SAVIOR: A Stepbrother Romance

by Ora Wilde

  And Lucas... that son of a bitch was grinning the whole time his goons were kicking me on the ground.

  “You... you said you were beaten up by some drunks you didn’t know,” she struggled to say. Her voice was cracking. Her hands were trembling. She was very affected by what she witnessed.

  “Uhm... they did seem to be drunk,” I tried to reason out.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that it was Lucas?” she asked with a sudden burst of anger. “You lied to me!”

  I fell silent. I didn’t know what to say. The truth would surely break her heart.

  But I couldn’t force myself to lie to her anymore. Not after everything. Not with how I really felt about her.

  “You’re going to marry him,” I uttered.

  “And what’s that have to do with lying?” She was still mad.

  I was reluctant to answer. My eyes wandered all over the room, hoping to find something - anything - that would help get out of that situation.

  “Why did you lie to me?” she repeated her question, furiously still. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Lucas?”

  “Because I didn’t want you hurt, okay?” Out of desperation and guilt and habit, the words just exploded out of my mouth.

  She was visibly jolted by what I said.

  “I didn’t want you to be bothered by the thought that he was a dishonorable jackass when you’re about to marry him in a few weeks,” I continued. “I didn’t want you to wallow in misery, hounded by the idea that the man you want to spend the rest of your life with is capable of such things.”

  Her eyes began to swell. Her lips started to puff up. She was at the verge of crying.

  I sat beside her and rubbed her back.

  “Hey, hey... what’s done is done,” I tried to explain. “No use feeling bad about it...”

  “But... you got hurt...”

  “Heh! It’s not like I’m not used to it. I get beaten up for a living.”

  She laughed. I laughed. We laughed. Again.

  While Danny Might was being interviewed, sharing some theatrical anecdotes about my so-called road to redemption, we laughed.

  We laughed and laughed and laughed...

  Then she rested her head on my chest.

  She was so close to me. I could smell the fragrant scent of her hair. I could feel the warmth of her skin. I could hear the beating of her heart.

  I kissed her forehead.

  She looked up.

  Our eyes met.

  And our lips followed soon thereafter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  MEG

  For weeks, I have always imagined that kiss.

  And when it finally happened, I discovered that it was better and worse than how I pictured it to be.

  Better because the passion that we shared at that moment was both tender and intense. His lips caressed mine with varying degrees of gentleness... brushing its surface like a feather one second, and traversing the contours of my mouth with craving nibbles the next. He was happy with what we were sharing, but he also gave hints that he wanted more.

  And that was what made it worse.

  I wanted more.

  I shouldn’t.

  I wouldn’t have... but the series of events that led to that instance made me reconsider where my life was headed... and where my heart truly lied.

  And so I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me, our locked lips pressed even harder against each other. I couldn’t remember whose tongue extended first, but it didn’t matter. He soon explored my mouth, and I explored his... and it felt so good... so wonderful... so right.

  He sensed that I wanted it... that I wanted him.

  His fervor escalated. He took control. He allowed his tongue to lead the dance. Then his body followed suit. He got up from the side of the bed and went in front of me, with his lips never leaving mine. He held my cheek and softly stroked it, as if he was assuring me that he would take good care of my body, and all I had to do was trust him.

  I reclined on the bed, and he was on top of me... kissing, biting... licking... I liked the licking part the most.

  He licked me from my lips to my ear, from my ear to my neck, and from my neck to my collarbone...

  He was running out of space, and he was yearning for more...

  So, with his mouth, he undid the buttons of my dress, one by one. He did so with masterful grace, his every motion intensifying the exhilaration I was feeling. An ache formed in my gut... a different kind of pain... one of desperate needing... one of insatiable desire...

  He stopped with the fourth button, bit the edge of the left side of my dress and pulled it open. His mouth reached for the front clasp of my bra. His lips pressed against the lock. His tongue flicked the clip. The covers flung open, revealing my bosoms completely for him to see... and to savor... and to taste...

  He knew what he was doing. He has done it before. Countless times, perhaps.

  His lips glided over the skin of my breasts and I squirmed. My back arched forward, feeding him more of my mounds of womanly flesh. My toes curled. And I felt my inner thighs moisten from the drip that cascaded from my womanhood.

  I was wet.

  Wetter than I have ever been my entire life.

  He let out his tongue and he slurped the entirety of my breasts, one after the other, passing through my nipples with every motion, further electrifying my senses with turbulent bliss.

  His hand slid inside my dress, feeling my thighs, inching slowly towards the spot where my legs parted.

  He took his time with everything he did. Often, his lips would hover above my nips, teasing me with what his mouth could do, before plunging his mouth towards them... relishing each point of contact... tasting every inch he could find.

  His fingers slithered through the rim of my underwear, exploring the area underneath... smooth, undiscovered, untouched. He liked what he found. One finger became two, and soon enough, his entire hand was beneath my laced knickers... feeling... loving... wanting...

  He reached the slit between my thighs. A finger drifted up and down the lining. A terrible, but delightful, sense of need gripped me. With every pass, the thrill intensified. With every stroke, my yearning magnified.

  I wanted him...

  I wanted him so bad...

  My arms were around his neck. I pulled his head closer. I buried my tongue deeper into his mouth. I pressed my bare breasts against his sturdy chest. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles together, drawing his body closer to me.

  I felt his manhood, hard and gifted and throbbing.

  He sensed my passion. He freed himself for a while to remove his shirt. He quickly unbuttoned his jeans and and pulled them off. I didn’t see him take off his briefs or his boxers or whatever he was wearing underneath... all I knew is that when his body returned, I felt the full nakedness of his fine form swarming all over me.

  Freed from the confines of clothing, he turned into a completely different beast. His kisses became more forceful. His touch became more dire. His longing became more savage.

  He lifted up my dress until it was up my belly. Then he pulled down my panties, purposefully, as if he didn’t care if it would be ripped by the boldness of his action.

  And when he rested his body on top of me, my pussy - wet and tingling and needing - rubbed against his rock-solid cock, and at that moment, I believed that there was no better match in the world. His dick was made for me, and my cunt was made for him, and it all felt so natural... so fated... beyond doubt...

  My dampness made things slippery. I offered no resistance. He may or may not have intended it, but as he continued to rub his cock along my clit, it just went in, sliding inside ever so easily.

  I felt a different kind of shock with his initial entry... terrifying... intoxicating... indulging...

  My body stiffened. My nails dug deep into his back. I moaned, loudly I think... without care for anyone else who might hear.

  All the pleasures in the world, all the joys
that life could offer, all the promising possibilities that tomorrow may bring... everything... cocooned in that instance...

  He paused after the first insertion, feeling all that was inside. He would tilt his hips from side to side and his cock would explore my inner walls, and I squealed even louder.

  Then he proceeded to thrust... slowly at first... eventually picking up his pace... in and out and in and out... my cunt was getting wetter with every penetration.

  And he was moaning too... his groans were so manly, so rugged, so tough. Knowing I had that kind of an effect on him only heightened my craving for more.

  He elevated my hips, untangling my ankles. He then hooked my legs over his shoulders. He hoisted his buttocks before thrusting once more... stronger... deeper... more determined than before.

  I could feel him, all of him, inside me.

  His thrusts became faster, more intense, and more powerful.

  I wailed louder. My body started to shiver. Waves of ecstasy started to gush inside of me, from my gut to my pussy to every part of my being.

  He didn’t stop. Instead, he placed his fingers over my clit, rubbing it vigorously as he continued to pump. The combination of his acts drove me crazier...

  I wanted to explode.

  And I did.

  I screamed in absolute rapture as my body tightened. Every repressed desire... every guilty fantasy... the ardent thirst for his affection... all that I have tried to deny since I met him... culminated in one violent eruption.

  It lasted for a number of seconds... maybe even a minute. He didn’t stop thrusting and I didn’t stop coming... not until my body surrendered.

  I came and it was his turn.

  To my surprise, however, he stopped as soon as I stopped quivering and moaning. He withdrew his cock and lied down beside me. He placed his arms over my breasts, his leg over my thighs. He was embracing me. He looked at me with a warm, satisfied smile on his face.

  I should ask.

  It would be awkward, but I should ask.

  “W-Why did you stop?” My voice was still trembling from sexual delight.

  He gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m good,” he answered.

  “But... you haven’t... you know...”

  “I haven’t reached my climax?” he tried to clarify, his smile distorted as he felt a semblance of shame... shame for using such polite words to refer to an orgasm.

  “Yes,” I verified my query.

  “I already have.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “This. Being with you. Having you. Holding you. This is my climax.”

  It was late and I didn’t get enough shut-eye that night. But no matter how short my slumber was, it would always be remembered as the happiest and most comforting sleep I’ve ever had.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  CONNER

  The last two weeks leading to the fight seemed like a Twilight Zone episode. Those days felt like they were encapsulated in a bubble, floating in isolation across the time-space continuum.

  I’ve never felt happier my entire life. I was so happy, in fact, that the championship fight I was preparing for became a mere afterthought.

  But I’ve never been so afraid, as well. I knew that bubble would burst. Its existence had a timer, and with each passing day, I inched closer to the inevitability of reality, that she would say goodbye to be with the man she has always intended to marry.

  I hoped, though, and I couldn’t be faulted.

  When she found out that her fiancee beat me up, she got mad. They never talked nor met since she confronted him about the matter. She chose to spend her time with me.

  And I was left wondering.

  We made love. In secret, away from the prying eyes of the people we know, as well as the people we don’t know who happened to know us, we acted like we were together... like we were a couple so madly in love with each other. We would hold hands and kiss and hug and whisper the sweetest nothings on each other’s ear. We never made love again, but it didn’t matter. I was happy just to be with her, and I deeply cherished every tender moment we shared.

  But the closeness we had, the intimacy we allowed ourselves to enjoy... was it real? Or did she just feel compelled because of guilt... because of what he did to me... because of the pain I would endure once she goes away?

  Training during those last two weeks was like a roller coaster ride with its ups and downs. Some days, I was so elated by her presence in my life that I became soft. My mind was filled with thoughts of her, and Coach Mikey often yelled at me, pleading for me to get back on track. Other days, I was so consumed about the idea of her and him being together. Rage would take over me and I would hit the bags with so much force that left my knuckles sore. One time, I failed to keep my blow in check that I hyperextended my radial bone. Searing pain shot up to my shoulder, and I feared that the injury I’ve been hiding was aggravated.

  Love and training. I always knew they were a bad match.

  But what could I do? The heart wants what the heart wants.

  Damn fucking cliché.

  Damn fucking musings.

  What has that girl done to me?

  It didn’t matter.

  I didn’t care.

  My world was all about her, and I’ve never been happier.

  Until two days before the fight.

  After four full rounds of sparring with Jersey, I was ready to hit the showers and call it a day. I know how you tend to overwork yourself just before a fight, Coach Mikey said. But you’ve already reached your peak, so take it slow and maintain it until fight night.

  We were supposed to drive to Vegas the next day, just in time for the weigh in. It was my last training session in Susanville. In the next two days, all I’d be doing would be a round or two of very light sparring, as well as going through the game plan with the rest of the team.

  I sat on one of the stools to catch my breath. Coach Mikey, Pearson and Jersey went ahead.

  It was then when she arrived.

  I smiled as I saw her. But as she approached, I got a closer look of her face... her eyes were tumid, her cheeks moistened, her nose reddened... she has been crying.

  “Margaret, what’s wrong?” I asked her, worried that something bad might’ve happened.

  “It’s Lucas,” she said.

  “What about him?”

  She didn’t reply immediately. Tears fell from her eyes and she looked away.

  “He said...” she struggled to continue. “He said that he loves me.”

  For days we didn’t talk about him. We avoided discussing her upcoming marriage, whether she’d still push through with it or not. I was too afraid to ask. She was too terrified to even think about it. But the few times she did talk about Lucas, one thing remained a consistent subject: his failure to say those three words.

  “Well... that should be good, right?” I uttered without even thinking. All I wanted was to make her feel better.

  “Con... we should stop this...”

  I have been struck by the heaviest punchers in my sport, but they all didn’t compare to the blow she dealt me that instance.

  “W-What?” was all I could say.

  “Con... I’m getting married this weekend...” a reminder I didn’t want to hear. “And he said he loves me...”

  “And you believe him?” Pain and anger and hatred were beginning to consume my heart.

  “I have to,” she answered remorsefully.

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because?”

  “I... I don’t know. I just have to.”

  I had to ask. I didn’t want to lose her. It was then or never.

  “Do you love him?” A question that I avoided to throw, but I was left with no other choice.

  Again, she didn’t reply instantly. She looked at me with tears on her cheeks. Her very soul was being ripped apart, that much I could tell. She had to choose.

  And she chose.

  “Yes.”<
br />
  Shit!

  It was then when I lost it. Rage took over and I raised my voice.

  “Your man is a selfish son of a bitch!” I yelled. “You’re just too blind to see through him!”