The Need Boxset

by K. I. Lynn

  “Runt? I’m seventeen. I can talk to you however I want, dickface.”

  “That’s it.” Ryan lets me go, but only long enough to force me into a choke-hold and he starts rubbing his knuckles into my head.

  Hard.

  “Ow! Motherfucker. Let me go.”

  “Nope. Someone has to reteach you some manners.” He rubs his knuckles across my head some more.

  “I want nieces and nephews.” I punch his thigh as hard as I can, satisfied when he grunts in pain. “Don’t make me take them away from you!”

  Ryan laughs and finally lets me go. I stumble back away from him and glare at him through the loose strands of hair in front of my face. Giving him the finger, I reach up and rip the pony tail out of my hair, letting it fall down my back. “Jerk.” I sneer at him.

  He smiles back. “Brat.”

  I’m about to give him another, more vulgar nickname, when out of the corner of my eye, I see something that makes my breath hitch.

  Not something.

  Someone.

  He’s standing just inside his room, mere feet from the door to my own.

  His eyes are on me.

  And I . . . I . . .

  Can’t breathe.

  I told myself that I was ready to finally see him in person after almost two years.

  I lied to myself.

  I told myself that the attraction I felt for him was nearly dead. That I could handle being in the same room as him since I’d handled seeing him on Skype every few weeks.

  I fucking lied to myself.

  Ryan’s phone chirps with an incoming message. He checks it, then rushes out of my room with a smile on his face. “Catch you two later. Dana’s downstairs waiting for me.”

  “Oh my God!” I cry, trying to pretend that Brayden’s eyes aren’t fucking with my head, that his presence hasn’t invaded every molecule in my body. “She’s still on your dick?”

  “Language, Kira!” Ryan scolds as he pounds his way down the stairs.

  I force a laugh, because I have to act normal. Have to pretend that nothing is wrong.

  Brayden steps out of his room and walks toward mine. He stops just outside the door, tense.

  Everything is wrong. So damn wrong.

  My starved eyes take him in, how much wider he is. Just like Ryan, he’s packed on what seems like twenty pounds of pure muscle over the last two years, and his shoulders are so wide inside his dark-red t-shirt, that it almost seems like they won’t fit through my door.

  His hair is still the same. Shorter on the sides. Longer up on top. Deliciously messy, as if he still hasn’t kicked the habit of running his fingers through it.

  Slowly, his hands come up and grab onto the doorframe, and every muscle from his wrists to his biceps seem to flex as he squeezes down on it.

  We stand there, for I don’t know how long, looking at each other. I know what he sees as he takes me in. My tight, white belly tank. The tight gray yoga pants. Light pink sneakers with the black Nike symbol on the sides.

  I’m supposed to be at the gym in the next thirty minutes, but for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to move right now and don’t think I’ll be able to anytime soon.

  Does he see the differences in me? That I’ve grown up—have gotten into the best shape of my life over the last year? I have friends now, three of them, twins and another girl who’d transferred to my high school last year. They’re obsessed with being fit and they’ve dragged me into their world.

  I also finally filled out. I know this. Not only does my bra size prove it, but the guys around town are always flirting with me. Telling me. I’m proud of it. The man I’m looking at might not have wanted me, but if I wanted to, I could have any guy in this damn neighborhood.

  Am I petty for wishing that Brayden realizes what I’ve become? I can’t help it. He threw me away, couldn’t even give me the one night I’d wanted with him, and the tiny hole inside me that still remembers that pain wants him to realize how stupid he was.

  Brayden’s arms flex, as if he squeezed down on the door again, and his jaw goes just as tight as the rest of him. His dark green eyes flash, going even darker, and that easily I’m transported back to that night.

  When he’d first kissed me.

  I was supposed to be over this! What’s happening to me right now? I’m cycling between extreme awareness of him, an even more extreme awareness of my body’s reactions to him, and the reawakening of every bitter emotion I once felt because of him.

  But I know what’s happening. The man before me—the one with the dark stubble covering his jaw and the body of a fucking sex God—is still as much of a testosterone powerhouse as he’s always been.

  Almost two years he kept away, staying at school last summer and at his mom’s at Christmas. The time did nothing but add to his sexiness, filling him out, gifting him with an even darker appeal than he had before. Anyone would be weak against it, I remind myself. And they are. They always have been. I’m only human and it’s not my fault I’m susceptible. Every damn girl he’s come across has practically ripped her clothes off and begged him to mate with her.

  And . . . there goes another round of irrational, unnecessary, supposed-to-be-so-dead anger.

  What the fuck?

  “Hello, Kira,” he finally rasps. His heavy lashes rise as he looks back at my face.

  Those two words squeeze down around my soul, tormenting me. Stifling my resolve to remain strong. My shallow breaths echo in my ears—rapid, too loud. I know he can hear them. See my insides crumbling.

  He takes one step into my room, then another, but doesn’t go farther than just inside. His eyes flicker over toward my bed, up to the frame hanging on the wall next to it, then back to my face.

  I was almost over him. My life, my hopes for the future, had moved on.

  Then why the hell can’t I breathe right from just looking at him?

  His eyes move over my face, slowly, as if he’s drinking in the sight of me. The energy between us crackles, a palpable presence in the room that steals the last of my breath. The time apart didn’t decrease it. No, the opposite. It feels like he’s an inch away, not ten feet.

  “You’re pale.” Brayden’s brow scrunches, his expression morphing with concern. “Are you all right?”

  No. I’m really not. I just realized I’m not over you.

  “I’m fine.” The lie flies so easily from my lips, my voice perfectly smooth although the rest of me is in chaos right now.

  Hands hanging at his sides, he stands there, destroying me with his mere existence. I want to ask him to leave. To get out of my room so I can go back to rebuilding the nice, safe little lie I’d built around myself, the one where I’d moved on and didn’t pine for him anymore.

  The intensity with which he regards me is more than unnerving—it’s hot. Molten hot.

  I’ve seen attraction in the eyes of many guys before, but this goes beyond that. The way Brayden stares at me has always been so much more.

  Like he wants to eat me.

  Against my will, my eyes trail his body one more time, torturing me with the visual of what he’s become.

  A twenty-year old gorgeous male in his fucking prime.

  And I’m defenseless against it. Utterly defenseless.

  His fingers twitch at his sides. “Don’t I get a hug, too?” he asks me in that same hoarse tone he used to greet me.

  He has to be freaking kidding me. A hug. Is he trying to kill me? “What?” I squeak, hoping I misheard.

  Praying, actually.

  “We haven’t seen each other in two years, Kira. I want a hug.” That last part comes out rough, demanding. He’s not asking me anymore; he’s pretty much telling me I have no choice but to give it to him.

  Because he wants it.

  “What if I don’t want to hug you?”

  His lip twitches. “Oh, really?” My eyes widen as he takes a step forward. “I think that’s bullshit.”

  “It’s the truth.” I don’t want to hug him, b
ecause if I do, I’ll be pressed up against him and lose what little control of my sanity I have left.

  “Tough shit.” He reaches out, grabs hold of my arm, and pulls me to him. My hand slaps against his chest as our bodies collide. “I want a damn hug.”

  I glare up at him. “Are you always this forceful when getting something you want?”

  His jaw clenches and I feel like I’m going to melt from the pure desire in his eyes. “It’s just a hug, Kitty. You used to hug me all the time.”

  The way his voice drops to an almost pathetic level makes my fucking heart hurt. Touch was just like talking to us, easy and normal. Now everything is a fight, a struggle. Conversation had gotten easier over the last year, but being face-to-face has blown it all away. His presence is so much stronger than I remembered.

  I bite my lower lip, fighting back unwanted need.

  Brayden’s eyes flicker down to my mouth.

  Mine drop to lock on his, and all I can think about is how those lips once felt on mine. It’s been two years but time has done absolutely nothing to erase the memory. I suck in a breath, wretched at the fact that I want them again.

  He bites the corner of his lower lip with one incisor, tugging on the plump flesh. A myriad of sensation hits me right between my legs. For a second, Brayden’s expression fools me into thinking he’s about to kiss me, and I have to bite down on my inner cheek to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

  His hands move around to my back, flattening there, reminding me of the size difference between us, of how much bigger he’s become. He trails them down my back slowly, awakening every nerve, leaving it hypersensitive for him. The muscles in my core clench, begging for relief.

  As always when it comes to him.

  “Put your arms around my neck, Kira.”

  The tone of his voice sends a shiver through me, and I shiver again at the feel of his hands, so large, wrapping around my lower back and waist. I’ve been drunk a few times before, and this is exactly what it felt like—a dizzying, utter loss of control.

  A hot spark flashes in Brayden’s emerald eyes. “Now, Kira.”

  My arms move without my consent, rising. My hands decide to stop at his shoulders and cop a feel, curious to see what the new muscles that developed there feel like.

  Something almost savage overtakes his expression when I caress him. Then I blink, and it’s gone. “Kira.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling like my knees are about to give out.

  He palms the back of my head with one hand and I’m reduced to a quivering mass of female hormones. This is it. He’s going to kiss me.

  And I really want it, can’t for the life of me remember why I shouldn’t or how bad he once hurt me. My heart is hammering, attempting to break the bones of my chest.

  But he turns, his stubble brushing against my lips as I settle into the crook of his neck. His nose runs slightly up my neck; his lips ghost across my skin while his warm breath tickles me. Arms pull me in tighter and it’s way past a hug, entering into one of the most intimate situations I’ve ever experienced.

  “When did you get so small?” He groans, circling my waist with his hands, caressing, taking in the feel of me.

  I cling to his neck, pressing my lips tightly together. I don’t have an answer for him. Actually, if I open my mouth, I’m convinced the only thing I’ll be able to give him is a whimper. Pressing my forehead to his huge shoulder, I close my eyes, trapped between basking in the feel of him and a burgeoning panic attack.

  I want him.

  I want him so much.

  More than I’ve ever wanted him before.

  He just smells so damn good, and his body—so big and freaking male—feels even better. A shudder rips through him, sending an answering one through my own, and in it’s wake, all I can remember was that Skype conversation.

  The one where he told me that he had wanted me. That he planned on being with me.

  Brayden tightens his hold around my waist and hauls me fully into him, until there’s no space left between us.

  Not a single centimeter.

  Not even air.

  The large ridge that bumps into my abs is unmistakable. I bite down on my lip and squeeze my eyes together tighter.

  He still wants me.

  Fuck me. He wants me as bad as I want him.

  I shift and turn my head, pressing my forehead into the base of his neck. His pulse pounds back at me and it somehow seems even harder than my own.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  His groaned confession catches me by surprise. Even more so than anything he’s done so far. The tone leaves no doubt and that whimper is ripped right out of me, a loud plaintive sound in the room.

  He doesn’t want me as much as I want him. He wants me more. I feel the certainty flowing between us, as powerful as our attraction.

  His hands slide back and forth, caressing my lower back. The movement jostles me and my breasts rub against his upper abs, shooting pins of pleasure straight down to my core. “Tell me you’ve missed me, Kira.”

  I shake my head frantically against his neck, suffocating on the urge to move my hips against his cock. To bite down on his skin and mark him like he once marked me. “Brayden,” I whisper brokenly, shaking.

  “Fuccck. Too much.” His soft hiss reaches me a split second before he’s gone.

  Just like that.

  One moment holding me and the next he’s stomping out of my room, across the few feet of the hall, and into his own.

  He doesn’t slam the door, but it comes pretty close.

  He’s closed himself off from me again, but he’ll be in there, in this house, for another two months.

  One thousand four-hundred and sixty four hours. And during each and every one, I know for a damned fact, all I’ll be thinking about is how he still makes me feel.

  How he still wants me.

  How we never got the chance to explore this attraction between us.

  How I still want it, more than anything in the freaking world.

  God help me. I won’t resist. I won’t. My body still wants that man, wants him to be the one to initiate me. It’s an obsession that never went away, no matter how hard I tried, and that was when I thought he didn’t reciprocate.

  Now that I know how much he does . . .

  He’s my stepbrother. I know this. We can never be together. Not as boyfriend and girlfriend. But does that mean I can’t have him? Ever? Not once? At least to sate the curiosity and need?

  Jesus. He’s been back for less than thirty minutes and he’s already fucked my mind. I have to get out of here, get some breathing room, try to turn-off what he’s re-awoken in me.

  Still shaking, I rush to my gym bag, grab my phone, and just as fast, I run out of my house. The gym is more of a necessity now than ever. Maybe if I work out until I’m exhausted, then my body won't be able to react to his presence.

  Even I know it’s a desperate, pathetic wish, but it’s all I freaking got.

  It’s been a whole full week of extreme tension between me and Brayden. I’ve tried to convince myself to leave it alone, but his eyes don’t let me. Every time we bump into each other, he seethes with hunger, and at night, all I can think about is the way he stares at me. The way he hugged me. The way his kisses tasted.

  He fucking wants me and I want him. I can’t stop myself from trying to attract him even more. So my skirts have been progressively getting shorter and shorter over the last seven days.

  He seems pissed about it.

  So sue me. The damned T-shirts he wears do nothing to hide how delicious his upper body is. Some might call what I’m doing evil. I call it tit for tat.

  Yesterday, he stared at my thighs while we’d been out bowling and had licked his lips so blatantly that my pussy wept with want. Despite logic, my body is convinced it needs to have him. I’m running on almost pure instinct now, a zombie to the hunger for him.

  This is bullshit. It shouldn’t be this way.

  But
, if I’m going to suffer, I’m sure as hell not going to do it alone.

  Hence: my outfit tonight.

  “Kira!” Ryan snaps the moment he catches sight of me. Oh, oh. Big brother doesn’t look too happy. That’s okay, I wouldn’t be happy if I was my older brother, either. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  Brayden turns, tickets in hand, and the scowl he levels at me is so fierce that it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing. “Yeah, Kira. What the hell are you wearing?”

  He’s trying to sound like a disapproving older brother.

  It’s not working. He sounds more like what he is: a jealous man.

  Smirking, I walk right by him and pluck a ticket out of his hand. I breeze past both him and my brother and straight into the movie theater. I’m not wearing a skirt today. Well, the frilly white shorts I’m wearing look like a skirt, and the hem stops right below my ass cheeks.

  Again, sue me.

  They look nice. A bunch of people think so.

  “Kira!”

  Oh, lookie. There’s Austin waving at me from the concession stand. His eyes tell me he definitely thinks they look nice.

  I hear a very distinct growl behind me but I ignore it. My white floral print heels click on the floor as I make my way over to the rest of the group.

  I know I probably shouldn’t enjoy playing with Brayden like this, but it gives me a rush to know I can affect him this way. He turns me inside out. It’s only fair that I should have some power over him.

  Austin’s smile is mega-watt huge. He’s made it no secret that he wants me. That he doesn’t care what either Ryan or Brayden think. He says it’s because I’m the most beautiful girl in town.

  Honestly, I think it’s because I’m the one girl not actively chasing him. Even Jennifer Henrichs chases after him. When Brayden’s not in town, that is.

  Austin is the typical male model, blond, blue-eyed stunner, and his body only comes in second to Brayden’s. He’s always been attractive and the older he gets, the more attractive he’s becoming.

  He doesn’t do for me what Brayden does. No one does, and I hate Brayden for that. Especially because he acts like I can’t have him.

  So Austin’s attentions are definitely welcome. To a certain extent. And if his wide smile doesn’t sit well with Brayden . . .