by Sweet, Izzy
“I feel like it’s a bad habit I need to fuck out of you.”
My breath hitches. It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him, to tell him oh, please do.
“I want to fuck you, Hailey. I want to fuck you so bad.”
He grabs my hand, “Feel my cock.” Once again he guides my hand to what I expect is the bulge in his pants. Instead, I gasp in surprise when I feel my fingers wrapping around his warm velvet flesh.
“Do you feel that?” His hand guides my hand, forcing me to stroke up, towards his head. My fingers touch something wet. “It’s weeping. My dick is fucking crying it missed you so bad.”
Holy shit. I seriously want to swoon. The way he’s talking to me, so dirty, my knees are beyond weak. I squeeze, more out of a reflex to keep from falling. My fingers are wet, coated with him.
Somehow I manage to softly say, “I missed you too.”
“Did you, Hailey?” his silky voice caresses my ear.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Show me,” he instantly challenges me.
How do I show him? How do I put into words the pure agony staying away from him wrecked on me? That even when I found out about Tiffany, even when I believed she was his girlfriend and he was cheating on her with me, that I still wanted him. I still longed for him. I cried more for what would never be than anything else. And that made me cry even more because I felt like a horrible, shitty person who only cared about herself.
“Feel,” my voice cracks like static as I boldly lead his hand beneath my skirt.
The things this man brings out in me. The things I do when I’m with him.
I guide his hand to my wetness. His fingertips trace through my folds. He shudders. I bite my lip.
“So wet,” he growls in husky admiration.
“Please,” I beg though I’m not quite sure what I’m begging for. I just want more. I want what he’s not giving me.
His fingers roam over me, exploring me. Then they enter me. I’m so wet, so ready. There’s really no resistance at all. I groan, my back arches as I clench around him.
“Hailey?” he asks huskily. Slowly, inch by throbbing inch, he curls his fingers and withdraws. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to do this. Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
I hesitate. Not because I want him to stop, but because I can’t decide how to tell him to just please keep going. Please slam himself inside me. Please fill me, please break me. Just do anything. Especially fuck me raw.
Suddenly he slams his fingers inside me. It’s just what I wanted. Just what I needed. Yet, still my body craves more.
“Don’t stop,” I groan. I squeeze my thighs, trying to keep himself inside me. It’s a vain effort, he slips right out.
“Let go of my dick and wrap your arms around me,” he commands.
I’m so eager, so wet and needy, I instantly obey. My hands slide up and I wrap my arms around his neck. His hands, his damp fingers grab me by the ass and he picks me up. Without really thinking about it, I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on.
Andrew carries me to his bedroom. With each step he takes, I feel his hard cock bobbing, bouncing against my ass. I brace myself, I know what’s coming next, yet I’m still surprised by the drop. Together, we fall.
The mattress hits my back. Somehow Andrew manages to keep from completely crushing me. I start to sink and he pushes up on his arms.
Even here, in his bedroom, it’s too dark. I can feel him, I can imagine him, but I just can’t see him. I need to see.
Andrew buries his face in my neck. His teeth are nibbling me when I ask, “Is there a light you can turn on?”
I feel him shift his weight to the right side. I sense his arm reaching over me. There’s a soft click then the small lamp on his nightstand flickers on.
“Better?” he asks coming back.
“Yes,” I blink.
It takes a moment for everything to come into focus. His body hovers above me. With my panties gone and my legs wrapped around his waist, I’m completely spread open. There’s nothing to stop him from taking me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Andrew growls and reaches down.
He takes his cock in his hand then he begins to rub the head through my drenched folds. I moan and writhe. The anticipation, the need to have him inside me is maddening.
“I can’t wait. I’m sorry, I can’t,” he apologizes, then I feel him slamming himself inside me.
He impales me. He so big, so thick. I somehow forgot just how much he fills me. How much he stretches me.
“I love you, Hailey,” he says desperately.
Out, he pulls out. The walls of my sex quiver, empty.
“Don’t,” I cry. It aches, it hurts. I whimper at the loss of him. I just can’t seem to formulate the rest of the words to tell him not to leave me.
He stills, just the tip of him remains. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, in agony. “I can’t stop. I can’t. It will fucking kill me.”
He thrusts forward. It’s so hard, so fast, I’m surprised he didn’t thrust right through me.
“Don’t be sorry,” I somehow finally cry as he rolls his hips, grinding himself deep. “Just don’t stop, please.”
“Never,” he growls and pumps furiously.
His hips meet my hips. He’s so deep, so fast, he starts smashing my clit. I can’t take it. The pressure, the sensation, everything that’s coiled up inside me just snaps. I’ve been wound up and tense for too long. I need release as much as I need air to breathe. I need to let go. I need to shed my skin and connect with him.
“Andrew!” I scream only to cry out with the next, “AJ!” It doesn’t matter, not at this point. To me, no matter what he says, they’re one and the same now. And inside my head they’ll probably always be.
“Fuck, Hailey, fuck,” he roars.
His head drops, his teeth sink into my neck. My sex convulses. It feels like every muscle in my body spasms. I’m lost, drowning in wave after wave of wetness.
Andrew’s cock grows, it feels like he’s swelling inside me. Then he’s pulses and pumps me full of his heat.
I don’t know how long it takes for us both to come back down to our senses. All I know is that at one point, he rolls over, dragging me with him. I snuggle up to Andrew’s chest and listen to him breathe as he falls asleep.
It feels so right, my skin touching his skin. I’m warm in his arms, protected. He may be an asshole to the rest of the world, but when he looks into my eyes, when I feel him burying himself inside me, losing himself, I know he loves me.
There have been lies. We’ve both been dishonest. Him, in the way he tried to obtain me, and the way he tried to keep me. Me, by not being up front and acknowledging my feelings in the first place. Maybe if I hadn’t worried too much by about what people think, maybe none of this would have even happened. Maybe Andrew wouldn’t have resorted to catfishing me.
I turn my head to the side and place a little kiss on his chest. He murmurs in his sleep, it sounds like he’s saying my name while his arms tighten around me.
This is where I belong. There is where I need to be.
With him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The air raid siren wails. I jerk awake, terrified. My heart is racing, a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. Oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill it. I jump out of bed and stalk over to Andrew’s nightstand. I grab the alarm. I yank hard, ripping its plug out of the socket. I chuck the alarm at the wall and smile in satisfaction as I watch it crack and break. Then I climb back in bed.
I drift back to sleep. I don’t know how long I doze for before Andrew wakes me up again.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
I groan and bury my head under my pillow.
“What happened to my alarm clock?”
I grumble under the pillow. Suddenly the pillow disappears and Andrew is staring down at me.
“Say that again?”
“I killed it,” I rasp. My mouth is dry, it feels
like I’ve been sucking on cotton.
Andrew’s brow furrows, “Why?”
I clear my throat. That’s a little better. “It was either it or me.”
“What did it ever do to you?” Andrew asks as if he didn’t know.
I sit up, clutching the sheet. “Look, if I’m going to be staying here, I can’t be getting woken up by that thing every day. It will kill me. I know I may have gone a little overboard, throwing it at the wall and all, and I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up and pay for the damages.” I look over at the remains of the alarm clock. “But it so had it coming.”
“You’re staying?” Andrew asks softly.
I look back at Andrew and blink, “Would you rather stay at my place?”
Epilogue
A few months later…
“Well, it’s official,” Andrew calls out as he strides into the kitchen, waving a white paper in the air like it’s a flag. “It’s not my baby.”
“Well, duh,” I say unimpressed and take a bite out of my cookie.
We both totally knew this day was coming. It’s been over nine months since Tiffany claimed she was pregnant, and I know for a fact that for the past ten months, he’s spent every night in bed with me. There’s no way the baby she popped out could be Andrew’s. Yet, she still tried to hit him up for money.
“It’s just a relief, finally having proof,” he sighs as he comes up behind me.
I hand him a cookie, “Proof rarely stops crazy.”
“And that’s why we have restraining orders.” He takes a bite out of my cookie and makes a face.
“What, you don’t like goat cheese?”
Andrew swallows though it looks like he’s in pain. He walks over to the sink and turns the faucet on. He sticks his head down and drinks right out of the tap.
When he’s done drinking, he turns back around, wipes his mouth on his rolled-up shirtsleeve and says, “It’s not your best recipe, babe.”
I roll my eyes at him, “You just don’t have any taste.”
“Oh, I have taste,” Andrew says huskily and stalks back toward me.
I wave my cookie at him menacingly, “Uh, uh, you stay away. I’m working.”
Andrew grins, dodges my goat cheese cookie and grabs me by the hips, “Work can wait.”
“What’s gotten into you?” I gasp as Andrew stiffens against me. He’s usually not so persistent when I’m in the kitchen.
“All this paternity business has got me thinking.”
Uh oh.
“Thinking about what?” I ask hesitantly.
“What you would look like swelling with my baby,” he growls and tries to kiss me.
“No way,” I push at him. “No buns in this oven until after the wedding.”
Andrew proposed to me within a few days of us getting back together. He proposed with the very same ring I found in his closet. My mom and I have put a lot of time and effort into planning the perfect wedding.
“Why not?” he persists and tries to steal another kiss.
I twist in his arms and he just misses me. “We’ve already bought the dress.”
“We can buy another one or have this one altered.”
“That sounds like a pain.”
He smirks at me, “Weddings are a pain.”
I thump him in the chest.
“I think you would look so hot pregnant with my baby.”
“AJ,” I sigh.
“You still haven’t given me a good reason.”
“People tend to get married first, then have the baby.”
“Still not a good reason.” Andrew frowns, “Do you not want to have my baby?”
“No,” I say. His eyes go wide. Shit. “I mean yes. I mean, gah, it’s not that!”
Instead of kissing me, Andrew reaches up and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Then what is it?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say What will people think? But Andrew and I have both vowed to no longer live our lives that way. We both want to be happy, regardless of stigma or how society judges us. We know we belong together, that we were meant for each other. Our parents accept us. Screw the haters.
“I… guess I don’t really have a good reason right now.”
Andrew’s eyes light up and he grins. He leans down and starts nibbling on my neck. Already, I can feel myself flushing with that familiar heat.
“That doesn’t mean, though, that I won’t think of one later….”
The End
The playlist for this series is available on Spotify
https://open.spotify.com/user/dirtynothings/playlist/3y8KL23TaNcu8PVm4jDiPf
Dear Reader,
As a bonus, I’ve included the very first stepbrother story I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it.
Romanced by my Billionaire Stepbrother
Chapter One
In my hands, I held a blue jewelry box. I knew that inside the box was a beautiful, expensive piece of jewelry that was purchased just for me.
I was loathed to open it.
I did not want to see the trinket. I did not want to open the box and be tempted to keep whatever was inside it.
My roommate Hannah stood quietly behind me, shifting from foot to foot with badly repressed eagerness. She waited for me to make my decision.
We went through this same scenario every day.
If I accepted the gift, it meant that I accepted him. I could never accept him, no matter how selfishly I wanted to.
At exactly 8:30 every morning, before I headed out for school, there would be a knock on my front door. There, on the other side of the door, would be an older, balding gentleman dressed smartly in a black suit.
He would greet me, “Good morning, miss,” and hand me a jewelry box.
Today the box was blue, yesterday it had been white.
Once I accepted the box, the well-dressed gentleman would then say, “Mr. Blackman requests you join him for breakfast.”
Every morning I declined.
The gentleman would bow, bid me, “Good day, miss,” and return to the limo parked right outside my quaint apartment building.
The limo would then roll on down the street, only to return the next morning.
If I refused to open the box, the gentleman would stand outside my door until I did.
The first time I refused the box, I had returned home after an entire day out to find the man standing in the same place.
I didn’t want him to suffer on account of me or lose his position, so I accepted the presents. But I didn’t keep them.
Every morning I’d pass the gift off to Hannah. Every morning she’d react the same. She’d squeal in delight and then wear whatever pretty thing was sent. She was becoming rich with my discarded goodies.
This morning was no different.
Today the box opened to reveal a beautiful pink sapphire ring. I would have loved to wear it. Pink was my favorite.
Hannah slipped the ring onto her finger and over her knuckle. It fit perfectly. She then extended her slender arm out in front of her and admired the pink stone in the sunlight.
“Oh, it’s the prettiest one yet,” she sighed in delight.
“Yeah,” I grumbled in agreement.
It was pretty, and if the circumstances were different, I would have kept the ring. I would be wearing it.
As it was, I couldn’t help but be jealous, even though I had willingly given the ring to her.
It looked better on her, anyway, I had told myself. We were obviously the same ring size, but my fingers looked a lot thicker than her’s.
Hannah and I were as opposite in looks as you could get. Where Hannah was blonde, I was a dark brunette. Where she was petite and slender, I was taller and thicker.
I loved Hannah to the moon and back. She was such a good roommate and friend to me. I loved her and treated her like a sister.
At times, though, like at that moment, I envied her and wished I could be her.
I wanted sparkling green eyes instead of my muddied ugly brown.
I wanted her seemingly flawless milky white skin instead of my freckled tan.
And most of all, I wanted her freedom to accept all the pretty trinkets, and not feel as if she owed the man who had sent them.
Chapter Two
Six years ago my father passed away. It was a freak and fatal car accident.
I loved my daddy. I remembered riding on his shoulders and going for ice cream. I remembered him cheering in his deep, booming voice during my soccer games. I remembered that with him I felt safe and protected.
I haven’t played soccer since he passed. It would never be the same.
My life was never the same.
My mom and I continued. We were brokenhearted, but we still had each other.
And she was an awesome mom.
She was the embodiment of strength and perseverance. She went back to school, to earn a degree in business at night, and worked through the day waiting tables at the local diner.
By the time the money from my father’s meager insurance policy had completely run out, she had gone from stay-at-home mom to a degree holding soon-to-be successful business woman.
She nailed her first interview and landed a highly competitive position with Blackman Enterprises. That’s when she met Edward Blackman, and we would never need to worry about money again.
It was a whirlwind romance and I, myself was left breathless, wondering what had just happened. It had been six years since my father passed. During all of that time, my mother had not shown even the slightest of interest in other men.
There had been no dating, just suddenly him.
I could definitely see what my mom saw in Mr. Blackman. He was mouthwatering handsome. The moment I first met him I could have sworn he was the most handsome man I had ever met.
He had ink black hair, deep dark blue eyes, and pale pink lips. Those lips of his always seemed to be curled with a hint of amusement. He was always composed, ever immaculate. Not a hair on his handsome head was ever out of place. And I couldn’t recall ever seeing him dressed in anything that wasn’t very expensive, and very black.