Stepbrother Studs Quinn (2 page)

“You think too much. Can’t you just let it be? Let us be? For once, Viv, just let go.”

The raspy ache of his voice was my undoing. I hated when he hurt. I’d gladly give him the moon, and then ask him whether he wanted the stars, too.

“I’m afraid,” I whispered.

“I know. But it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

His hand released mine, and the light above the bed blinked on. He rested on an elbow, jaw set, eyes brooding. In the dark, I could almost pretend we weren’t alone, that we weren’t the ones making love. But with his dark gaze staring down at me, there was no escape from the truth. Every fan we’d ever fucked was just a substitute.

Freed by the truth, my gaze roamed his body. I loved every sinewy, sexy bit. Lean and muscled, a light dusting of hair on his chest, arms and legs. A large cock that would make any woman ache just staring at it. My gaze trailed upward. Bristles glinted on his chin, above his one-sided smirk.

That smirk was an indicator of his unease. Did he think I was considering bolting from the bed?

It was too late now. I’d loved him since we were children. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his long, thick cock and gave it a tug.

“Mine,” I whispered then darted a glance at his eyes again.

They were narrowed. His hand smoothed over my breast, and his thumb captured the nipple.

“Mine,” he repeated, although his voice wasn’t soft at all. Neither was the caress he gave my pussy. He cupped it, squeezing, then his thumb slid inside me.

“I don’t want to watch another fanboy’s dick touching this,” he gritted out.

My mouth opened on a gasp. I liked his possessive tone, liked even better the feel of his hardened hand clamping down on my cunt. Liquid gushed from inside me.

“What about a girl?” I lowered my lashes and licked my lower lip.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

I grinned. “Yeah, you like to watch, but so do I. Fair’s fair.”

“No, Viv. You aren’t hearing me.” He let go of my pussy then grabbed my arm and flipped me to my belly. Before I could catch my breath, he straddled me mid-thigh and had both my hands pinned behind my back. He leaned over me, his cock pressing against my ass, as he whispered, “No more dicks or cunts. No one else to hide behind. Just us.”

I wriggled, pretending to fight, but if I’d really meant it, I’d have escaped the one-handed grip he had on my wrists. My struggles were for show—and to goad him further. Something he understood, because he made a tsking sound and straightened behind me.

A slap landed on my right buttock. Not a playful one. He’d left his mark on my ass, something he’d never done before, something he’d never have allowed another guy to do. My heart hammered in my chest, and I renewed my fight, this time rocking to try to dislodge him, but he struck again and again, leaving fiery, fingerprint welts on my tender skin.

“Do you like that?”

“No!”

“Sure about that, baby?” He swatted me again, but then traced a finger down the crevice of my ass. When he touched my puckered hole, I gasped. “That guy in Boise. He wanted to fuck this,” he said, circling his fingertip. “I nearly came unglued. Had to shove him right off the mattress. Might even have broken his dick, he made so much noise. Know why?”

I shook my head, all the while wiggling hard to dislodge him, but he tickled me there then pushed a thick fingertip inside me. I froze.

“What the fuck, Quinn! I didn’t let him. I wouldn’t have.”

“Because you didn’t want him?”

“Because I wanted it to be you!”

His finger stilled inside me then slowly circled, dragging around and around. It burned there, and I was embarrassed, but more fluid leaked from my pussy. He could have pulled out his finger and used his dick instead, and I wouldn’t have said no. What I’d said was true. I’d saved one thing, one act, for him. Or at least, I’d imagined I’d saved my back-door virginity, because never in my wildest dreams had I believed we’d be here.

His finger withdrew, and he lifted off my thighs and left the bed. The sound of water running gave me the chance to breathe and to wipe the tears I hadn’t known were there on the coverlet.

When his footsteps padded back, I turned my head to stare at the opposite wall.

The bed dipped. A hand smoothed over the hot welts on my butt. The he gripped my shoulders and turned me again. He climbed over me, gently lowering his body over mine, trapping me with his weight and his legs opening to enclose mine. And then he caught my wrists and pulled my hands above my head.

I was trapped beneath him, unable to move, unable to escape his dark, troubled gaze.

“I’m sorry, Viv. I didn’t mean for us to start this way. But you make me crazy. Every day, in the bus, on the stage, all I have to do is look at you and I have to fight what’s inside me. I get so fucking hard, and so freaking angry, that I can’t just pick you up and fuck you where you stand.”

I started to open my mouth, to shout at him,
Then why the hell didn’t you?
But he shook his head.

“What I feel for you is different than anything I’ve ever felt for another girl. I want to
own
you. Want to crawl inside yours skin and stay there. I can’t be gentle. Can’t be civilized.” He dropped his forehead against mine. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we just shouldn’t go there.”

I began to tremble. My breasts grew taut, nipples sprung. I rolled my belly to rub against his dick trapped between our bodies.

“Quinn…I…” I pulled in a deep breath. “I don’t want you…civilized.”

His head lifted, his gaze speared me. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But I did. I watched him night after night, flinging himself around the stage, a sleek animal, barely restrained. Sometimes he needed a soothing hand, sometimes he needed to unleash. “I do. I promise. I don’t want tame… or safe. I want you—all of you. The rough and the gentle.”

He let go of my hands and slid his hands beneath my butt, gripping my tender flesh. I winced and his nostrils flared. “Do you understand? Really? I hate that I left those marks, but I love that they’re mine.”

I kept my hands next to my head, and lay still, just my breath moving my chest against his. “Since I know you don’t go around beating on girls, I know that’s as close as you’ll ever let yourself come to hurting me. But I’ll tell you something you might not know…”

He leaned closer. “Tell me.”

“I liked it,” I whispered. “So much, I’m shaking, Quinn.”

“You’re fucking beautiful, Viv,” he said, his voice deepening. His hands cupped my ass, molding both sides gently while his hardening cock dug into my belly. “I fucking love you. Know that?”

“I do. And I love you. I just need it to be enough.”

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and then he opened them. They gleamed in the light. “You’re more than enough for me, baby.” He lifted one leg then another, letting me raise mine to encircle his waist. And then he went to his knees, carrying me with him.

We held each other, face-to-face, searching each other’s expressions. I saw the boy I’d first met when I was five—a wild-haired boy with big dark eyes who’d worn a fierce frown. He didn’t like moving in with my mom. Swore he’d never be my friend. And then I’d found him in the music room, strumming on a guitar, finding the chords. I’d sat and listened, and when he stopped, I’d plopped down on the bench in front of the piano and played him a song. Beatles, I think. Something my mother had taught me.

After that, every day we’d met in that small airless room and played. We’d both been lonely. Both needed family. We became brother and sister, our bonds tighter than our parents’ bonds with us. Something we’d needed when they’d left us.

I gripped his shoulders and began to move up and down, fucking him, watching his eyes darken. His fingers played with my nipples, pinching and tugging, twisting them until I cried out. I loved the pain, loved his brutal attention.

He moved again, taking me to the mattress. He pushed up my legs until my thighs were bunched against my chest, and he fucked me in earnest—long, deep thrusts that rocked me on the mattress.

And then he stopped. Abruptly. He reached to the ground beside the mattress and picked up a tube.

It was lubricant.

I drew a long shaky breath.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice flat and firm.

I nodded, then moved, turning and tilting up my ass. He shoved at my knees until I spread them wider, opening myself.

A moment later, cool gel rubbed around my entrance. Latex snapped.

I didn’t dare look back, because I knew what he wanted—the one thing I’d saved just for him. He’d take it now.

His hands landed on my butt, and he gripped both sides, rotating my globes—apart, together. And then, he fingered my asshole, rubbing around it, then slipping it inside.

“Breathe. You know what I want. You have to relax. This is just my finger, baby.”

He pushed deeper and I gathered the coverlet in my fists and willed myself to relax. My tight ring burned, but the heat was delicious. I’d never have trusted anyone else to do this. The fact Quinn was intent on claiming me this way blew my mind. Fuck, Quinn was going to fuck my ass! Now, I sounded like one of those groupies, thrilled to be giving him head.

His finger pulled free, and I released a pent-up breath, then drew another as he pushed two fingers inside me. Yes, it burned as he stretched me, but it also felt… sublime. My pussy was swelling, I was so aroused. My breasts felt full and hard.

When he’d swirled and thrust, and my ring eased, he pulled out again, then shifted behind me.

A kiss landed on one cheek. “You’re hot, Viv. So sexy. I love your curves, your small breasts. When you shake your ass on stage, you make me hard. And now, after this, every time you do it, I’ll think of what it feels like to be gripped by your ass.”

Somehow, he made that sound sexy. Must have been the way he growled it, but I gave a nervous laugh. “Just do it.”

His thumbs pressed on either side of my hole, opening me, and the blunt softness of his cockhead pushed. I gripped tighter on the covers and held my breath as he eased inside me in short, gentle pulses.

He wasn’t very deep. Maybe he was afraid of hurting me. I pushed up and angled my head to stare behind me. His fierce gaze was on my ass, and likely his cock as it was swallowed by my tight hole.

“I can take it,” I said. “Please.”

His glance cut to mine. His brows lowered. “It’s so fucking tight. Not sure…”

“More lube? But don’t pull out.”

He reached for the tube, while I held my hair back to keep watching. He squeezed a line onto his finger then applied it around my stretched opening and up the sides of his dick.

“Best I can do,” he whispered.

“Just fuck me, Quinn,” I said with a quaver in my voice. Then I faced forward, and forced myself to stay relaxed.

He slowly crowded deeper inside me, at last filling me. He pulled back, but not far, then pushed inside again. I gave a moan, exaggerating my pleasure, but the strokes that followed didn’t hurt as much although they burned. So he stroked faster and harder, moving into his fucking rhythm, taking me like he had my cunt.

As the friction built, I closed my eyes and let myself fly—thinking about us together, us as lovers. Music began to play inside my head.

Pleasure built and built. And then he reached around me and flicked my clit.

I screamed and rocketed backward, taking him deeper. My ass would be sore, I knew that, but this ride was worth it. Quinn had taken something special, fucked me like no one ever had. And now, he was seeing to my pleasure, not allowing my tightness to take him over the edge, although I could tell by his tense grip on my hips that waiting was killing him.

Another orgasm stunned me, making me gasp, and I went rigid, head flying back. He shouted on a final thrust and held there, rocking slightly as his cock pulsed inside my ass.

After a long moment, he pulled free. He moved away, disposed of the condom and used wipes to clean his hands. When he returned, he crawled on top of me.

I liked that he needed to cover me. I opened my eyes and found Quinn hovering. “Baby, what did you hear?”

My expression must have given me away. He knew. Whenever a song struck me—he knew. However awkward the timing, he also knew I needed to capture the notes before they floated away. He pulled away and rolled off the bed. He walked to the dresser and picked up my small keyboard, pausing to plug it in before coming back to me.

I sat up, cross-legged, even knowing what I must look like, what he could see, and turned the keyboard on—then hit
RECORD
. My fingers found the notes and after I repeated the refrain, he began to hum, his head tilting as his gaze clung to mine.

When I finished, he nodded. “A ballad. I like it.”

I’d liked the way his raspy voice had caressed the notes. “We’ll need words.”

He glanced across at the bible. “I’ve been playing with a poem. I thought it might work in a song. I think it’s something you’ll like.”

By the time dawn filtered through the curtains, we had the song. Our song. The fact he’d been aware of the story that had obsessed me for so long only confirmed what I’d always known. He really did love me. He understood the fears I’d carried around with me all these years. Now, he’d given them life. Something to be shared. Our way of “outing” our relationship, even if our audience, or even our band, failed to make the connections.