I turn to Colt in total confusion now, watching him as he stands up and approaches me, his face masked with a kind of pain and sadness I’ve not seen from him before.
“Stacey, I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, not quite meeting my eye. “I tried to message you but you were already in the air ... My father ... Alexander ... passed away last night.”
Looking back, I don’t know how I even made it through those first two weeks – from the moment I got the call from my stepmom, Gloria, to the moment I delivered the eulogy at his funeral, well, it was all just a blur: the days flashing by with alarming speed, my head crammed so painfully with recrimination and regret. And as I threw myself into the task of writing a fitting speech, an attempt to sum up my father’s life and character – his many achievements, his personality, his kindness, his warmth – well, I guess in the process I couldn’t help but think about my own life, too; how far I’d fallen short of the impressive mark he’d set for me.
And I’m not talking about business.
I’m talking about treating people right. I’m talking about living your life with compassion and humility.
In those respects, I couldn’t be further from him. And you know what was even worse? On top of all that, I’d hardly even seen him much since I left college for Europe. I’d spent over half my life here, in England, trying to build up my business empire, and sure, I’d made a ton of money. But had I made any real friends? Any meaningful connections?
Looking back on it, it seemed like I’d all done was push those I cared about – my dad, my old friends, everyone – further and further away from me, erecting an impenetrable wall around myself, so big and tough that nobody could possibly get through.
Well, almost nobody ...
And the more I thought about the events of the last few weeks, about the way I’d treated those closest to me, sure enough one person in particular kept returning to my thoughts.
The one person I’d hurt, more than any other.
The one person I’d hurt, purely because I was scared just how deeply I was falling for her ...
I have to admit, as I saw him standing there at the funeral service for Alexander, his voice shaking a little as he read out a surprisingly beautiful and thoughtful eulogy, I felt all my anger and resentment begin to melt away. Because in that moment, all I felt for him was tenderness, and as the crowds spilled out of the crowded chapel afterwards, I took a moment to go up to him and tell him just how sorry I was – something I realized with shame that I hadn’t even done yet.
You see, until that moment, I’d decided the best thing I could do – for both of us – was keep my distance.
“I’m so sorry, Colt,” I say, gently, my hand resting on his arm for just a half second.
I’d half expected him to tell me to go to hell, or to brush me off with some cold cutting remark, but to my surprise, he turned to face me and smiled – not an arrogant smile, just a small tender smile, full of sincerity – and then he simply said, “Thank you, Stacey. That means a lot. Really.”
And now, a few days on from the service, I guess I’m left wondering what happens next. I’m not talking about the thing between Colt and me – I mean, I’m not totally stupid, I know that that’s over and done with – but what happens next in my future?
Where do I go from here?
This whole thing, Alexander’s death, has really shaken me up; has shaken all of us. Right now I know I need to be here, at home, for my mom – and I yeah, I guess for Colt too. But I’m still left wondering what the future holds for me after that.
Now that we’re technically no longer step-siblings, I suspect that after all this settles down, we’ll just go our separate ways. After all, I barely saw him when our parents were married. He’s hardly the type to come back for Christmas, to visit someone he’s not even related to.
And you know what?
After all the crap that’s gone on between us – all the hurt, all the lies, all the game-playing – maybe that’s for the best ...
It’s so strange, waking up in this house again. As I open my eyes, feeling the warm sunlight spilling in across my face, for a moment I don’t even remember. And then it hits me all over again: harder than a punch to the chest.
He’s dead.
My father is dead.
I throw off the covers and pull on a plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts, before heading out of my room and down the staircase, where I can hear the sound of classical music playing from a radio, and the distinctive scent of bacon frying in the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Stacey greets me from the stove, giving me a brief but compassionate smile before returning her focus to the skillet full of sizzling rashers. “I thought you might be hungry,” she adds.
She’s right. I’m starving. I’ve hardly eaten anything in the last couple weeks – I’ve been too sick with shock and sadness to feel really hungry before now. But this morning, all of a sudden, I’m totally ravenous.
“Thanks so much,” I reply, feeling a sharp pang of embarrassment as I remember again just what an asshole I was to her. And not just at that final fiasco of a dinner, either. Nope. When I think long and hard about it, I’ve been an asshole to Stacey ever since we first met.
You see, more than anything, this has been the lasting effect of my father’s death: the sinking feeling that I’ve spent far too much of my life focused on myself, and far too much of my life being cruel to other people. So from now on, I’ve decided, that’s all in the past. It’s high time I changed. Time I finally grew up a little ...
“Mom’s gone away for the weekend,” Stacey explains, as she shakes the perfectly-fried rashers of bacon onto a plate, then dishes up some eggs and pancakes too. “She’s visiting my aunt, her sister, in Tucson.”
I glance up at her from my seat at the breakfast table. She’s busy arranging the food on the plate, her brow furrowed in concentration, the sunlight shining through her beautiful brown hair, and I feel something I wasn’t expecting: an even sharper pain, shooting through me.
Only this time it isn’t sadness.
This time it’s regret.
A little later in the afternoon, I’m lounging on the sofa in the living room, reading a paperback novel, when I hear a soft knock at the door. I look up from my book and there’s Colt, standing in sheepishly in the doorway, a shy boyish smile on his face.
“Hey,” he says softly, “I was just wondering if you’d like to take a walk down to the seafront with me.”
There’s a pause, as he stares down at his sneakers for a moment, as if working up the courage to add something; and again, I’m reminded not of a cutthroat, asshole businessman, but of a shy, awkward teenage boy. I can’t quite believe this is even the same guy – the same guy who so cruelly smashed my heart on purpose, just two short weeks ago.
“There’s a few things I need to get off my chest,” he explains, his eyes finally meeting mine, the brilliant blue of his pupils causing an unexpected flash of excitement in my stomach – just like always.
And once again, I find myself giving into him, despite myself.
§
It’s a surprisingly beautiful day outside, the Autumn sun streaming between cracks in the fluffy white clouds, the sunlight tempered by a cool fresh breeze from the sea – exactly the kind of day that really makes you feel alive – and as we stroll leisurely down towards the seafront, taking in the dramatic coastal views all around us, I feel glad that I agreed to come for this walk with him. And there’s obviously something he wants to say; I can tell by his current thoughtful silence, as if he’s still plotting in his head, the best way to say whatever it is that’s currently troubling him.
I decide to just let him work it out in his own time, happy just to be walking along the coast, happy to be out of the house, here with him ...
And then, all of a sudden, he stops stock still on the path, turning towards me and gently putting his hands on my shoulders, his eyes searching out mine, his face totally serious now.
“Stacey, I’m so sorry,” he begins.
“For what, Colt?” I ask gently, feeling the blood beginning to quicken in my veins.
“For everything,” he replies, his eyes brimming with hurt and tenderness. “I hate myself for the way I’ve treated those closest to me over the last few years. But especially you. And after all this? After Dad’s death? Well, I guess it’s just given me a hell of a lot to think about, and what I keep coming back to is that I’ve treated you so fucking badly – I’ve hurt you so much, Stacey ... And it’s all because ...”
At this he pauses, turning from me for a moment and looking out to sea, the breeze moving through his thick, glossy hair.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak, my heart pounding, unable to believe that this moment is even really happening – that I would ever hear any kind of apology from Colt Grayson.
Then he turns back to face me again, eyes blazing, and says something I totally wasn’t expecting.
“It’s all because ... I love you.”
For a moment, I think I’ve actually got through to her. Her face flickers with an unreadable expression, and like a fool I feel my heart leap in anticipation, thinking she’s actually about to smile. But then, a split-second later, her brow furrows and a darkness shoots across her face, her lip curling into a venomous snarl as she takes a step backwards, away from me, shaking her head defiantly, anger flashing in her eyes.
“Oh no, not again, Colt,” she spits. “You’ve hurt me too many times. I’m truly sorry about everything you’ve been through, really I am. I’m sorry Alexander died, and I’m sorry it’s caused you to finally take stock of your life. But this? You and me? You think this is just something you can fix with a few words? Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but no fucking way.”
And then, before I can even say another word, she’s turned and started marching back towards the house, her arms folded defensively across her chest, her long dark hair streaming out in the wind behind her.
A part of me considers racing after her, calling to her, telling her to wait.
But in the end I decide against it.
Because it’s too late, isn’t it?
She’s right.
Things are just too damn broken between us.
So instead of chasing after her – after the one girl I’ve ever truly loved – I simply stand there and watch her leave.
§
It feels so weird and empty in this house, without him. Without Dad. It’s evening now, and I’m up in my room, just lying here on my bed, the way I did so many nights when I was just a bored teenager. Damn. I just still can’t believe he’s gone. Any second I feel like I might hear his voice again, ringing through the house – that distinctive low laugh, no doubt at one of his own corny jokes, rumbling away, shattering the stillness of the house.
But no.
Tonight the house is totally and utterly silent.
I wonder where Stacey is. But after my attempt at talking to her on our walk this afternoon, I figure the best thing I can do from now on is simply stay the hell out of her way.
So I lie back on the bed, letting my eyes fall closed, trying to push all the swirling, conflicting thoughts from my mind, as I drift off to sleep ...
§
I’m woken again by a sound. Is that the creak of my bedroom door opening and closing? At first I think I must’ve imagined it, but then I hear another sound – the soft pad of footsteps, coming right this way, right towards my bed.
What the hell?
I’m still kinda sleepy, and its so dark I can’t make out a damn thing. It must still be sometime in the early hours of the morning ...
All of a sudden, I feel someone climbing onto the bed, and I’m about to say something when I feel the softness of their lips pressing against my own.
Stacey.
I move my fingers through her hair, pulling her closer, hungry for her now, feeling the blood beginning to pound through my body as I realize just what’s happening.
We break the kiss for a moment, and again I’m about to speak when she puts the tip of her finger to my lips.
“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with excitement.
So I do just as she asks, crushing my mouth back against hers, pulling her close to me, feeling her whole body trembling as we fall back onto the sheets again, Stacy on top of me.
Finally she breaks the kiss, and I lie there in the dark as her fingertips begin to trace downwards, over the toned muscles of my chest, and she climbs up and over me, so she’s straddling me, pressing her mouth back against my own in another deep kiss, as her hands still trace further downwards.
And soon her fingers have slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts, and she’s pulled my cock free, stroking it as we kiss, her tongue pushing deeper into my mouth, her fingers caressing my swollen cock and full tight balls.
She breaks the kiss again, then moves her head downwards, over my chest, causing me to gasp when I feel her lips enclose my cock, her fingers stroking my shaft as she sucks me, my breathing getting more urgent and my fingers winding into her hair once more, my hips bucking as I begin to fuck her mouth, her eager tongue swirling and dancing around my swollen cock head, teasing and tantalizing me, drawing me right to the very edge.
“Woah, woah,” I whisper, as I feel myself tensing up, quickly pulling her away from my throbbing, rock-hard cock. “I don’t want this to be over too soon.”
At this, she crawls back towards me for another kiss, straddling me again, crushing her mouth so fucking hard against mine, and this time I feel just how turned on she is too, her whole body shivering, the hardness of her nipples grazing my bare chest through her t-shirt, the heat of her cunt, radiating like fire through the damp fabric of her panties as she grinds herself against me.
I can’t take it any longer. I reach between her legs, pulling her panties roughly to one side, feeling again the sheer heat and wetness of her there, as I guide myself so easily inside her, hearing her moan softly in my ear, her arms drawing me in even tighter, as I stretch her wide open with my cock.
My hands move to her ass now, too, and she whimpers, urging me deeper, rocking her hips, riding on top of me, faster and faster, harder and harder. I’m plunging so deep inside her from beneath now, as she thrashes on top of me, her arms around my neck, our bodies moving in unison, the sweat soaking our skin, our tongues flicking in the darkness in a long, passionate kiss.
I reach down between her legs, working her clit with my thumb, just enough to throw her over the edge. With a final deep shudder, she cries out as she comes, stuffing her tongue into my mouth, and as I feel her pussy clench and spasm around my cock I finally let myself go too, pumping my come so fucking hard and deep inside her.
Afterwards, in the shivering breathy silence of the room, we’re both so exhausted that we drift off to sleep without even speaking – our bodies entwined, lying tangled together on top of the sheets, exhausted and utterly content.
As I wake, I can’t help the naughty little smile that flickers across my face, as I remember last night – finally fulfilling my oldest fantasy and sneaking into Colt’s room in the middle of the night, surprising him like that ... And then, once he’d fallen asleep, I made sure to sneak back out again, leaving him there alone, sprawled on top of the sheets.
I wonder what he’ll think when he wakes up.
Will he wonder if it was all just a dream ...
I let out a cheeky little laugh.
It felt so fun to be the one in control for once. To tease him and play with him in my own way, at my own pace ...
Still grinning, I push myself out of bed and pad through to the en-suite bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror – my hair mussed up and a cat-that-got-the-cream smile plastered to my face as I set the shower running, then step out of my t-shirt and panties.
I step into the shower and start to soap myself, the steam swirling around me, eyes closing. But as I reach
out to turn up the heat a little, I gasp as another hand encloses my own.
His hand.
I shiver with a mixture of delight and surprise as I feel the broadness of his body pressing against mine, the hardness of his cock against my buttocks, as he turns the dial on the shower and the cool water begins to turn warmer.
And then, sure enough, I feel his other hand reaching around, tracing across my stomach. I sigh, grinding myself back against him, as both his hands begin to explore my body now, one moving to my tender left breast, the other slipping between my parting thighs, his cock pressing against my ass as I push back against him, my eyes closing and a soft sigh escaping my lips as his fingers finally touch against my clit, toying with my sensitive button in slow but expert circles, his other palm cupping my breast and his teeth grazing against my neck, covering it with playful bites and kisses.
I slip around in his arms to face him, our bodies so slick and wet, our breath shivering past our lips as we push tight against each other, his hands moving to my ass, his cock nestled right between my legs, the hot thick length of him touching gently against the my hot wetness, and I can feel an almost painful need for him building right at the centre of me, as his mouth crushes against my own, his tongue pushing deep between my lips, plundering me with long sensuous licks, his lips against my own.
As I reach down to take his throbbing cock in my hand, I tremble with delight as I feel him groan with pleasure, his mouth still pressed firmly against mine.
I pull away from the kiss, but only so that I can take his hand, bringing it to my mouth, sucking on two of his fingers slowly and sensuously while I stroke him, as if to tell him exactly what I have in store for him. I gasp, as he in turn drives the fingers of his other hand so fucking deep inside me, stretching me wide, and I buck my hips in time with the motions of his hand as he moves his fingers, sliding them in and out of me, in and out, hitting a sweet spot deep inside me, causing me to shudder, the first shivers of my orgasm building powerfully inside me.
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