Stepbrother UnSEALed

by Nicole Snow

  Thirty seconds later, it doesn't matter. He's back, this time beating furiously on the wood, screaming in a way I've never heard in my life.

  “Goddamn it, Cordelia! Wake up – please! I need your help. Help me!”

  That's it. I run over and tear the door open. Dad reaches through the frame and pulls me out into the hall, swirling me around so fast I almost blackout.

  “Whoa, dad! Calm down. What's going on?”

  He looks like hell. He's clammy, panicked. Dark circles surround his eyes, looking like bad smears of makeup. I've never seen my father like this, and it's scary as hell.

  “It's Evie, Delia. She's not breathing – she's not fucking breathing!” He spins angrily, slams his fist on the wall.

  Holy shit. I grab his shoulder, trying to calm him down, remembering all that emergency crap you always learn in school, but never pay attention because you don't ever expect to need it.

  “Call 9-1-1! Don't tell me you came to me first? What happened? Start at the beginning.”

  “I already did, they're on their way,” he snarls, grabbing me by the hand. This time, there's no stopping him, and he marches me toward the bedroom in a blinding storm of fury and terror. “Jesus Christ, it's bad. She was just like this when I found her, passed out, wheezing up a storm. I came upstairs after a late night, heard strange noises. I thought she was doing her yoga routine or something on the bed, but she was out cold. Then her lungs quit working...shit, we've got to do something!”

  My belly tightens up when he talks about the noises in the night. He's probably too shocked by what's happening to pin down Chris and I fucking, but later?

  Stop it, I tell myself. This is no time to get selfish. We have to make sure this woman doesn't die.

  Yeah. Something about having Evie around the house as a ghost, forever, makes me want to move into the crappiest high rent apartment the Bay Area has to offer if it's the only way out of here.

  Dad tears himself away and runs over to the small, limp shape on the bed. Evie looks like a rumpled mess, the blankets slung off her, dressed in what looks like a cocktail dress.

  “Come on, dammit. Come the fuck on!” Dad's cracking up.

  He never swears like this, never shows such harsh, bright tears in his eyes.

  He's covering her mouth with his, pouring every drop of oxygen he has into her, pumping his hands on her chest so hard I think he's going to break her ribs. It won't take much. I swear she's lost even more weight during the week I've been away. She looks like a mummy with one too many plastic surgeries.

  “Dad, get her on the floor! Maybe it'll help,” I suggest, walking up.

  He stands and gives me an angry wave. I grab her feet and we lift her. She's just as light as I feared. Her head rolls like she's already dead, and that's when I notice the crap coming out of her mouth, something foamy, unnatural.

  I don't know what a drug overdose looks like, but I have an awful feeling. Dad hits the floor again, blinded by his tears, shaking her tiny body as he pounds her chest again and again.

  I'm so hooked on the freak show happening in front of me that I don't see Chris. The door bursts open so hard it whacks against the wall, and then he's in, pushing my dad aside.

  I watch my stepbrother secret lover take over where my father left off. He works with more precision than dad, timing his CPR perfectly, an eerie calm lining his face.

  Dad's jaw clenches so hard it looks like his teeth are going to break. I'm holding his hand, trying to keep him out of it so Chris can do his thing.

  “Are you sure you know what you're doing, son?” dad growls, his brow furrowed. “Where the fuck are those paramedics?”

  He looks at me. I give him my best sympathetic look, trying to stay positive. Truthfully, I have no clue what's about to happen.

  Chris doesn't answer. He just keeps working on his mother, shirtless and heroic, more like a force of nature than a man trying to save another human being's life.

  Evie's face has gone completely white – well, whiter than usual, I mean. She's downright ghostly, and her ankles are swollen too. I found out when I helped guide her to the floor.

  If she lives, she's going to be a wreck. I tell myself I don't want her to die, even though it would simplify so much. But it's not worth leaving my poor father a broken shell of a man.

  “Dad? Why don't you come with me. Let Chris do his thing...”

  I try to guide him away, but his grip is so limp, so far gone.

  He's not even angry or scared anymore. He looks like he's a million miles away, haunted as though he's already seen his wife die in front of him.

  For all anybody knows, he has, and that makes me want to strangle the stupid, suicidal bitch all over again.

  Dad won't move beyond the bedroom. We stop several feet away, watching as Chris works frantically. The muscles on his back ripple like moving stones, masculine and powerful. If anyone can save her, it's going to be the son she's treated like absolute crap all along.

  How ironic

  And it is a second later, when Evie jerks, so sudden and sharp I almost go through the ceiling. Dad rushes forward while he's coughing and spluttering. He hits the floor and catches her, holding her up when her frail body buckles again.

  “Oh, baby. Oh, Christ. You're going to be okay, honey. Help's on the way. Remember, long, slow, deep breaths.” Dad holds her so tenderly it makes me sad and angry all at once.

  He cares so fucking much – and she almost offed herself without giving a damn. I wonder if we'll find out what kind of junk she has screwing up her system?

  Chris backs away, stands up, and gives me a sharp look. I'm about to say something when our doorbell chime blasts through the house, announcing the paramedics.

  “Come on, Delia. Let's make sure they get in okay.”

  I can't remember the last time I caught up on sleep. Sometime before Vegas. Hell, maybe sometime before Mister Badass SEAL walked into my life, dragging his psycho mother behind him.

  It's morning, and I'm exhausted. Evie was stabilized by the time the medics hauled her away, with dad right behind them.

  Stepbrother and I are curled up next to the pool, sharing a single lounge chair. When some of the early help arrives to start their day, they could notice us, but I can't bring myself to care right now.

  I need his arms around me, his heat. It feels right. It's safe.

  His embrace gives me one sane thing to cling to in my crumbling world – even though it's anything but normal.

  “What do you think she was on? Do you think she tried to...you know? Intentionally, I mean?”

  Chris shrugs. “She's been through this shit before, babe. Mom stopped thinking things through when I was about five years old. I'll put air in her lungs, but I'm not gonna sweet talk her and tell her everything's gumdrops. Decided I was done with all that years ago.”

  I'm so worried about my dad. Even though they're both gone, it's like there's a thick anxiety descending over the house, more stifling than the summer heat. It's a hot day, and this coffee isn't helping.

  Part of me wants to bury my face in Chris' dragon and trident. I want to cry all over his beautiful skin until I can't anymore. The rest of me wants to reach between his legs, reignite what we had last night, finding my peace in having myself joined to his flesh.

  “He really loves her, you know.” I tighten my grip on Chris' neck and stare into his bright green eyes.

  I'm talking about dad and Evie, yeah. But really, I'm talking about us, and I think he knows it.

  “Yeah, he's a good guy, even if he could really use some manning up.” Chris smiles bitterly. “It'll be a real fucking shame when she rips his heart out. They always do in the end.”

  I frown. “Not always. Maybe this'll be a wakeup call. I don't like her either, but there has to be a heart in there somewhere behind all the ice. It's not right, marrying a woman who's so far away from everything he ever wanted. I can't believe my dad would –“

  Chris cuts me off, laughing. He puts a pos
sessive hand on my thigh and squeezes, so hard it makes me squirm, and not from the pleasure.

  “Come on, babe. Don't tell me you really believe in roses and rings and all that 'til death do us part sales talk. It's bullshit. So's all the true love crap that goes with it.”

  I don't know why it's so hurtful. I look up, running my hand along his face. His jaw feels so strong, so tight, a sample of everything he's still hiding underneath his gorgeous surface.

  “If you believed that, I don't think you'd have come here last night. You'd have stayed away after Vegas, Chris. Just like we promised.”

  It's his turn to caress my face. He reaches up, dominant as ever, running his hand along my cheek.

  “Don't get too excited, sis. Truth is, I couldn't have stayed away from your tight little cunt if I tried.” Growling, he slides his hand the rest of the way up my thigh, shifts my panties aside, and shoves two fingers deep inside me.

  I gasp, arching, feeling the raging hard-on rising in his jeans. “Don't ruin a good thing by trying to put shit into it that isn't really there. You're not my girlfriend, Delia. You're just the best goddamned fuck of my life.”

  His words are like knives, but his fingers...holy shit. I should slap him across the face and run back inside, if only he didn't stroke me so good, tethering my body to him like I never imagined any man doing.

  He's a bastard. He's relentless. And, of course, he's right.

  I won't admit it to myself. I can't. It hurts too much to have this kind of pleasure with him, knowing there will never be any love behind it.

  My body drowns out the ache in my heart as he works his hands deeper, stamping his hot lips down my neck. His hips push against my ass, aggressive as ever, rutting the erection in his pants. He fists my hair and holds me to him, finger-fucking me fast, hard, and angry.

  I go flying right over the edge. The tears that have been building since last night burst out, and my cheeks are wet as my brain short circuits.

  I come hard, bucking against his hand, loving the way he touches me, works me, owns me. And I wish he'd keep me too – wish so fucking bad there weren't so many awful things between us.

  “Keep it going, babe. You don't stop 'til I say so,” he orders halfway through. My pussy clenches harder, and his thumb adds more pressure to my clit, forcing me to feel it all.

  The hurt. The passion. The twisted romance between us, and the future that'll never be.

  It's officially too much. So is this thing we're doing – whatever it really is – fucking like newlyweds and living like strangers.

  He pulls me in close when it's finally over, holding me down with his powerful arms. His lips meet mine in a rough, forceful kiss.

  “Stop crying, Delia. I won't be out on my next big tour 'til summer's over. We don't have to stop 'til you're heading back to school in the fall. One summer, baby. One summer of this, every fucking night. I'll teach you to stop worrying about Evie, and how to make some boy extremely happy whenever he settles down and I'm a distant memory.”

  He wraps his fingers around mine, brings them to his cock, and I squeeze him. Harder than I intend, because he's still pissing me off. He growls happily, enjoying the roughness.

  Why does he have to be so rude? He thinks he's doing me a favor – is that it? Like I'm some kind of shy little ex-virgin with nothing else going in my life besides his swinging dick?

  I look up, refusing to hide the anger, the hurt, anymore.

  “Why do you have to be such an asshole, brother?” I say it with the same contempt he always uses when he calls me sis. “We're siblings, and we're lovers too. If you don't start treating me with a shred of respect, I'll forget all about this, and I won't even wait until I'm back in the dorms.”

  I give his cock one more hard pump through his jeans, then rip my hand away.

  God. It shouldn't be so hard to take my hands off his body. I force myself to stand up.

  He looks at me like I'm a living, breathing challenge. He shrugs, pops up off the lounge chair, and slugs down the last of the cold coffee next to us.

  “Whatever, babe. I'll leave you here today to think that shit over. It's your choice. I need to get to base. I'll drop by tonight to hear your answer.”

  He hooks his thumbs through the loops on his jeans and pulls, straightening them, intentionally giving me one last look at the bulge raging in his pants. Then, without another word, he marches back inside, heading out.

  I want to throw shit at him, wondering why the most beautiful spot on our property always has to be ruined by these stupid fights. I hate him, but I've got ten times as much anger howling through me, all aimed inward.

  Chris is a natural asshole. A walking contrast. He's greedy and dangerously generous, arrogant as he is panty melting handsome. I won't change him anymore than I could stop a tiger from pouncing on a pile of meat.

  He's right about one thing – it's totally my choice whether or not I walk away.

  Ending this summer fling while it's just a sad, tumultuous episode is the smart choice. At least losing him now won't leave me paralyzed, like he'll be in the autumn, if I let him use me like this all summer.

  But I can't imagine ending it now either. It hurts as much as it did when I thought about our last time in Vegas, all the years ahead without him, all the years I'd have to settle for...I don't know what.

  I don't know, but it won't be Chris fucking Cleveland.

  Asshole. Stepbrother. SEAL. And also the one man on the planet who's stealing my heart.

  X: Unnatural (Chris)

  I can't believe how fucked I am. I hide it well, but I can't hide how out of focus I am at the briefing. Commander Jones calls me out twice for zoning out, asking me if I want to return to the states in a body bag.

  Shit.

  “No sir,” I tell him, all I can manage before he returns to the intel images on the big board, using a laser pointer to identify the North Korean missile sites.

  I force myself to pay attention while my fellow SEALs snicker. On the way out, Brandon slaps me on the shoulder, and takes up a spot next to me in the gym for our workout.

  “You're always sharp as a tack, Cleveland. What the fuck's going on? Your ma get into the junk again?”

  I shake my head, adjusting the machine I'm about to give my pecs and shoulders hell on. He's one of the only guys I've told about the demon in my family tree.

  “Oh, shit.” Brandon pauses, grins at me from his leg press. “It's pussy then, isn't it? You've started fucking some chick more than one night. Jesus, you should've let me know sooner. I'd have told the commander we've got a damned double-agent in our midst.”

  I give him the middle finger once I've got my arms in place. He laughs it off, and I'm quietly stewing because he's right.

  I keep telling Delia the same damned thing I've been telling myself – it's just a summer fuck. An extended version of what we started in Vegas, yeah, but it doesn't mean anything more than that. It can't.

  I don't do love, and I'm sure as shit not dating my own goddamned stepsister. It sounds insane every time I put it together like that because it is.

  Too bad my dick decided a long time ago it isn't listening to a lick of reason. I workout for more than an hour, stressing every muscle in my body to failure, and I still can't get her out of my head.

  I haven't even followed up on the family shit with mom yet because it's only going to make things worse. I'm too busy thinking about all the times Delia's hot, tight cunt sucked the come from my balls, how bad I want to feel her do it over and over and over again.

  That's when I realize Evie's not the only one in this family hooked on some bad shit. Hers is heroine, or whatever the fuck she's got herself on now.

  Sex is mine, especially when it's causing me to think too much about a chick when I ought to be thinking about how to survive the most dangerous mission of my life.

  I know what I need to do. I need to quit her like a bad habit before the boys in DC send us over the DMZ. If I'm still thinking about her pussy
when there are bullets blowing by my ears, I'll probably be coming home in a thin black sac, just like the commander said.

  What'll little sister think then after we've been fucking half the summer? I shake my head, stopping to wipe the sweat off my face with a towel. I'm the only bastard left, putting in overtime, trying to work out all the shit rattling around in my skull.

  It's no good. I'm only going to hurt her worse by dragging this out, especially if something deadly happens overseas.

  I'm used to people disappointing me. Evie's done it my whole life, and now I'm just numb to her shit. But I can't do that to Delia when I've already got my hooks in too deep.

  I'm going to break it off the second I get a whiff of us heading off to war on the fastest transport across the Pacific.

  You'll do it, I promise myself, quick and clean so she doesn't get fucked up. I'm serious about it, and determined as all hell.

  But before I do, I'm going to get in one last fuck.

  It's a warm evening by the time I leave base. I head for the mansion, expecting to find Delia out by the pool, where she always sits and reflects.

  I've never seen her swim. All I can think about is dragging her into the cool, turquoise waters and getting my lips all over her body, drowning in so much ecstasy I blow her brains out. Make her forget what we've got, or at least settle for this summer fucking without any strings.

  There's somebody else out there instead. Mom looks up at me when I step outside, turning her head. She looks like hell, laid out in the evening sun, her pale body wrapped in what looks like several layers of towels.

  She's got a drink in her hand too. Just fucking great, when I know she's under orders to detox. All she needs is a cabana boy in a speedo, and her evil queen act will be complete.

  “Christopher!” I simmer when I hear her say my name, watch her beckon me forward. She points to the big chair next to her.

  I keep standing. “Are you feeling any better, or what?”

  “Yeah, Bruce has been amazing through this whole thing. He's made friends with some very good doctors too. I'll be just fine, son. Thanks so much for your calls of concern while I was trying not to choke on my own vomit.”