With all their stares on me, I’ve never felt more dominating. When I’m with Sy, I feel small and doe-like. With these men, I feel like a queen. And they’re all bowing down to serve my every need.
Right as I’m losing my top, I’m carted up like a sack of potatoes. “What the fuck?!” I screech. I start pounding the back of the man carrying me away. “You’re not allowed to touch me! No touching!” I continue to kick and squeal. When a large hand slaps my ass, I’m very aware of the person dragging me off stage. And all the adrenaline and good feelings I had while dancing dissipate. Silas.
He’s so pissed. He hasn’t even said a word to me. That says more than a yelling from Mamá would. He smacks my ass again even harder, and I scream out in pleasure pain. I’m so unbelievably aroused right now.
“Sy, put me down!” I demand, and still, he doesn’t make a sound. We pass by all the private rooms, the Treehouse, and the kitchen. When we’re in his office, not Mama’s, he places me on the loveseat. I’m huffing at this point, he had no right to embarrass me that way.
He sits behind his big desk and I’ve never in my life seen him this angry. Not even when he caught me kissing a boy at our holiday party a few months ago.
His eyes are drawn together, and he has a permanent looking scowl, making him seem more closed-off than normal. When I start to open my mouth, he cuts the air. His head shake is enough to tell me not to speak, that he’s about to lose his shit. But regardless of my warning, I speak anyway. I never claimed to be smart.
“You can’t just tote me off like you’re a caveman, Sy. I was having fun. I’m a good dancer, and the men loved me.”
He’s out of his seat in an instant stalking my way. His eyes tell me to shut the hell up while the evil smirk on his lips and bulge in his pants are challenging me to argue more.
“You’re not the boss of me, stepdaddy,” I say it with contempt, but the fire in his eyes shows he’s ready to attack me. He’s hovering over me in the next moment, his breathing ragged like he’s just run several miles to get to me. Sy’s smile is cruel, and I know my punishment for calling him Daddy will be hell.
“Mi corazoncito,” he groans on an exhale, his accent thicker than I’ve ever heard before. It’s husky, full of promise, and so fucking sexy that I squeeze my thighs together. The lace contraption rubs on my swollen clit, and I have to bite back a moan.
Sy grips my chin forcefully, with no restrain, and I know the moment I peer into those gray orbs, he’s going to kiss me. And if I don’t stop him, he’s going to lose himself inside of me. He did promise me after all.
His lips crush mine hard enough to leave bruises, his teeth bite my lips, and his tongue spears into my mouth like he’s raging war, and it’s a fight for his life.
I reciprocate as much as he allows. He’s in control, he’s always in control. Sy takes, and takes, and takes, and I let him. I let him have all of me.
He’s my stepfather and I’m kissing him as a lover, he calls me little girl when Mamá is around, and all these things should disgust me, but it only makes me hotter.
My pussy clenches with each thrust of his tongue, imagining it’s him entering my body with the same harshness. I’m soaked, my arousal making my outfit stick to me. It’s constricting, suffocating me, and forcing me to try and remove it. The scratchy material is both heaven and hell. Sy grips my throat, and then his mouth is all over my skin.
He’s attacking each tender area, licking, and near tongue fucking every part of my flesh. He wants me, but he holds back. He’s demanding, but also begs with his eyes. Sy needs me to give in, make the first real move, and I’m so fucking ready to let him claim me.
This dance we do is dangerous, but I’m sick of him controlling the game, I want him. He was mine first, and I’m taking him back from her. I’m going to fuck him and make him aware of what he’s missing while fucking Mamá instead of me.
“Fuck me, Sy,” I mewl, gripping his hard cock through his dress slacks. He stares at me; wild eyes searching for any reason to deny me again. But this time I won’t let him, this time he’s going to give in and I’ll ride his dick like I’ve dreamed about for years.
He doesn’t make a move, so I deftly unbutton his pants and start shoving them down his thighs. He’s stalk still but his eyes watch my every move, for once, he’s giving me control. And it’s the best gift he could have ever gifted me.
When his pants are down, and his cock is nearly trying to burst through his boxer briefs, I undo my top. The pasties sit on my nipples, but Sy looks tortured just from this visual. He licks his lips slowly and brings his fist to his mouth. He bites it hard, like it gives him the control to not attack me and fuck me like he’s surely fantasized.
I don’t question how he’s home from Texas, and Mamá is nowhere to be seen. As of right now, Sy is mine and only mine.
He lowers to his knees, his eyes never leaving my breasts as they lay bare for him. He starts kissing and licking up from my ankles to my pelvic bone. And then he’s biting me hard. He soothes it with his tongue, licking the juncture of my thighs. When he’s not nibbling, he’s sucking. He’s marking me with his mouth and I cry out with each movement.
When he reaches the apex between my thighs, he kisses my panty clad pussy. He bites, sucks, and grinds his mouth over the mesh fabric. He’s making it even wetter, and I bet he can taste me.
No words are exchanged as his animalistic growls of contentment fill his office. When Sy moves my panties to the side to lick my wet cunt, the door opens. I’m so shell shocked that I can’t even cover myself up fast enough.
Sy growls, rising to his feet. He doesn’t even wipe my juices from his face when he barks, “Get the fuck out of my office!”
Brax is staring at me with anger, jealousy, and almost something similar to arousal as well. It’s like a disgusted desire in his eyes. And now I’m blushing in shame. He now knows my dirty little secret, and how I sometimes call Silas Daddy as a joke. ¡Maldita sea!
I hurry and put my top back on and brush past both men. This can’t be happening. I really fucked up. Sy and Brax call after me, screaming loudly, but the club’s music mostly drowns them out. Stopping in the Dollhouse, I grab my shit and rush out of the club. I’m in my car right after, speeding for my house. This is so fucked up. I almost slept with my stepdad. I almost screwed my mom’s husband. I almost gave into everything I’ve fantasized about.
God, what is wrong with me? And why in the world can’t I stop?
NINE
LEIA
COME BACK RIGHT NOW! A text from Sy comes in after I’ve already made it to my room, locking the door.
What the hell was that, Lele? Brax’s text comes in right after, and then several others.
What are you doing, baby?
Let me come over, let’s talk.
We leave fairly soon, we can’t have this proverbial elephant between us.
After reading each one, I begin to cry. I’m not one to give into the emotion, but everything is screwed up. How do I fix this? What did I think would happen? That Sy would leave Mamá, and we’d live some fucked up happily ever after?
I head to my closet, tears streaming down my face, my makeup and sweat mixing with them. I probably look like one of those television hookers that had a rough night, I definitely feel like one.
In my closet are several duffle bags. Mamá leaves so often and used to take me, that I’ve got bags o’ plenty for any occasion. Grabbing the first one—a black one with rainbow smiley faces on it, I head to my dresser and start shoving in whatever is easiest.
Heading back to my closet, I get shirts, dresses, and shoes, stuffing them in the bag. When I’m sure I’ve packed everything necessary, I text Mamá, just so she doesn’t worry.
Brax and I decided to do a week long hangout before the trip. Plan our itinerary, get scheduled for the campus, and whatnot. I love you, Mamá. I’ll be staying with him. Hope you make it back safely. I’m really sorry for how I’ve acted.
I don’t even text Br
ax. No matter how humiliating the entire scene at Cynosure was, he’ll always support me and make me feel welcome. He’s my best friend after all, he’s always had my back. Hurrying, I put sweats and a large shirt of Sy’s over my sequined club garb. Running to the bathroom, I do a quick wash of my face, but I’ve still got puffy I-just-bawled eyes.
Without another glance or thought, I shuffle down the stairs and into my car.
Driving the few blocks to his house, I smile. It’s been forever since I stepped foot here. Dahlia—his mom—is going to flip.
Parking my car in their massive driveway, I step out, grabbing my duffle of crap. Mamá hasn’t responded yet, but it hasn’t been too long…and she’s sort of avoiding me.
Making my way up the pebbled path, I wait for Dahlia to rush out. She never misses a first welcome.
“Leia-o-pee-uh!” I hear her call, as she runs out the doors and into my arms. Don’t ask me where her and Brax get these weird ass names, but it’s warming. They act like I’m a missing puzzle piece in their family, and fit me right in with them.
They’re my home, my second one and sort of borrowed, but mine all the same.
“Hey, Dahlia,” I try in a singsong voice, but fail. My emotions are trashed. Luckily, the sun has long set, as I know as soon as I hit those lights by the door, she’ll see my messed up appearance.
At least I had half the mind to do a quick clean, I’ll shower when I get inside.
“Brax hasn’t been home yet, but I’m sure you can wait for him. I’ll even whip you up something to eat. How does that sound?” she hums, coddling me per usual. Most people hate parents that are always wanting to take care of them, but my Mamá has never been that kind of parent. Dahlia though, she gives me so much care and attention. Instead of getting frustrated like a teen usually would, I soak that shit up like a sponge.
She’s the best mom out there. I love my Mamá, but sometimes, I wish Dahlia was my mom instead.
“I’d love that,” I answer appreciatively. And I would, without Mamá around, I’ve been ordering take out. It’s not exactly a healthy diet.
She ushers me inside, and I hurry for Brax’s room, telling her I’m going to shower. I’m not sure how she was too occupied to see my face, but I’m grateful. When I open the door to Brax’s room, I’m immediately welcomed with his manly scent. He has this clean, almost too masculine scent about him. It’s perfect and welcoming, it’s my home away from home.
His room, unlike many teens, is nearly spotless. The only disarray in the room is the workout clothes he tossed, probably after working out today.
Brax isn’t your stereotypical bi-guy. He’s built, hot, and manlier than half the boys at school. People have this view that gay and bisexual men can’t be big and burly. That they have to be feminine and all into fashion. They’d be wrong. He’s manlier than many straight men, and a perfect example of how stereotypes aren’t always accurate.
He has dark blonde, almost brown hair that makes any straight guy take a second look, he’s athletic and built for it too. He’s always looked older than his eighteen-year-old self. And he doesn’t know how to dress nice if it’d save his life. He’s the opposite of what others think.
Unless he’s upfront about it, you’d never guess he digs both guys and girls. And, he’s definitely handsome. I don’t know why I never realized that’s he’s insanely good to look at. Some people, case in point, aren’t exactly aware of what’s right in front of them.
When I reach his dresser, I notice a crumpled note on top. It’s old, I notice that immediately. It could be weeks or even years old.
Dear, Lele Lele Leia,
God, I wish I had the guts balls to give you this. I’ve wanted needed to tell explain to you that I’ve loved you for years. Since we were kids, really.
I don’t know why I’m finally putting a label on it. it down on paper. It’s the only way to really say that I’ve wanted more than friendship for so long. Like, fucking years, Leia.
I want you in the worst way, baby.
It’s why I lead you astray when ninety-percent of our school wants to bone you. You’re insanely attractive fucking beautiful, and I wish you saw that. There’s no one in this world I’d rather love, cherish, and spend the rest of my life making you smile.
God, this is so fucking dumb.
Forever yours,
Brax
My heart stutters, I read over the paper again and again. It’s demolished. Not only with his strikes across words—he probably didn’t appreciate—to the crumpled and deteriorated mess from wear and tear. It’s like the one I read of Sy’s. What’s it with men and secret notes? Can no one be open with how they feel? I’ve never witnessed anything other than friendship from Brax. I mean, lately, he’s shown some interest that confuses me...but, I can’t recall much.
It's literally blindsided me. Has he always felt this way?
You’ve been obsessed with your stepdad. My mind reminds me of where it’s been for years. I haven’t given Brax the time of day, let alone a chance at my heart. Would I want to?
Is Braxton even a possibility? Because these thoughts have come from nowhere, and I didn’t even think he really liked girls. He’s never even dated one before. This is so fucking confusing. Though I’ve never seen him date a guy either.
My heart squeezes, making me wonder what life would be like if I chose a different path. If I picked Brax, married him, and grew old with him.
I could easily picture it. He’s perfect, makes me laugh, dependable, and has always been here, even for the messy parts. He’s my shoulder when I cry or throw a fit, he gives me chocolate when I’m on my period, and he’d defend me to anyone. A pinch of guilt squeezes my gut.
But, Sy.
Sy has been my vision of a future since I was thirteen.
But is it really love? Brax loves me! He said so in this note he probably never wanted me to see. With Silas, it’s chemical—almost carnal. Like...fate, and we’re bound to explode from the passion. It’s lustful and dirty. Something neither of us can help. But he doesn’t love me, does he? How can he? We don’t really have more than this sexual buildup that could end up sucking. No matter what that note claims, Sy has never shown me love. If he loved me, he wouldn’t put me through this turmoil. He wouldn’t marry Mamá either.
Brax would be perfect, kind, and right. It’s not taboo, it’s not wrong, and he’d treat me right. Why am I even debating this?
I set the note back where I found it and rush to the shower. Undressing quickly, I find all my stuff that he keeps in here for me and contemplate everything.
Do I really want a guy that will make me feel jealous and angry over both genders? Kind of. I trust him. Out of everyone in the world, I can count on Brax. He’s never abandoned me, he’s never hurt me, and he’s never made me believe otherwise.
I’m still basking in the warmth of the water, when I hear the door to the bathroom open. “I’m in here!” I call out, hoping Brax’s stepdad, Darryl, isn’t the one coming in. That’d be awkward. Darryl is a douche, a real dickhead.
“It’s me,” Brax mutters. I can barely hear him, but I know he’s not happy. He sounds so angry. I shiver with nervous anticipation. Unsure of what his reaction to the club is going to be.
Brax used to sit outside the shower on many occasions to talk to me. It’s what I love about him. I don’t have to feel uncomfortable, I have full confidence in him.
“Hey,” I say shyly, still scrubbing my body.
“You didn’t text me back,” he states. Not a question.
“Thought I’d surprise you and just show up,” I barely get out, the guilt gnawing at me. The water continues to spray me, it’s the only comfort I’m going to get today.
“It’s a surprise all right.” His voice still sounds aggravated. Is he resentful? After reading his note, so many things make sense. The jealousy the other day at the taco shack, the possessiveness right now, and the other occasions I never realized before now. All the times he batted away guys, told
them to get lost, and even told me Sy wasn’t interested.
“Are you mad at me, Brax?” I ask gently, trying not to sound as hurt as I am. I couldn’t bare it if he couldn’t forgive me over this. He’s never this angry, and he’s never this short with me either. I’m honestly surprised he can hear me over the shower. Moving out of the water so I can hear him better, I wait for his answer.
Several moments pass before I hear him. “Just confused,” is his reply.
“About?” I’m back under the water, rinsing off the soap when I hear shuffling. “Braxton?” I call out. Before I can look out his shower curtain, it’s being moved away.
Panic rises in me, seizing me, and I remember I’m naked. I attempt to cover my goods, making this awkward criss-cross motion with my arms. We’ve never been naked in front of one another. And before I can tell my brain not to look, I do, directly—at his package. It’s like second nature, who says women can’t be pervs too?
My eyes land on his semi-hard cock. He’s very well endowed. I swallow, and tell myself to stop staring.
But I can’t.
The only man I’ve ever seen is Sy. Brax is easily comparable. Easily. Shooting my eyes up, I gather my wits. This is Brax, my Brax, my best friend. I try to hide my more-than-likely reddened expression from him while still peeking up. Brax is way taller than me, he has at least a foot on me. If we kissed, he’d have to bend down just to compensate for how short I am in comparison. Stop thinking about it!
When I sneak another glance, his eyes are glossed over—hard with need even. He scares me—this Brax isn’t expected. He’s demanding without saying a word, commanding without needing to do anything. And I almost want him to control me, to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.
What's wrong with me? What's wrong with the men in my life? Why are none interested when I am? Now, out of nowhere, when I’m questioning everything, they both go out and confuse me.
I stare at him. Waiting. Wondering. Curiosity getting the better of me after his note, his note that he has no clue I read.
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