Crude: A Stepbrother Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  Her eyes shut for a second, and I’m watching her lips tremble as she takes a shaky breath; “You know I haven’t,” She says in a whisper, opening her eyes and turning to look up into my eyes.

  “There’s only one way to find out, princess,” I growl.

  She whimpers, and Jesus, I’m going to tear that towel away right here in about five seconds.

  “You shouldn’t be doing this,” She says, her chest heaving with her breath and her eyes screaming the exact opposite to me; “We shouldn’t be-”

  And then I just move in and kiss her, and it’s like jumping off the ledge.

  The act of actually doing it shocks me probably just about as much as it does her, and I find myself dropping in free-fall as I mash my lips against her soft ones.

  I never meant to actually do it. I mean I wanted to push her buttons, and just see how far I could take things and how much I could tease her before she caved and pushed me away.

  But holy shit.

  It’s like autopilot, and it feels so Goddamn perfect, and suddenly I’m the one lost. I’m the one getting tripped up and just letting myself fall as I sear my lips against hers.

  I’m so lost, in fact, that I’m standing there with my eyes closed like an asshole when she pulls away.

  There’s a flash of fire in her eyes, a gasp, and a hand pressed to her the shocked-looking “O” of her lips. And now this time, it’s me standing there like chump watching her walk away. This time, it’s a taste of my own medicine as she slams the door to her room shut, leaving me alone in the steam of the bathroom and the searing confusion of what just happened.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon locked - actually locked, this time - in my room, avoiding him. Of course, keeping him out of my room is one thing, but keeping him out of my head is another thing altogether. On that front, I give up, because there is apparently no keeping him from sliding his way in there and occupying my every thought.

  I bite my lip as I pace the room, thinking of that one searing, blazing kiss. That forbidden touch, and all the taboo thoughts that come along with it.

  We shouldn’t have done that. That shouldn’t have happened.

  But I’m also honestly shocked at myself for even stopping it once it did happened. Because kissing Knox, however horrible an idea, was like sinking into a sweetness; like coming home.

  I scowl into the mirror above my vanity. I hate that he’s managed to worm his way into my mind like this. Ugh. And I hate that he, of all people, saw me that night at the open mic night and that somehow it’s become some sort of leverage he uses to get under my skin.

  And I hate that I know that’s not true. I hate that I know that Knox doesn’t need a single piece of leverage to get to where he is so deep in me.

  I blush at the thought of that, at the dirty double meaning of my own thoughts. So deep in me. I bite my lip, thinking about his offer; his indecent, dangerously tempting offer to “show me.” And I hate that the thought of letting go with him has me, well, turned on. My face gets hot even thinking the word; God, I am some sort of prude.

  I’m distant later at dinner. I mean, I’m there, and I’m chewing my food, but I’m keeping my eyes on my plate and avoiding even looking his way.

  The rest of them are chatting away of course, which somehow gets me even more frustrated. However strict he can be, my dad and I have been a team of just two for a long, long time, and I’m used to that. And now we’ve got Amanda and Knox here, and suddenly the ridiculously big dining table in the ridiculously large dining room seems crowded.

  My dad looks happy though. OK, he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, which makes me feel even worse for moping about Amanda joining our team. He’s laughing at something she says, and talking animatedly about them being a family soon, and I have to smile in spite of the dark cloud named Knox hanging over my head and crowding my thoughts.

  “Don’t you think, Paige?”

  “Hmm?” I look up from aimless stabbing my poor brussel sprouts to see that all three of them are smiling and turned my way, as if waiting for a response; “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  Knox laughs warmly and nods knowingly at my dad; “See, I told you Mr. McCauley.” My dad just chuckles and winks at Knox before turning back to me. When the hell did they become so damn chummy?

  “I said, ‘aren’t you looking forward to having someone your own age around like Knox here that you can relate to and open up to?’”

  My eyes immediately dart to Knox, sitting right across from me, and I can feel the crimson creeping into my cheeks; open up to.

  Knox grins wickedly at me, fully getting the unintentional double-entendre as much as I do and letting me know it.

  “Oh, I-” I swallow the heat in my face and turn to smile benignly at my dad; “Oh, sure.”

  “So glad to hear it, honey,” He says, sipping his wine; “You know, I think Knox here is going to make a good companion for you. I think he’s got a lot to offer and a lot he can teach you.”

  I jump slightly as I feel Knox kick my shin under the table, and my eyes fly to his, seeing him grinning like a damn shark at me.

  Please, let me sink into the floor right now.

  “See, that’s what I told her, Mr. McCauley,” Knox says shaking his head and smiling at my dad like they’re old pals; “She just needs to lighten up and let me.”

  My dad chuckles again, smiling across the table at Amanda while Knox grins widely at me and tries to poke me again with his toe. I kick him back.

  “Honestly, honey, I think Knox could make a great imprint on you.”

  Dad and Amanda are both looking at me, so they don’t see Knox holding the brussel sprout up to his mouth with his eyes locked on mine as he dramatically flicks his tongue across it. I snap; that’s it; “I need to go study,” I say suddenly, scooting my chair back loudly; ““Can I be excused?” I mumble out, avoiding looking directly at any of them as I lie.

  *****

  I drop my burning hot face into the cool relief of my hands as I shut the door to my room behind me.

  This cannot keep going like this. I feel like I’m on this constant rollercoaster around him, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I can never tell if he’s going to say something funny, or supportive or insightful, or if he’s just going to do something wholly inappropriate.

  Like, for instance, freaking kissing me.

  “Hate” is a strong word, but there’s so much to hate about him and this situation we’re suddenly tossed into. I hate that suddenly we’re supposed to be this big happy family with two people I don’t even know. I hate that I can’t be in the same room as Knox and my dad without worrying that he’s going to spill the beans about seeing me play that night.

  And as much as I hate that he kissed me, I hate it even more that I can’t stop thinking about the feel of his lips on mine.

  Or that thinking about it has my panties completely wet.

  I slump onto my bed, thinking about Knox’s naked torso, and those tattoos that curl up his arms and down his ribs. I think of the edginess they say about him; the way they say “screw you” to conventions and normalcy. And I think the way they slip beneath the waist of his briefs down the groove of his hips, and...and…

  I groan as I squeeze my legs together, biting my lip and pressing my face into the bedspread. This is not a good direction for my thoughts to be headed in. I am not going to think of my damn stepbrother like that.

  I’m off the bed and shaking Knox out of my head as I pull the keyboard out from closet. I can’t sing; not here and not when everyone’s home like this. But I can plug the headphones in, and I can mouth the words as I play into my own ear.

  My fingers trace the white and black keys, finding grounding and and calmness in the familiarity of them. And then I’m breathing the lyrics as my fingers dancing over the keys.

  The words, like all of the songs I’ve written, are meaningless and shallow, because they’re made up. Im singing about lost love and th
e longing of the heart, but I’ve never felt those things; not really at least. It’s more like emotion that I know of, but that I’m coating in the words I know should go along with them; words I’m not entirely worthy of saying.

  But I play anyways, because it’s an escape; a reprieve from the confusion swirling through this house right now. But then, something happens as the songs whisper from my lips, and suddenly, as much as I fight it, there’s a face to those words. A cocky, arrogant, smirking face.

  A forbidden face.

  My fucking stepbrother’s face.

  I shove the keyboard away with a groan, tossing the headphones off and burrowing under the cover of my bed. It’s like a heat wave creeping through my body; a dam crashing down under the weight of what it’s trying to hold back.

  And all at once, everything that’s been brewing inside of me comes rushing to the surface. Every forbidden thought, every dirty daydream, every lingering, scandalizing look at that chiseled chest and those ripped abs comes bubbling up as I let myself sink in the fantasy of Knox.

  Fingers slide their way down my stomach, and I’m pulling at the button of my jeans and then sliding my hand deeper. Fingers push their way under the elastic of my panties as I shove and kick my pants down around my ankles, and then I’m gasping quietly into the pillows as I find the wet heat at my center.

  I’m squeezing my eyes shut and imagining the forbidden. I’m reliving that kiss as my fingers rub circles around my aching clit. They move faster and faster, soaked in the honeyed wetness of my desire as I picture him doing more than kissing me in that bathroom.

  Much more.

  I’m not reaching for the vibrator hidden beneath the sheet music in my bedside table drawer this time, but I don’t even need it as I imagine Knox Shepherd tearing my towel away and taking my body.

  He’s exploring me, pushing me higher and higher, and as I slip a finger into my opening, I’m imagining him showing me something more; something new as he fills me and stretches me open for the first time.

  Teaching me.

  When I come, I’m picturing that grin, and as the orgasm crashes around me, I’m lost in it.

  She’s quiet; too quiet. And it’s also way too early for the lights to be off in her room. No one goes to bed at 7:30 on a Friday night during the last summer before they go to college; not even this girl.

  I’m browsing for bike parts on ebay on my laptop, but I can’t help the wicked thoughts that start to creep into my head. What is she doing just a few feet away from me on the other side of the wall?

  Again, the twisting, complex thoughts about Paige start to play that tug-of-war inside my head. It’s the same battle as before too. On the one side, this girl is just bad news. She’s an uptight prude, and I’m most certainly wasting my time even trying to bark up that tree. Hell, even if something did happen, she’s a virgin. And as hard as that makes my dick every time I think about, that’s a huge fucking red flag. That’s got clingy and needy and emotionally attached written in big fucking letters all over it. No way.

  Oh, and there’s that lingering, gnawing little detail that by this fall, she’s going to be my fucking stepsister.

  I mean, I’ve got some standards and scruples, right?

  I try and drag my attention back to the tube-wrap auction on the screen in front of me, but that silence from her room is deafening. It’s daring me, tempting me to find out what she’s up to. I know what they say about curiosity and cats but, fuck it.

  The laptop is cast aside as I slip out of my bed and make my way to the bathroom connecting our rooms. I’m quiet, tip-toeing across the tiled floor to the door on her side. The silence on the other side is broken just for one second by the smallest rustling sound.

  Shit, maybe she is just sleeping.

  And maybe I’m turning into this giant creep, standing here like some sort of mouth-breather in the dark with my cock rock hard in my sweats.

  Wishful thinking, that’s all. It’s my own fucking ego and my own pent up sexual frustration that has me imagining little miss priss is in there playing with her tight, untouched pussy while thinking of me.

  Get over yourself, asshole.

  I tighten my jaw as I lean in closer to the door, hoping just for one little thing as I slowly wrap my fingers around my dick through my sweats.

  Silence, of course.

  I roll my eyes at my own fucking absurdity, and I’m just turning to head back to my ebay auction, when I hear it.

  “Oh, Knox.”

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. It’s barely above a whisper, but I know what I heard. And suddenly my cock is throbbing back to rock hard as I groan and slump my head against the doorframe of the locked door.

  Jesus, this is going to be a long fucking summer.

  *****

  I sleep late the next day, probably because I was up half the night tossing and turning, picturing Paige playing with herself while she moaned my name. Picturing her writhing across her sheets, tangled in her own passion as she cried out for me.

  And no, “manually” working on the program didn’t help. Either time.

  There’s a note on the kitchen counter from my mom about her and Joe being out until dinner with their florist. I roll my eyes as I stick a cup into the Keurig machine and let the humming of the gizmo draw me out of my sleep; what about looking at flowers can possibly take five hours?

  I don’t realize I’m pacing the kitchen until maybe my fourth lap around the island, and then I stop short, blinking as I take a sip of coffee.

  I’m bored. Like, really really bored, and there is nothing to do in this castle of a house. For a second, I think about calling Justin and Matt over to get up to some trouble, but the thought of bringing those two idiots anywhere near Paige has me gritting my teeth.

  Bad idea.

  I switch paths and start thinking about some of the girls I could call instead; girls who I could probably smooth talk into one last hoorah before they go off to school, especially with a freaking palace of house like this. Jackie? Damn, no; Europe for the summer. Kelsey? Nope, boyfriend. Teagan? I wrinkle my nose; too much of a bitch.

  I frown as I slump into one of the bar stools at the island in the kitchen, mad at myself for what I’m doing right now. I might not be a shrink, but I know exactly what I’m doing here inside my head as I go through the list. OK, some are legit like Jackie actually being in Europe right now, but when I start to get to things like “too blonde” for Meredith, or “wears too much pink” for Stephanie, I know I’m just making excuses.

  But it’s the reason that I’m making those excuses that has me more frustrated than even going down the list in the first place. The reason who’s sitting upstairs in her room pointedly ignoring me.

  Because as annoyingly prudish and uptight and prim and proper as that girl is, there’s something stupidly sexy about Paige; something that’s gotten its claws in me and won’t let go. And right now, that girl is shutting herself away from me because I’ve been acting like a dick to her since I first walked in the door, even if it is just because I’m trying to distance myself from her.

  Time for a peace accord.

  *****

  This time, I actually put a bathing suit on before I knock on her door. No more leering at her in my underwear shenanigans. I can’t honestly say that’s ever worked anyways, but it’s certainly not the sort of move that works with a girl like Paige, that much is obvious.