by Amy Faye
But he wasn't the kind to just hook up and let it stay there. Because relationships like that, they're not relationships at all.
There's nothing stopping her from going out to find someone else, and there's nothing stopping him. But the idea of someone else, between her legs, the idea of her letting out those moans for another guy—
He could feel himself stiffening at the thought of what they'd done, and he could feel the anger already rising, just at the very notion.
No, it had always had a time limit on it, and it had always been fragile. But it had never been nothing. Now he just had to turn it from something sexual into something brotherly. Or, at least, he had to convince everyone else that was what he'd done.
Because she was going to be his sister, any day now. She was going to be allowed to have boyfriends, and it was going to be his job to play the tough brother, not the jilted lover.
He couldn't focus on the game footage, though. So he let it run in the background. He'd already have to watch it over again. It was just a formality at this point.
Besides that, it was a physical sport. He was already getting his pitches in, he was already hitting his marks. He was hitting his speed targets. The catcher would call what he wanted, and Jeff would hit the marks. Simple as that.
Why he needed to watch game footage—
No, he shouldn't question it. Just because his job was to trust the catcher, to trust Coach, that didn't mean he was allowed to simply not develop a game sense. He needed to have a good feeling for when something was dangerous.
He focused up for the tenth time in the two hours since Cathy had gone off to her studio. She'd be back in a little while. At some point, she'd get his text about dinner. Maybe she already had it.
She'd been avoiding him. He couldn't blame her. He'd been avoiding her, too. For reasons that were simultaneously obvious and not quite good enough to be satisfying. Each wanted the other. That was obvious. And they couldn't have each other. That was obvious, too. So it wasn't hard to figure out why they were avoiding each other.
But they'd have to get over it. To paint a picture of a happy family. At least he had to. It was far too long and far too embarrassing a story to be explaining to the press, and eventually they would start asking questions.
If he didn't give them answers, they'd start speculating. Maybe they'd start speculating anyways. But he sure as hell didn't want to cause anything he could easily avoid by just making the past go away as best as he could. By forgetting it.
She came back in the middle of the eighth. The game was a foregone conclusion by then. Tigers win. The Twins would have to make six runs in the next inning—Mauer was good, but he was never that good. Few people are, or ever were.
Third out. Top of the ninth, just as the door closes.
"Hey, did you get my text?"
She was already going up the stairs. No answer. He didn't like it. He paused the video and followed her upstairs, came down the hall just in time to see her peel the leotard away from her skin, just in time to see her comfortably-sized fall free of the sports bra she peeled off.
Her eyes went wide and she kicked the door shut, but not before he had a chance to take in her pretty—and, he knew from experience, tasty—pale nipples and attractive figure.
"I'm sorry," he said automatically, even though he wasn't.
"Yeah, well, it's my own fault."
"I guess it is, but I'm still sorry."
"Well, thanks."
"Did you get my text?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
"Fine."
A minute later she came out. Sadly, she'd dressed again, and she looked as good as she ever had. He smiled at the thought, at the way that her clothes clung attractively to her clothes, accentuated her womanish hips and her plump breasts.
They climbed into the truck together. The location, combined with the smell of her deodorant, brought up a distinct memory in Jeff's mind. One that almost certainly wasn't going to get a repeat.
But that didn't stop a guy from dreaming, did it?
They were on the road, heading towards who even knew where, when she finally bothered to speak.
"I need to talk to you about something."
"Shoot."
"I don't know how to say this so I'm going to come out and say it."
"Got it."
"I need to borrow some money."
Jeff's spine tingled. "What kind of money are we talking about here?"
"Ah. A lot of money."
"Good. What kind of money are we talking about here in numbers?"
"Well, uh. Ten thousand. Maybe. For now."
"Ten thousand dollars? For now? As in, maybe more later?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"No, it's fine. You're my sister now, and I mean. I've got the money."
"I wouldn't have asked if I thought it would hurt you badly."
"No, I know that. I just. That is a lot of money."
"I know. I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything."
A thought ran through his head and out his mouth before he could stop it.
"Only if you do anything I want. Until you pay back the money."
He tried to make it sound like a joke. It was a joke. That's all it was. He wasn't serious. At least, he wasn't serious when he thought it, and he wasn't serious when he said it, but the thought still went through his head, and when he imagined it—the imagination was serious as a heart attack.
And his voice didn't sound like it was a joke, either. His cock twitched at the images that passed through his mind, one after the other.
"Anything you say?"
"It was a joke," he tried to explain. He sounded lame. Apologetic. He shouldn't have had to apologize for anything in the first place. It was a joke, right? He wasn't serious. Right?
"I'll do it," she said. Her voice was soft.
"Are you serious?"
"Look, just shut up and tell me that you agree."
He looked away from the road and into her eyes. "If you're sure, then you got it. You get whatever you need, and I get whatever I need. Fair enough?"
She nodded. "Fair enough."
Chapter Seventeen
The food was as good as any that she'd ever eaten. Which was a surprise, because as usual he'd picked it all on his own, with no particular input from her. It was some sort of Brazilian Steakhouse, whatever that meant, and the prices on the menu were high enough that she didn't want to think too hard about what the bill was going to come out as.
But if he was paying, and he insisted that he was, and he didn't mind the prices, then why would she freak out about it? There's no reason to panic until he says "okay now you pay your half," after all.
And he's not going to, not least of the reasons being the promise she made to him. The agreement. The deal, if you will.
Her chest tightens. The deal. Was she selling herself for money? Was that what was happening?
She couldn't deny the attraction between them, no matter how she tried. No matter how much she wanted to deny it. There was something there. And it was something that, in spite of herself, she wanted to stay there. Something that she liked being there.
She wanted him. She'd wanted him since the first time she laid eyes on him. But it wasn't supposed to happen, not any more. She was going to get him in trouble. She was going to get herself in trouble.
It didn't matter as much for her, of course. She didn't need to worry about her reputation as much. A little weird sex on the side had nothing like the effect of, say, heavy coke use. Which was the real norm.
But even still, she did worry about it. After all, the whole situation with every dancer relied on having plausible deniability. As long as they didn't put themselves in a position to embarrass the troupe by getting caught with drugs, it really didn't matter.
But she could easily get caught with Jeff. Easily.
And then they'd have some real awkward questions to answer, questions she didn't have an easy response to. Q
uestions that Jeff might not even have thought of, and even if he had, he certainly didn't have any more answers than she did.
Still—she needed the money. That thought kept coming up, and then it kept going away again, long enough to make her worry that maybe she was making a mistake. Maybe she shouldn't have done any of this with him.
Maybe she should have said no. Found somewhere else to get money from. He'd given way as soon as she'd expressed some doubts. Maybe she could have just asked for the money without the stipulations.
That came with its own set of problems, though. Its own set of problems that she wasn't in any way prepared to accept.
Well, no. It didn't come with its own set of problems, did it? It came with one problem. One very specific problem. It was sitting on the opposite side of the table from her, eating a french fry and looking way too good for his own good.
Specifically, the problem was that their relationship would change. It would stay changed, stay the way that it had been, before. She'd have to accept that she wasn't going to be with him any more. Not the way she wanted to be.
The offer meant that he saw her as something very different from just his sister. And that promise, that idea, was too much to give up just because of a little bit of risk.
If he could decide to see her as a woman, not as his future step-sister, then she wanted to keep that going as long as possible before he came to his senses. And no doubt, eventually, that was going to happen. He'd realize that this was a mistake, and that he was putting his career at risk by being with her.
If she wanted to continue anything like a relationship with him, then she couldn't fight back against it. She couldn't stop and question and doubt. She'd have to figure out what she was supposed to feel about it later. Right now, all Cathy knew was that what she did feel. And that was that she wanted him more than she wanted to feel like a good girl.
Hell, fuck being a good girl. What was the point in it? Everyone else was out getting what they wanted. They wanted to get high, they wanted to fuck, they wanted—
They wanted what they could get.
Who the hell were they to tell her that she couldn't get hers? To tell her that she didn't deserve to get what she wanted?
Her guts twisted up, her entire body already on edge. Stuck in the lurch.
He was serious, right? He was going to make her—to ask her to, anyways. To fuck him. He was going to make her lay down and just—
God. Her skin tingled at the idea. Just imagining the feeling of his lips on her body, of the way that he'd fill her up, of the way that he'd take control of her…
It was already eating at whatever little doubt remained in her mind. She wanted it. There was no denying it, not any more. She wanted everything he could give her and more, and all he had to do was ask.
Because he was in charge now. He'd decided to be, he'd asked her to give him control, and she'd agreed.
It may not have been smart, but it was what she wanted. The only way to get what she needed. Was it the money that she really needed, though? Or was it something else entirely?
Chapter Eighteen
It really was a lovely supper. Jeff still wasn't entirely used to the new area yet. That was going to take time, regardless of what he did. Eventually, these streets would seem familiar. He already knew about 96, 275… where they went, exactly, those were questions. But the corridor was there.
And slowly, around him, the metro area continued to expand as he went around, needing to go to new places and find new things to do. Luckily, with the arrangement that they'd made before dinner, he might not need to find new people to do them with.
He reached one arm across the truck and rested it on her shoulder. She didn't shy away. That said, she didn't exactly fight to stay close to him either. Which was interesting. She was still doubting what was going to happen with them.
He had his own doubts. A big mess of 'em. But the real question was a fairly simple one, and it came down to one simple question. Is he going to do it, or isn't he?
Once you answer that, the rest of it comes easily. And he'd had plenty of time to decide when and how he was going to use his 'access' to his sister-to-be.
The right thing, the thing a good man would do… well, that would have been to not make the joke in the first place. Second, would have been to refuse, back down on the request. Then if he did neither of those things, then at least he should not use it. Not ever.
But he was already past that, wasn't he? Which left him with the extremely liberating realization that he certainly could use it. And if he was going to use his power over her, then there was no time like the present.
"Where's a good place around here? Private, a little secluded?"
"What?"
"You know what I mean, don't you?"
"I do, but I don't know how I would know that."
"Give me a guess, then."
"Uh. Shoot. Hines Drive maybe?"
Jeff nodded. "You know how to get there?"
She did. It took another ten minutes to get over there, and just like she'd predicted, secluded it was. A long line of parks and baseball diamonds spotted with places to park. Surprisingly little in the way of street lights.
Which meant that everyone probably used this place for the same thing, and if they did, then there was a good chance cops would come by at some point. They wouldn't be here that long, though. Only a few minutes.
He turned into a turnaround and cut the power to the truck. The lights shut off and they were left in darkness, except for the shine of lights passing through.
"Take it out," he said. His voice sounded vaguely threatening, with an edge to it he hadn't known that he was putting there.
She looked at him, confused and uncertain.
"You know what I mean. Go on. Consider this a test drive."
She didn't respond, not out loud. But she did pull the zipper down all the same, easing it open tooth-by-tooth until his hardening manhood pressed his light-blue boxers out the top of his jeans.
Jeff eased the seat back as far as it would go and reclined it a little, to make as much room as he could give her. "Go on. Use your mouth a bit."
"Way out here? In public?"
"What's wrong? Didn't you promise to do anything I said?"
"I mean, I did, but—"
"But what?"
"But what if we get caught? Wouldn't that—your reputation, your contract—"
"Let me worry about me. You worry about what I tell you to do. When I tell you to worry, then worry, got it?"
"Yes sir," she said. She sounded almost dejected for a moment.
"Good girl. Now. Suck my cock a bit. You know how."
She dipped her head and that exquisite warmth engulfed him. He wasn't close, and he wasn't feeling as if he was going to be, and yet…
Something inside him wanted to cum right there, wanted to fill her mouth with his fluids. His eyes rolled a little. "Keep going, you know what to do."
She did. Her head bobbed, sometimes coming off completely to lick up and down the shaft a bit. Jesus Christ did it feel good. She'd learned well from their first time together. It may have lacked variety, and she never tried to take him very deep, but good god, between everything she was giving him—
He bucked his hips a bit.
"I'm going to cum." She pulled her mouth off and took him in her hand, jerking a little more. He rested his hand on her wrist. "Did I tell you to stop?"
"No, but—"
"Test drive, Cathy. I need to know how well you follow instructions, don't I?"
"And if I don't do what you ask?"
"Then nothing. I'll be very sad, but it won't hurt your bottom line."
That made her face twist up. She'd apparently been envisioning this as some sort of blackmail thing. Oh, how mistaken she was. This was what it had always been. A relationship.
They'd put it on hold for a while, but he saw the opportunity to continue it, and he took that opportunity.
The dynamic had changed, tha
t much was for sure. She needed him, and he knew it. That changed things. It always did.
And he wasn't any longer just a guy she knew, just a cute face. Now he was paying her ten thousand dollars every who-knows-how-often.
What was the difference between paying her to follow his instructions, and giving her the money and her feeling extreme gratitude about it? On a fundamental level, no difference, right?
Her head dipped and she took him in her mouth again, but the edge was gone. His orgasm had faded in the time that it took for her to decide to keep going, and now he had a better idea.
"Stop," he said softly. She stopped with some reluctance and sat back in her own seat.
"Is something wrong?"
"Not at all. I just need you to get those pants off."
"What?"
"I've got a better idea than your mouth."
She'd already started slipping her leggings down her hips, lifting her butt up to get them down further. She'd picked up on the dynamic quickly. That was a plus. She understood where things were going, how they were going to work.
They'd only go as far as she wanted them to. He could be a bastard about it. He could threaten to take the money away. He could do all kinds of things. And she'd listen to what she was made to do.
Instead, as best as he could manage anyways, he'd guide the conversation more than dominate it. If she said no, he'd listen to it. But he'd tell her what she wanted first. Then she'd have to decide if she thought it was worth saying no to.
His hand dipped between her thighs, probing and exploring and testing her wetness. She seemed to be enjoying this a little bit more than she was letting on, something about the openness of it all no doubt cutting through her.
"Climb into my lap." She did as she was told, straddling his hips and grinding a little against his cock before he had even told her what she was supposed to be doing. He moved along with her for a moment before holding her still.
"Now you're going to fuck me," he said. "And you're going to decide where I cum."
"I don't think—"