by Nicole Snow
Claire looks at me, her big brown eyes flashing through the pre-dawn gloom. “What about last night? Did I disappoint you?”
I grab her, pull her close. Fuck, her warmth feels good. Dangerously tempting. I savor it as long as I can without my dick hounding me to fuck her.
“Nothing's changed, babe. Nothing. Listen to me and go back to sleep. We'll have all the time in the world to talk about it when you're well.”
I'm a horny sonofabitch, but I'm not selfish or stupid. She's in no condition for the horizontal gymnastics I've got in mind. Fucking will have to wait – as much as I want to stab myself in the eye for thinking it.
She relaxes in my embrace. My words soothe her, and I help her lay down, pulling the sheets up tight for her. It doesn't take much more convincing 'til she closes her eyes. Soon as I see her chest slowing and her breath goes soft, I quietly slip out.
I grab a fresh change of clothes and wash up. Fat Boy left me with a few parting blows on the jaw, but nothing that won't heal with a little time. His sting reminds me the victory was hard won last night, making it all the sweeter.
So does the lingering taste of Claire's lips on mine. No shit, I can still taste everything. Her kiss, her pussy cream, everything I wanted to suck and bite and lick for hours.
God willing, I'll do it again. Soon. Just not soon enough to satisfy my utterly impatient fuck below the waist. There's only one remedy for blue balls that ever works.
I head down the long corridor toward the back door, itching for a morning swim. It's a cool summer morning. I've started many mornings like it – mostly the ones when I don't wake up with some easy broad in my bed, ready to empty my balls before I send her on her merry way.
A long, cold swim will have to do. Sure, I could head down to Club Zing right now and find a few stragglers who'd fall to their knees and suck me off in minutes.
But they're not her, and they'll never fuck with my head the way Claire does. They'll never make my dick hammer half as hard as she does, turn me into an aching mess before I've even been inside her.
I'm outside and the big glass door clicks shut behind me. That's when I get the shock of my life.
Dad's sitting in a lounge chair next to the pool, something he never does. He's got a cigar in his mouth. When he sees me, he stops smoking, and gingerly flicks a few ashes onto the tile.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” I growl, stepping close to the very private space he's intruding in. The pool's always been an extension of my territory in this house.
Shit, he barely spends any time in his own house at all. Maybe a little more since he moved in his trophy girl from Congress.
“Why is it so hard to just say 'hello,' Son?” Dad stands, stubs out his smoke, and stops with just a few feet between us. “I know you came home late last night, carrying your sister, Ty. Is the poor girl still alive?”
He's got a sarcastic curl in his lips. He knows damned well she is, and the venom in his voice makes me see red.
“How the fuck did you know?” It hits me, and I run a hand across my face. “Joan. God damn it. You said you'd stop pulling that shit after I turned eighteen – I'm not a fucking kid anymore, old man! You don't need to threaten her to spy on me.”
Dad doesn't flinch, even when I get up in his face. He's the only bastard on this planet who doesn't, probably because he can remember me when I was just some gawky kid a few inches shorter than him.
“And you assured me you wouldn't drag Mandy's daughter into your childish antics. She's a good kid. If she's come home too plastered to walk, then you're the reason, and I want to know why.”
Okay, Dad, I think. You want the truth?
My fuckface of a former manager at the club tried to force himself on her in the backroom after my roughest fight in months. I broke his fucking nose and drove her home, but not before I shoved my face in her virgin pussy 'til she came her brains out.
Hey, maybe we've got something in common after all, assuming your new wife's pussy tastes half as good as little Sis'.
Fuck. That's everything I want to say, but obviously I don't.
It's bad enough the asshole in front of me threatened our poor housekeeper. He's done it before when he wants to pump her about my latest fuck ups, holding her job security over her. Joan cleans early and late, just doing her job, but she sees a helluva lot. She deserves better.
“This is all on you, Tyler.” He narrows his eyes. “You know that, right? It's time for you to take responsibility, son. Our poor maid wouldn't need to have these unpleasant conversations with me if I didn't have to worry about what's happening in my own goddamned household.”
“That's just it – there's nothing for you to worry about. Claire's fine. She just had a late night out. I took care of everything. I stayed with her while she went to sleep. I know how to look after people, Dad, and I sure as shit don't need you to look after me.”
I'm about to storm out before this shit gets much more explosive. It was a big mistake coming out here. I'll get in my car and drive to beach, swim in the choppy fucking Pacific to blow off steam. And I've got a lot more circulating in my system now that I'm once again wrangling with this dick I'm ashamed to share blood with.
“When are you ever going to grow up, Ty? When?”
My back's turned, but I can feel him shaking his head behind me. Something about that shit causes me to freeze, spin around, and lock onto his icy stare.
“When are you gonna stop being such a selfish jackass? You don't give two shits about Claire's health or what I'm doing with my life. You're just afraid we're gonna do something dumb in front of the media and rock your little empire, or maybe derail wifey's Senate campaign. You don't need to keep pretending you give a fuck about anything besides money and prestige.”
He comes striding up fast, his cheeks flushing red hot. “Little empire? Little?”
Oh, fuck. I can feel the volcano preparing to blow.
“It's that little empire that gives you a standard of living ninety-nine percent of the people on this planet will never dream of, Tyler. It's everything I've built with my bare hands! Hell, I would've loved to go gallivanting around with women and muscle men in my twenties like you. You know what I was doing?”
Fucking shit. Here it comes. I can't roll my eyes fast enough. Too bad it doesn't shut him up. I tune out for half his rant.
“Living like a monk at the goddamned library...ass in chair, coding like a monkey, building Spree line by line and struggling to earn a thousand dollars a month...I swear, son, you just don't get it...you'd blow your stack and run the minute you stepped a single foot into a room full of fucking angel investors!”
It all washes over me. We both know it. Hearing him drop a rare F-bomb snaps me back to attention. I take a few steps backward and start laughing.
Dad looks like a damned grenade about to blow up and shower me in shrapnel. His fists are pressed tight to his gray slacks and they're trembling. He's not man enough to punch me – sometimes I wish he would, just so we'd finally have it out at a level I can actually understand.
But no, I'm not intellectual enough for him. I'm not a suit-wearing workaholic. I'm not rich enough. I haven't pissed away the best years of my life licking other rich dudes' assholes, and shitting my pants every goddamned week over some new lawsuit or fresh regulation or profits for the shareholders.
“And what would you do if another guy walked up and smashed you right in the face, right fucking now?” He's looking at me like I just threatened him.
Well, fuck it, maybe I did. I'm not gonna be the one to break my old man's jaw – even though he's begging for it. Somebody else out there is bound to do it for me one day. I can practically hear the old karma train chugging away in the background, hungry to chew pricks like Dad up and shit them back out.
“I'd walk away before that ever happens,” he stutters. “I'd...I'd call the police.”
The crap coming outta his mouth makes me laugh all over again. I can't help it. If this weren't deadl
y serious, I'd be rolling on the goddamned ground.
“What, are you a hyena now? This is why I've got to treat you like a child, Ty. You haven't grown up yet. It looks like you never will.”
“At least I've grown a fucking backbone.” I can't stop growling, and the droning in my throat only quickens when I see the disgust rippling in his eyes.
“You've wasted half your damned life stacking up coin and never doing shit with it. I know I'm gonna get a call one day from some asshole underling who's found you slumped over at your desk.” I pause. “As much as you piss me off, I don't want that to happen. I wish you'd let go and pull the stick outta your ass just once. The world doesn't need us to be the perfect model billionaire family. It just needs us to be real.”
“Real?” He throws his hands up and paces a lap around me. “What is it with you and that word? What the hell do you know about the real world, anyway? I've given you everything, Ty, and you've taken it all for granted. The six-figure prep school you flunked out of, the summer jobs at my company you blew off, the club I helped you land for a bargain in Seattle...I gave you too much.”
That makes me snort like I'm fucking drowning. It's just as well, seeing how I need to eyeball the water, or else I might end up punching him in his arrogant shit face after all.
“You didn't give me crap after ma died. Not anything that matters. You gave me food, shelter, clothing, the trust fund. You gave me tutors who tried to ram shit down my throat I wasn't interested in. You gave me all the tools I'd need to become a carbon copy of you. And that's all you ever wanted me to be.”
Hatred flickers in his eyes like smoke. The fact that he doesn't have an instant comeback says it all.
I've hit the spike and driven it deep. Too damned far to deny because it's true.
“One thing we'll both agree on,” I say. “You're more stubborn than I am. You won't stop trying to carve the perfect fucking family and make me into the golden boy you always wanted, even when you ought to know it's too late for all that. You want everybody in this damned house being your props for the perfect PR campaign. You won't just chill and accept this shit for what it is. You're too big an asshole, Dad. Hell, if you'd shut the fuck up and accept I'm never gonna be standing in line to take over Spree when you're gone, maybe I'd give you a pass for picking up your DC gold digger and pissing on Mom's grave!”
Near the end, the filter connecting my brain and my mouth snaps. It's too much, even for the bastard giving me the evil eye. I don't expect him to seriously do it – but he fucking does.
For the first time in a long while, Dad surprises me. He moves real fast, and something hard smashes me right in my bruised jaw.
I tumble back. It's all shock and awe. I've been hit by bigger, badder guys hundreds of times. But the fact that I've actually moved my old man to physically strike for the first time in his damned life is like the sky coming down.
I reach up, touch my lip, and I'm bleeding. He's hit pretty fucking hard for a guy who spends all day at meetings. I wipe the blood away and grin, making damned sure he sees what he's done.
Dad jerks his finger out and stabs me in the chest. “You want it this way, buddy, then you got it. You'll never call her Mom. You'll never respect her. Fine. But you will not insult my wife to my face. Understand?”
I'm almost sorry if he weren't such a giant cock. Still, I manage to nod, and he jerks away.
I listen to his footsteps fading behind me and don't turn around 'til they stop. I'm wondering why I haven't heard the door close, and it's because he's still standing there, looking at me like I just stomped mud across his precious Turkish rugs flown in from Istanbul.
“I've been wrong about you. Everything I've given you...it's only held you back. It's poisoned you, Son.” His voice is low, cold, robotic. “You've got until the end of summer to pack up your things and leave the state. Make some tough decisions, and do it without me and my dirty money, Ty. I'm selling your club. I'm setting you free. And if I find out you've done anything to upset Mandy, Claire, or – God help you – my company, I will have you prosecuted and locked away. I don't care if you're my own flesh and blood. You're a sick animal, son, and there's nothing more I can do for you.”
I'm fucking stunned. Gutted. I can't believe it's taken me so long to see the fighter instinct is genetic.
Except, unlike the combo punches and gut busters I use to take down my opponents, my old man rips hearts out and pops them in his withered hands.
It's all over quickly, so freakishly fast I can't decide whether to rush him and choke him 'til he passes out, or else fall to the ground and puke my guts out.
He's gone before I can do jack shit. The door pops open and slams shut behind him, rattling the heavy glass.
I've got half a mind to pick up the deck furniture and start throwing it through every hand-crafted window pane lining the back of the house. But fucking up my old man's castle won't really do shit. It'll satisfy my monkey brain and nothing else.
It won't take back what just happened, it won't fix anything, and it sure as shit won't extinguish the firestorm he just hurled on my head.
I'm fucked.
Shit, I'm past wanting the asshole to change his mind. He whipped his dick out and swung it, forever reminding me that I'm a goddamned worm without him and these riches I'm supposed to worship.
Forget it. Damn it. Fuck it.
There's nothing left to do except what I came out here for in the first place. I tear my shirt off and drop my pants. Then I run to the pool and dive in buck naked.
I swim fast, furious, and hard as I can, splashing water all over the place. When my limbs are full of fire and my lungs don't wanna pump anymore, my mind's clear enough to start thinking about all the decisions I should've made years ago.
Nothing but the swim keeps me from burning myself alive.
I've got a hundred questions and no good answers. First thing on the list – where the fuck can I go that'll still have waters as clear and crisp as this to clear my head in?
7
Everything to Lose (Claire)
I wake up more rested than I've felt for years. Guess there's something about having the weight of this insane attraction to my step-brother lifted that makes all kinds of things easier.
And no, after last night, he's not just my cocky, foul mouthed step-brother. He's become my lover.
He's stopped just short of claiming me the deepest way a man can. More importantly, he stopped when he could've taken me, leashed his desire because he cares.
Nobody else ever helped me when I'm sick or drunk except a few close friends like Dana.
Sure, Mom used to do it, but it was always somebody else's job like the housekeeper she hired during her long sessions in DC.
I wake up feeling like a billion dollars for the first time since I moved into this mansion. All the pieces are in place, and that makes me smile. It doesn't fade when I'm in the shower and freshening up. It's so nice to throw on a t-shirt and shorts after my first week wearing all business attire.
Breakfast is next on my list, but first I want some fresh air to help feed the cozy afterglow heating up my brain. I head down the hall to the big glass panels leading outside, hoping the morning chill has faded by the pool.
It's a lovely place to sit and I really haven't enjoyed it enough this summer. Lucky for me, there's still time to enjoy lots of things before the Washington's infamous rainy season creeps in.
I'm almost to the door when I see someone moving in the pool. One quick glance at the smooth, shapely muscles delving through the water like it's nothing tells me who.
It's Ty. And he's – holy shit – completely naked.
My body heats with the same delicious energy running through my veins last night. I was buzzed, pretty fucked up really, but I remember perfectly how amazing he felt. Actually, I'm relieved to find out it wasn't just the alcohol and the close call with the Swede that made everything so intense.
No, I'm feeling it again. Something's changed.
<
br /> I fold my fingers in front of me and clasp them tight, all I can do to relieve the tension building in my muscles.
Jesus. I didn't think it was possible to want another human being so bad, but I do.
The thick glass between us muffles sound, but I swear I can hear his lungs chugging, hot and heavy like a grizzly bear running down a rival. He moves the waves aside like he's Moses, plowing through the waters effortlessly.
Damn, if only Moses had bulging biceps and savage ink on his skin. I'd have paid more attention in church when I was little during Mom's half-hearted, short lived attempts at passing on my grandmother's faith.
I study him, admiring the raw power and grace in his body. It's hard to believe this is normal for him. He's always out there, always training for the next match, a born fighter who won't hesitate to use all that muscle to protect what's his. And apparently, that now includes me too.
It makes me giddy.
Somewhere in the excitement, I notice his face. It's scrunched up in a furious, painful looking way. Fear sparks my heartbeats faster.
At first, I want to run out and yell, ask him if he's all right. But his laps are steady, and I don't believe he'd stay in the pool if something were really wrong. He certainly wouldn't be circling round and round like a shark.
No, it's not his body that's hurting. It's something inside him.
Ty proves me right a second later when he stops, slicks back his messy brown hair, wiping the excess water away. Then he tips his face to the rising sun and screams, fists in the air, bobbing in the water. He's roaring the same way I imagine a man does when he's shipwrecked and knows he's totally adrift, hopelessly severed from civilization.
Alone.
I need to help him. I reach for the door, put my hand on the knob, and freeze just before I open it.
The war cry ripping through the glass is over, and it's quiet again. But something about this new silence scares me.
I've seen him upset. I've seen him act like a total ass, watched him wreck a man for putting his hands on me. This rage pouring out of him is somewhere else on Ty's anger spectrum, some dark, evil place I can't comprehend.