by Amy Brent
I looked up at him as I savored the taste of him. He had a smug, dominant grin, and he kept his hand firmly on the back of my head to keep me from pulling away. I used my tongue on his most sensitive spots, making him moan and pull my head down harder with each thrust. When I had to come up for air, I let my fingers work the magic, while I whispered naughty things to him to egg him on.
“God,” he said as he smiled down at me. “You really are a naughty little thing, aren't you?”
I grinned, but before I could reply my mouth was full again. I closed my eyes and pretended that this was okay, that there was nothing wrong with it, that I wouldn't be humiliated if anyone found out. In the moment, all I cared about was embracing my lust. My free hand strayed between my own legs, sending sparks of electricity flying throughout my body.
Matt started pulling my head up and down with more force, and I knew he was close. I wanted his seed inside of me. I was nearly willing to spread my legs and take him in the most forbidden way, but before I worked up the nerve, he reached his climax. I swallowed as much as I could, though I still ended up with an embarrassing mess all over my face.
“God, that was amazing,” Matt said as I wiped my face on his pant legs. “Hey, those are Italian!”
“You're complaining?” I smirked at him.
He snorted and shook his head. “Hell no. That was the best time I've ever had with a girl.”
I got up and straightened my clothes and hair. I didn't want to go back down to the party looking like I'd just been down on my knees. Setting aside how embarrassing that would be, it would raise questions that I would never be able to answer. I supposed that I could maybe make up a story about meeting a guy at the party, but there was too much chance that someone, anyone, might have seen me and Matt leaving the party together. That could lead to scandal.
Matt zipped his pants. “You're amazing, babe,” he whispered. He leaned in to kiss me.
I pulled away and turned my face from him. “Don't.”
“What?” He laughed and shook his head. “Don't go telling me that you're getting all shy now. Not after what you just did.”
“I gave you what you wanted,” I said, refusing to look at him. “It...it's not going to happen again.”
My chest felt tight. I'd wanted this to happen. Deep down, I knew I had. But I was ashamed of myself. For wanting him. For giving in to temptation. For letting my defenses down. But most of all, I was ashamed that I still wanted more.
“Anne...”
“Don't.” I stepped away from him, heading for the stairs. “Please, just don't.”
He followed, but kept his distance. We headed back down to the party, entering through separate doors. I avoided him for the rest of the night.
When it was almost time to leave, my mother found me. “Anne! There you are. Where have you been? And why is your dress all dirty?”
I looked down at my skirt and saw black stains from where I'd knelt on the rooftop. “I...I fell. But I'm fine.”
“Dear, what's wrong?” She cupped my face with her hand, as if checking for a fever. “You're all red. Is everything okay?”
I caught Matt's eyes from across the room. “Yeah, Mom. Everything's fine.”
I tried to avoid Matt for a while after that. I skipped a few of the gatherings I was invited to over the next few months. When I couldn't get out of attending an event, I stayed away from him, hoping he would leave me alone. Though at the same time, I missed him. He brought out a wild side of me that I hadn't even known I'd had. I craved the feel of his skin against mine, the rush of his motorcycle between my legs, the scent of his manly sweat. But like an addict trying to stay on the wagon, I did my best to avoid him.
And I did just fine until my stepfather got sick.
I rushed into the hospital late one night, clutching my jacket around myself. It was a frigid evening, and pockets of snow from earlier in the winter still covered parts of the ground. The heat of the emergency room blasted me in the face as soon as I left the cold night behind. I looked around the room, searching for my mother. She was sitting in the waiting room, clutching her hands in front of her and crying. Matt sat next to her, rubbing her back and speaking softly to her.
“What happened?” I asked as I approached them. My mother had frantically called me a short time before, telling me that my stepfather had suffered an attack, but she hadn't offered any details. She had been too upset to talk.
Matt got up and pulled me aside, giving my mother some space. “Dad had a stroke,” he said. “The doctors are with him now. But it doesn't look good.”
“Oh, Matt. I'm so sorry.” I put my arms around him and held him close. He leaned his head against my shoulder. I could feel the tension in his muscles. I could only imagine what he was going through. I didn't know what it was like to lose a parent. My own dad had walked out on us, but he was still alive, even if we barely spoke anymore.
“I'm fine,” Matt said. He clung to me as if I were the only thing keeping him from breaking down. “I've been ready for this for a while. Dad's not a young man. But it was...so sudden.”
My mind raced, trying to think about what I should do. I really didn't know Mr. Partridge very well. We'd chatted here and there, but he'd never made any real effort to get to know me. I didn't even think he'd made the effort to get to know my mother, outside of the bedroom at least. It made it hard for me to mourn for him. I felt bad, but losing him wouldn't touch me deep inside the way it would if I'd lost my own father.
But Matt was being hit hard. And I needed to comfort him.
One of the doctors came out to talk to us. She said that Mr. Partridge was conscious, and that it would be okay for my mother to go in and talk to him. But they didn't want to disturb him by having a crowd inside the room, so Matt and I would have to wait out here.
“I won't be long,” Mom said, squeezing my hands. I watched her follow the doctor back to my stepfather's room. Matt stood by my side, his back stiff and his face pale. I took his hand and squeezed it. He clung to my hand, and I could tell he was barely keeping himself from shaking.
“Come on,” I said. “Let's take a walk.”
We went out into the freezing night and walked along a footpath that wound around the hospital. The brisk movement kept us warm against the frigid wind. We didn't say anything for a while, merely letting the exercise get our blood pumping and clear our minds.
“I'm going to have to sell the company,” Matt finally said.
“Why?” I didn't know much about the Partridge family's media enterprises, only that they were one of the biggest companies out there.
He shrugged. “It's not my thing. I never cared for being a businessman. I'm sure someone out there will buy it. Maybe Disney or Warner.”
I thought about that, and figured that it was probably for the best. Matt's carefree attitude and general disdain for responsibility wouldn't lend itself to running a nationwide corporation. I couldn't imagine him wearing a suit and tie, sitting at a board meeting, and voting at stockholder conferences.
“Well, whatever you do,” I said, “I'm here for you.”
He stopped, holding me by the arm. “Do you mean that?”
I froze, looking up at him. There was something dangerous about the look in his eyes. Something thrilling.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice a tiny squeak.
And then he kissed me.
He was rough and controlling, pulling me in close. I gasped and struggled against him, but he was too strong. I let him hold me tight, let him shove his tongue into my mouth, while he hands grabbed my ass and squeezed hard. I whimpered, loving the feel of his lips against mine, while at the same time knowing this couldn't happen. I was being weak, letting him in because he was hurting, because he needed to be comforted. But I couldn't do this.
I finally pulled away. “No,” I whispered. “Not...not that.”
“You know you want it.” He held me by my arms, his grip as strong as iron. “I've seen the way you look at me. I see t
he way you dress. Don't act like you don't want it.”
I looked away. I wanted to say something, to reject him, but I couldn't find my voice. I think it was because I knew my words would be lies. “Please. Just stop.”
He pulled away, looking at me with disappointment. I looked up at him, trembling. I knew this wasn't over yet.
I could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant to have me. To claim me. To do whatever he pleased with me. And I knew this wouldn't end until he got what he wanted.
The funeral was three days later. It was a private event, at Matt's request. He didn't want a crowd filled with paparazzi and strangers. It was just me, my mother, and a few close friends of Matt's family.
Afterwards, Matt, Mom, and I went to the reading of the will. I had little interest in hearing how Mr. Partridge distributed his money. I was sure I wasn't getting any, and it didn't really matter. My only concern was for Matt and the future of his company. He still planned to sell everything, but doing so first required him to inherit his father's controlling shares in the company. Without those, he wouldn't have any say in the company's future.
The lawyer read through the will. It was worded simply, with only a few bits of legalese peppered throughout. It wasn't until he got to the end that my head shot up.
“And so,” the lawyer read, “I hereby leave the sum total of my estate in its entirety to my son, Matthew William Partridge.”
Mom and I both stared at Matt. Mom's jaw dropped open. “But,” she said. “But...wait. What about me? I'm his wife!”
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Partridge,” the lawyer said. “The will is quite clear. Though I must tell you it was written before your marriage to Mr. Partridge. I'd been in talks with him about amending the will, but he was still uncertain how to proceed.”
“What does that mean?” Mom asked. She clutched at her purse until her fingers turned white. “What does it mean, he was uncertain?”
“What I mean,” the lawyer said, folding his hands atop the desk, “is that while I know Mr. Partridge wanted to see you taken care of, he did not want you to end up with a controlling interest in his media company. I mean no offense, ma'am, but the fact of the matter is, you were a career waitress before your marriage. Mr. Partridge couldn't give his company to you. It had to be passed to someone who understood how to manage it.”
Mom looked at Matt. Her face was white. “But...but...no. I don't care about the company. What about my money?”
“There is no money, Mrs. Partridge,” the lawyer said. “Mr. Partridge hadn't yet finished setting up the trust fund he planned to leave to you. And by law, it doesn't matter what he 'planned' to do. It only matters what was written on paper. And the only completed copy of a will is this one.” He tapped the pages on his desk.
Mom continued her protests, but Matt put a hand on her knee. “Don't worry, Mom,” he said. I winced when he called her “Mom,” knowing he didn't see her as a real mother. “I'll make sure you're taken care of.”
“You will?” She looked up at him with desperate hope in her teary eyes.
Matt looked right at me, looking me dead in the eye. “Yes. I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
A cold shiver worked its way up my spine.
“Because,” I whispered, licking my lips, “you're my stepbrother.”
Matt stood towering over me, waiting for me to submit to his will. He'd told me what he wanted before he would help take care of my mother. He wanted me. My body, my willing submission to his desires. I'd said no at first. But then I'd realized what a desperate situation my mother was in. Before she'd married Mr. Partridge, she'd been deeply in debt and on the verge of losing her house. Once she moved into the mansion, she'd sold the house, quit her job, and left her old life behind. But now, if Matt decided to, he could kick her out of the mansion and she'd be homeless in the streets. I didn't know if he'd actually do it, or if this was all a game to him, but I knew that either way, I was a pawn in his scheme.
Matt slipped his hand into my tight white blouse. I trembled as he touched my breast and pinched my nipple. I wanted to be angry with him to be disgusted that he was making me do this. But deep down, I knew this was what I wanted. I wanted to be used by him. To be dominated like this. To be forced into submission.
He placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down to my knees. I looked up at him, trembling. Yes, this was how I wanted it. I was too scared to admit my desires to myself, too ashamed to take what I wanted. So if I told myself he was forcing me, if I pretended that I had no choice, then it was as if I wasn't the one making this decision. I'd pretend that he was taking advantage of me so that I could get what I wanted without being disgusted with myself. Because no matter how much I tried to deny it, I desperately wanted my stepbrother. I wanted him to hold me down, to take me, to claim me as his own, to have his way with me in the dirtiest ways possible.
But I wouldn't admit that aloud. Not to him, and not to myself.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don't make me.
Please make me, I thought silently to myself.
“I'm just giving you what you've always wanted, Sis.” He grinned as he started unzipping his pants.
“No,” I said, lowering my eyes in shame. “No, I don't want to.”
Yes I do, I thought.
He reached down and grabbed my chin in an iron grip, tilting my face up towards him. “Open your mouth.”
I did as he told me, and before I could pull away, he thrust himself between my lips.
I moaned and closed my eyes, letting him do as he pleased. Letting go of my fears, of all control, was liberating. All I had to do was kneel there and let myself be used, and I loved it.
He held my head by both sides, thrusting himself against my face. I reached up and clung to his thighs, holding on for all I was worth. I was ready to take everything, to swallow it all, though I knew there was more to what he wanted.
He started to tense up, and I thought for sure his climax was approaching. But I didn't want it to end yet. I wanted to spur him on, to make him take me in the most forbidden way. He kept thrusting, and it seemed he wouldn't stop. I knew if I was going to get what I truly wanted, I was going to have to convince him to take me.
I needed to rile up his most dominant instincts. Make him more aggressive.
I pulled back, gasping for air. I backed away from him, pushing across the floor with my hands and feet. “No,” I said. “Don't.”
He glared at me, angry at being denied when he was so close to climax. He stalked forward, grabbing me. I struggled, but it was only for show. My struggles spurred him on, making him get rougher. He grabbed me and pushed me down to the ground, pinning me beneath him.
Yes, I thought. Yes, make me. Don't let me get away.
“No,” I said aloud, keeping up the charade. I couldn't tell if he knew I was faking my resistance. It didn't matter, though, as long as my fake protests kept spurring him to be more aggressive. “Please, let me go.”
“You want this, bitch,” he said. He pulled his pants the rest of the way off and knelt between my legs. “You're a tease. Do you like playing games with your big brother?”
“No.” I shook my head, closing my eyes. “I'm not a tease. I'm a good girl.”
He laughed and leaned down over me, spreading my legs. He pressed himself against me. I moaned, aching to have him inside of me. He teased me, rubbing himself against me without finishing what he'd started. I squirmed and whimpered, wanting it, needing it, but unable to do anything but wait until he gave it to me.
He grabbed my hair and turned my face towards him, leering down at me. He made me look into his eyes. I gasped, feeling completely controlled by his stone gaze. In that moment he entered me, filling me, completing me.
I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him tighter against me. There was nothing gentle about the way he took me, there on his bedroom floor. It was raw, it was animalistic, and it was amazing. I grabbed his shoulders and dug my nails into them, holding on for d
ear life. I'd never had a man who was so rough, so passionate, so determined to take what he needed from me. It made me feel wanted and alive.
I was thoroughly worn out by the time he collapsed on top of me, panting. I clung to him, holding him tight against me, refusing to let him go. We were both covered in sweat and out of breath. I felt like I'd earned an Olympic gold medal after such a workout.
Matt rolled off of me, laying on his back on the floor. He closed his eyes, blissfully content. I watched him, wondering what to make of what had just happened. How would this change our relationship? Where would we go from here? But I didn't have any of the answers. Nor did it matter. For now, for this moment, we'd both gotten what we'd wanted for such a long time.
I got up, stretching my back. Doing it on the floor had been kinky, but uncomfortable. I started searching for my clothes. My real clothes, that is. The way too small schoolgirl outfit had done its job by getting Matt all worked up, but I couldn't go home wearing it.
“You in a rush to leave?” Matt asked. He gazed up at me from the floor, laying there with his hands folded under his head.
“We had our fun,” I said, pulling on my pants. “I should head home.”
He got up and came over to me, pulling me into his arms. “Stay.”
“Why?” I looked up at him, uncertain.
“Because I want you to.”
I started to feel warm. “Why?” I asked.
“Because.”
I pursed my lips, sensing something behind his hesitation. He might have been in control when we were having sex, but now that it was done, I'd found a vulnerable place. “Because why?”
“Anne...”
I pulled away, smiling coyly and backing away from him. “Tell me why, Matt.”
He lowered his arms and hung his head, defeated. “Because I'll miss you.”