by Nicole Snow
What would that perfect mouth feel like anchored between my thighs? I squeeze my knees together as I wonder, trying to blunt the dull ache in my pussy. It's hopeless.
Jesus, how am I going to survive a week in Vegas alone with this man?
“I'm happy to hear you say that, honey. You've matured so much.” Dad beams, before he looks at Chris again. “Make sure there's time for breakfast before you two leave tomorrow. She always gets cranky traveling on an empty stomach. As for me, I'll look after your mother.'
Chris' face darkens. “It's her own damned business to figure out. Nobody else's, Bruce. Not even yours.”
“She's my wife,” dad says sternly. “I'll do whatever I need to. She always wanted a good family, a tight family.”
My stepbrother snorts. “Oh, is that what she's been telling you? Fucking chameleon. She'll say whatever it takes to keep the coin flowing, old man.”
He rubs his fingers together. I can see my dad's obviously displeased, but he's rarely confrontational. It took him months to come after mom about her affair, when the evidence was all over the house.
Just once, I'd like to see my father show some backbone. He isn't going to start with Chris, though, and I watch him turn and head for the stairs.
“Have a safe flight, kids. Enjoy yourselves while you're young, before things get very...complicated.” He disappears out of sight, leaving us hanging on that word.
Enjoy yourselves. His words echo in my head, and I try not to let my brain go to sex.
Shit. I realize I'm alone with Chris in the hall, a prelude to a week of god knows what with him in Vegas.
I fold my arms, biting my tongue so I don't let it dart out at him. “I can't believe you're back. What changed your mind?”
“Vegas, baby. It's as simple as that.” He shrugs like it's nothing. “I like you, Delia, even if you're not cut out to ride my dick. You're honest. You're coming up in the world.”
My ears perk up. I can't decide if it's the start of another ridiculous joke, or if he's being sweet and sincere. He steps up to me, and I'm ready to jump away from his grasp before he forces me to confront the lava that won't stop rippling in my veins every time I look at him.
“Besides, babe, somebody needs to come along for the ride and make sure you're not a hot little cocktease for all the wrong guys.” He reaches out, grabs my wrists, and jerks me into him. “I wasn't kidding when I said the city has a dark side. It's not all fun and games. If you've been following the news, you'd have heard all about the new sex trafficking syndicate that's taking chicks without a trace.”
“I'm too old for a fucking babysitter, Chris. I'm not a little kid.” I spit fire in his face. “Besides, I'm more likely to get held for ransom than shipped off for my looks.”
He laughs dismissively and hardens his grip. Raw desire wakes in my veins, churns in my whole system, paralyzing me. He's such a bastard.
I'm not sure what that makes me for wanting him.
And I still do – even after the insults, the humiliation, the total silence.
Just once, I want to be the bad girl. I want to be like Marnie, a functioning, sexually alive woman who's ready for all the things a girl ought to be doing at this age, and the badass with his body tucked around mine reminds me that I'm not.
“Call me your conscience,” he growls, running his stubble across my smooth cheek, melting my panties in the process. “It's your ride, Delia. Your adventure. No bullshit. I'm just along to keep you safe, make sure you don't get yourself into anything you'll regret.”
Just like that, he lets me go. Every time I fall out of his arms, it's like the earth is crashing back, and I'm having the wind sucked out of me.
I watch him pick up the bag he's dropped on the floor, and sling it over his powerful shoulder. He doesn't even look at me as he walks by, goes into his room, and closes the door.
I'm left on the spot, wetter and more confused than ever before.
I think I just entered a new tier of hell.
It's a busy morning flight. So busy, in fact, that Chris and I are jammed together in our seats, surrounded by yawning, jabbering businesspeople of every race, gender, and creed.
I swear Chris splashed something extra in his coffee while he watched me eat my muffin. Probably whiskey.
Evie took off with dad somewhere this morning before the chauffeur took us to the airport, and I'm too on edge about the trip to care.
I want to have fun. I want to sort this crap out with my quite possibly drunken stepbrother. And I really want to forget all the BS that's been plaguing me like the senior thesis and this sadistic crush that won't stop eating my soul.
He's at my side, dozing in his seat. Or so I think, until we're at twenty-thousand feet.
“Goddamn it, Charlie...told you about Kirkuk...I told you, you poor dumb bastard. They're coming. They're armed. Where's our fucking backup?” His hand brushes mine.
My ears perk up. He's babbling in his sleep. He's remembering something awful.
I lean in, holding my breath, careful not to wake him. Then he jerks, making a sound that's way too loud with my ear close to his face.
“The fuck?” he growls, a strange smile on his face. “Do you always watch people sleep, creeper girl, or is the flight just that boring?”
Asshole. I want to punch him in the arm, but the wheels are turning in my head, wondering if he's just given me a piece of his battle trauma.
“You were having a nightmare,” I tell him, picking up my water and taking a sip. “Does being on this plane remind you of something? You must be having flashbacks from all the stress. I can't imagine what it's like being a SEAL. How do you blow off steam?”
“Eh, usually just by fucking with gullible little girls like yourself.” His smile breaks into a huge grin. “I said Kirkuk because I knew it'd get you wet. I know you like the news.”
Bastard! This time, I do form a fist and smash it into his bicep as hard as I can. It's like hitting a wall of pure muscle, sending sheer force back through my knuckles.
Chris laughs it off like it's nothing. “Come on, babe. Just a little while longer. We'll be in Vegas soon, and you can work that shit out the fun way. You wanna hit the casinos tonight, or what?”
I roll my eyes. “You're guessing I want to do anything with you. That's an awful big assumption when you're being a total...dick.”
I hesitate on the last word. Part of me wants to call him a tease, a manwhore, but I don't because I'm afraid of him proving me right. I can't shake the feeling he's still flirting with me, working me over, trying to make me humiliate myself again when I stroke him, or lean in for a kiss.
But why?
That's the part I can't figure out. All I know is when I look into his swirling green eyes, I see nothing but mischief. More damage, frustration, and humiliation in the making.
“You heard what daddy said, Delia. I'm along for the ride to help you out, and I help you find some fun too.. You ever been to this town?”
I shake my head. “Not as an adult. It's a first for me.”
His hand slides up my arm, giving me goosebumps. He perches it on my shoulder and squeezes, then trails his way up my neck, tracing my jawline, my cheek with his fiery thumb.
“Cut the shit. There's more than a prissy, rich little college girl under that sweet face. I've known it since that night on the beach. You're a wannabe wild child.” He leans in, rumbling in my ear, reminding me of the night we were free to be lovers. Everything between my legs pulses hot and wet. “No more games, babe. You want to let the bad girl out, yeah? Take my hand. I'm gonna give her a chance to frolic.”
VI: What Happens in Vegas... (Chris)
I've never changed my mind about a chick before. Strange thing is, I'm pretty damned close by the time our plane lands, and she's snoozing next to me, my dick throbbing each time I look up and down her curves.
I can't believe she's a goddamned virgin. Or my stepsis.
Why is fate such a miserable, cruel bitch?
; Maybe it doesn't matter. By the time the plane touches down on the runway and she's rubbing her eyes, I've got my hand on hers, squeezing it, warming her, offering her...I'm not sure what.
If she was any other conquest, I'd have already had her all over my dick. Instead, Delia's a landmine, and one wrong misstep will blow my entire world apart, making her collateral damage too.
I don't know what the fuck is going to happen between us in sin city. I'm going to find out.
“We're here, baby. Stop sleeping through your fun.”
She gives me a shy, way-too-fuckable smile. Christ, those lips. They're dangerous competitors with her ass, everything I can't stop imagining under me.
She makes me see sex in broad daylight. I've got her hair in my fist, open mouthed, owning her soft little tongue with mine. I reach for her ass and hold on so tight my knuckles go white, slamming her plush globes with the full might of my hips.
I want to shake her the fuck apart. I want to watch every curve dance and swing for me, rippling to the music I know she'll make when she's coming on my cock.
Half an hour later, we've got our rental, and we're heading into the city. It's been a couple years, but I remember Vegas like the back of my hand. It's a natural spot for rowdy troops looking for fun. I hit the town twice a year ever since I enlisted, but it's been awhile since I got tapped for the SEALs.
I'm not blind to the weird shit Vegas keeps dredging up. When I spooked her on the plane by mumbling about Kirkuk, I knew I was playing with fire, using her nosy little games against her.
If she wants to pump me for info, she's not getting shit. Not really. But when you've relived imminent death in your own head a hundred times from that mission, making a mockery of it's all you've got left.
It's all I can do to keep my sanity together. The brain clings to humor like a desperate fucking lounge girl – or at least if it's a mind as twisted as mine.
Her eyes pop out when she sees the hotel. We've got a prime spot, courtesy of daddy's family fortune. She reaches across from the passenger seat and squeezes my arm, digging her nails in. It shouldn't feel so natural to have her there, but hell if it doesn't.
“Look at this place! Please tell me I've got a window view?”
I smile and nod. “Yup. Your old man wanted to give my mom the finest, for some reason I'll never understand, and we've got his reservation. Oh, and that shit about separate rooms? I lied. We'll be sharing the same suite.”
Her lips twitch and she goes bright red. I pop the door and put my hand on her ass, pushing her inside, leading her through the place we'll be staying for the next week. One good look around, and she forgets all about chewing me out.
The room is built for sex. It's full of sleek edges, polished curves, and about a thousand reflective surfaces. It's meant for beautiful people to watch themselves fucking from every angle, and we fit the bill a hundred times better than our parents.
We'll put it to better use than Bruce and Evie too. The only question is whether I'm going to blister my ego and haul her into bed, or find some faceless Vegas chick to fuck when she's not looking.
Sneaking around with another woman won't be easy when we're sharing a suite, even though it's as big as a luxury apartment, with at least two or three distinct rooms and its own kitchen.
It's also rough when the only hot, wet cunt I want to sink my dick into is Delia's, own her virgin silk, find out how hot she looks when she's wearing a sheen of sweat, about to come for the third time as I slam my balls against her ass.
Fuck. I wait for her to wash up and try to kill my hard-on, staring out across the city. It's a gorgeous view. The place promises to light up like a maze of palaces and wonders at night, everything I've seen in Baghdad, but better because there's no traces cutting through the air or violent explosions here.
Standing out on the balcony isn't doing shit for taming my dick. Several long, sexy looking deck chairs sit waiting for us, and I'm forced to see myself pulling her onto my lap, naked and wet and wanting in the sultry Vegas night.
When she comes out of the bathroom, she's fuming, a delayed reaction to the single room we'll have to share. I wonder if she's been coaching herself in the mirror, working up the courage to lay into me, and I laugh.
“This is so wrong. I just can't fucking believe dad didn't think to book an extra room. Ugh.” She stamps her little foot as I hand her a key card for the room. “Roommates.”
“For the last time, babe, I'm not gonna watch you shower or whatever. I'll turn my back like a good boy when you're changing.”
Yeah, right. She shoots me a dirty look and purses her lip. Some of that fire in my balls goes straight to my fingers, and I want to wipe that bratty look off her face by slapping the shit out of her ass.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Maybe Kirkuk did more damage than I ever thought. There's got to be some wires crossed in my head if I'm hot to tan my own stepsister's ass, and then plow her 'til she can't walk.
“Cut your old man some slack. Dealing with Evie's shit isn't easy. Doesn't take much to lose track of a million things when she gets under your skin – trust me.”
Her eyes widen in a sympathetic look. That shuts her up, but I pop the door and head inside, looking for a distraction before she tries to get all touchy-feely.
She decides to let it go, turning her attention to the room instead, taking another long, wonder struck walk around it like we're visiting the goddamned Taj Mahal.
“Oh my God. Look!” she yells at me from out on the balcony, her hands clenched tight to the banister, overlooking the Vegas strip shining in the high Nevada sunlight.
I come up behind her, using the opportunity to get a good look at her ass. “Yeah, I was admiring it earlier. It's really something, babe.”
Yeah, something, I think, glancing at the deck furniture. Something that makes me want to rip your dress off right here and fuck you in front of the whole city.
I'm not sure what makes my dick throb harder – the chairs or her ass. I go back and forth, and the last time I've got my eyes glued to her hips, she catches me. Her hands hit my chest and she pushes with all she's got, trying to get me away, flushed and smiling.
I laugh. Something makes me lunge forward and grab her, spin her around, dig my fingers into her soft little belly 'til she can't stop laughing with me. It takes a sharp slap across the face to make me let go. I love the sting the same way I like sharp whiskey.
Shit, she's so feisty, even though she can't move me a single inch, pushing with all her might. I want to pick her up and fling her around, discover some new acrobatics I can do with her mounted on all ten inches of me.
“Don't do this crap again, Chris,” she whines, genuine sadness filling her eyes. “I can't mess around and get shot down again. We're here as brother and sister, right?”
Not exactly. But she doesn't need to know that now.
I smile, push my hand into hers, and give her a gentle tug. “Whatever, babe. Let's go have some fun.”
I grab her hand and lead her out. It's a damned good thing I've had plenty of practice with tactical driving. I navigate the Vegas traffic, heading for the casino.
My dick doesn't give a single shit about my brain catching up. As far as that fire in my trousers is concerned, I'm on a mission to fuck my own stepsister, and I'm coming closer to making peace with it by the second.
I watch her walk a little ahead of me. She's unsteady on those short heels, and it makes her ass bob. My balls ache to unload inside her, screaming in my head, hounding me to let go of all my reason and spread her legs wide open behind her head.
I know right there I'm a goner. It's Vegas, and I'm here to sin.
I don't give a shit who Delia is anymore, or what kinda mark I'm going to leave on her. I have to protect her. I have to know her. And yeah, I absolutely, positively have to own every virgin inch of her.
We pop in and out of casinos and attractions, walking along the strip. Even I've forgotten just how lively Vegas can be. The telltale signs o
f a few thugs and biker brutes lingering in the shadows reminds me the place can get lively in other ways at night.
I can't keep my hands off her, and it's not just the hellfire scorching my veins that's doing it. I want to keep her close. Protect her, especially while she's stepping up her drinks at every place we hit.
By sundown, Delia's so drunk I have to pull her steady as we maneuver along, heading into the next casino. There's a new VIP section in this place with high stakes blackjack. I'm here to have some fun too, and I make a beeline for the table, jerking her along.
“Oh my god, Chris, you have to let me play. I've always wanted to try cards.”
I grunt. “Not 'til you've burned some of that venom out of your system, babe. You'll be throwing away money piss drunk. Just watch me and look sexy. Pretend you're my date for moral support and eye candy.”
She hasn't gotten pissy about my not-so-subtle hints since we left the hotel room. I'm sure it's the booze, and that puts me on edge.
I don't want her laughing and clinging to me because she's fucking drunk. I want her sober, hungry for every inch of me, ready to rip off her clothes and open her legs.
She's warm and clammy when I hold her hand. Drunk or not, she looks fucking hot in the dark black cocktail dress she's chosen. I take a bench at the nearest high stakes table, thinking it's a damned good thing I've been pacing myself with drinks.
Delia's distraction enough, and staring at her too long makes my dick feel like it's about to explode.
I pull some cash out of my wallet and exchange them for chips. Two thousand dollars.
There's one other guy playing at the table with the dealer, an older Asian guy in a suit. Delia watches excitedly next to me.
The first few hands are rotten. I'm down a couple hundred before I start to get pissed and focused. The SEAL instinct takes over, and I eye every card, remembering the card counting my old buddy Joe taught us on lazy nights at the barracks.
The guy in the suit loses big. I'm up, down, and even, but the trend starts to flip, and I'm ready to go all in.