind of relieved she did it now instead of in the morning, when my hangover would have a chance to kick in.

Mia

I couldn’t believe what had happened. I lay in my bed, a lone wall separating us, and wondered what had gone on. I’d been there for the whole thing, but I still wasn’t entirely sure what happened.

That might have had a little bit to do with the third margarita I’d ordered, enjoying how much it relaxed me, and how fun everything had seemed after months of tension and worry. Mostly, it had to do with my annoying stepbrother, who somehow made me forget all about any kind of familial bond whenever I was near him. I found it disconcerting, since we’d only been around each other a few hours now, but it was enough for my body to be aching for him.

I still was, and I would have completely surrendered to whatever he wanted to do to me. I couldn’t believe he had just stopped. I figured being a big, badass fighter guy, he would have just ravished me. To be honest, I had been kind of looking forward to that.

Instead, he’d pulled that sexily bewildering move of touching my pussy and licking his finger, and then sent me on my way. It was like being in the candy shop and having to settle for one piece of peppermint when everyone else getting the chocolate bars. Did I mention I hated peppermint?

I wanted to hate him as much as I hated peppermint, but instead, I just ached with frustration, mixed with anger. No, I wasn’t angry so much as I was annoyed. I hated it when guys were ambiguous. They always liked to say girls played games, but in my experience, guys were the players. They never told you what they wanted, and I always guessed wrong. For example, I could have sworn Paxton wanted to fuck me, and I was just as eager to make it happen, but then he told me good night.

I knew he had done the right thing, considering our parents were married and we were stepsiblings, but my aching slit didn’t feel like it was the right thing. With an annoyed groan of surrender, I reached into my nightstand to retrieve my favorite vibrator. It was a gold and purple frilly thing, with enough vibration to send me to Mars and back.

I started to slide it between my folds, since I was naked in bed. Instead, a wicked idea came to me, and I went to the wall separating us. I knew from his room’s arrangement that his headboard was against that wall, and maybe he’d hear what I was doing. I flicked the setting to high, though I was usually content with just low, and slid it between my legs.

I barely grazed my clit with it, because it was just too much too quickly, and I started moaning. I dipped the plastic and silicone rod in and out my pussy, rubbing my clitoral hood before plunging it deep inside me. Normally, I was a quiet masturbator, but tonight I let myself moan and hump against the wall. The vibrator was making the wall rumble too, and he had to know what I was doing. As an orgasm rushed over me, I let out a single drawn-out sound. “Paxton.”

Satisfied, at least temporarily, physically and somewhat emotionally, I returned to my bed, put the vibrator back in the nightstand, and clicked off the light. Surprisingly, it was easy to fall sleep within a few minutes, and I’m pretty sure I had a self-satisfied smirk on my face as I drifted off.