PIERCED - A Stepbrother Romance

by Hawk, Maya

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” She twists away, reaching for her bag by the console table next to the door. “Goodbye, Sut.”

  Sut. She called me Sut.

  My lips curl as she slams the door behind her. “She still fucking cares.”

  FOUR – LAURYN

  The nerve of him!

  I don’t remember walking home, but suddenly I’m standing in front of my door forcing my key into the lock as if it’s the door’s fault I can’t get into my apartment fast enough. I knew better than to go over there. I knew better than to open up that can of worms.

  Couldn’t resist, could we? God, I’m pathetic.

  The second the lock clicks, I press my weight against the door and fling it open, kicking off my shoes and tossing my bag into the seat of a chair. Only it lands with a soft thud, and a man’s slight groan.

  “Ugh.”

  My heart races, and I flip the switch to light up my living room. “Oh, God. James. You scared the shit out of me.”

  He stands, clutching the bag I’ve just thrown at him. “Expecting someone else?”

  “No, no,” I bat away his words with my hand, as if they’re floating in the air.

  “You okay, babe?” James places my purse on the chair and struts over to me. He’s wearing the gray suit I love with the lavender tie I picked out for him last Easter. His cologne permeates the space between us as he draws nearer. My gaze lifts until it finds his, and I’m able to seek refuge in his ocean blue.

  “I’m fine. Just had a rough day is all.”

  James towers over me, tall and lanky. For a second I appreciate how safe and benign he is. Everything about James is calm and safe. Nothing rattles him, and for that I’m grateful. “Well then, let me make it better for you.”

  He pulls me into him, lowering his lips to mine and depositing a kiss that grounds me. There are no electrical currents coursing my veins. There are no butterflies. His love, his kiss, everything about us is just simple and uncomplicated.

  I haven’t felt fireworks since high school, when I was head over heels for Sutton Pierce. I’m not sure anything could ever make me feel half the things I felt that summer with him. But for the last ten years, I’ve done nothing but tell myself that an eighteen year old doesn’t know what love is.

  James is love.

  I think.

  “What’d you have for dinner tonight?” He pulls his shoulders back, running his palms up and down the length of my arms. A slow smile claims his face, starting with his eyes, and he stares at me like I’m the best thing he’s seen all week, which would make sense since it’s been a week since I’ve seen him.

  “What are you doing back? I thought you were staying in New York this weekend?”

  “Oh.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to surprise you. Thought we could mix things up a bit? Break the routine?”

  “You meet your quota for last month?”

  He nods. “I did. You know what that means.”

  “I do.” He’s two big bonuses away from buying my engagement ring.

  “I spoke with the district manager yesterday. He thinks there’ll be a spot opening up in the next couple months. Won’t be long and I can take you back to New York. With me. Where you belong.”

  I belong with James. His sweet, boring, uncomplicated, and kind nature is one in a million. My heart fluttered at the thought of moving to New York to start our life together. We were going to live it up for the remainder of our thirties and then settle in the burbs and start a family. That was the plan. No more rat race after that. James knows how important it is to me to have a traditional family, to live a simple life.

  “I can’t wait,” I muse before slipping out of his grasp. I head back to the bedroom and slip into matching cotton pajamas before removing my makeup and taking out my contacts. I am 100% myself around James, and he loves me anyway.

  By the time I emerge, he’s pillaging my cupboards and the microwave is humming.

  “Oh, I got some of those crackers you like,” I call out as I fall across the sofa. I flip the station to ESPN and nuzzle up against a pillow while I watch James make his dinner. “The Italian ones with the sea salt and olive oil.”

  He glances up from across the island and flashes a smile. “Thanks, babe.”

  “Your beer is in the fridge too. The Boulevard Pale Ale.” I pull a knitted blanket from the back of the sofa and curl up. It’s funny, outside it’s a hundred degrees but inside the air is so ice cold I need a blanket just to stay comfortable half the time. There can never be a happy medium. Not in Miami.

  “You’re so good to me.” James returns with a plate and a brown bottle of beer and sits next to me, his eyes glued to the T.V. screen. I should be admiring the way his jaw flexes and tenses while he eats. I should warm over when I catch him glance at me between commercial breaks. I should want to curl up next to him and rest my head in his lap.

  Instead, I can’t stop thinking about Sutton.

  He looks good after all these years, even better than before if I’m being honest. His eyes are older, wiser. Even the way he talks is slower, more grown up. He’s so fucking smart. And he delivers babies for a living. But he’s still an asshole who had a part in ruining my family, and for that, I can’t allow myself to care about him ever again.

  “What’re you thinking about, babe?” James finishes his last bite of his food and pushes his plate back. His hand falls into my lap, and his fingers interlace into mine.

  “Nothing.” I force a smile and pray he’s not a mind reader. I feel dirty laying here with my boyfriend thinking about Sutton. Something about it feels wrong, though I’m not in a place where I feel like digging deep enough to find out why. I’m afraid of what I might find if I dig too deep. “Just tired. Thinking about tomorrow. I have to meet with my boss in the morning to go over some new campaign for Arovag.”

  “Oh, yeah. So that drug’s finally going live, eh?” He gives me a cockeyed look, and I know exactly what’s on his mind. “Have any samples?”

  “James!” I splay my fingers across his chest and push him away. Arovag is a new FDA approved drug proven to enhance the libidos of women. “I don’t need it.”

  He reaches over and pulls me into his lap. He has ‘ill intentioned’ written all over his face, and his hands are running the length of my thighs, claiming them inch by inch.

  “I know you don’t need it, babe. Just thought, you know, maybe you can take some Arovag, and I can take some Levitra, and we can have some explosive, dynamite sex tonight.”

  “You don’t need Levitra,” I laugh.

  He smiles and my laughter dies. Ever since starting the long distance thing with him, our love life has died a slow painful death. The traveling takes a toll on his energy, and by the time we see each other, we spend most of the weekend vegging out and relaxing.

  But come to think of it, I’m not sure that we’ve ever had clothes-tearing, mind-blowing, up-all-night sex in the all the years we’ve been together.

  James’ face grows serious and his hands creep up under my shirt until he finds my breasts. He slips them under the lace cups and fondles them, toying the nipples as his lips lean in to burn into the flesh under my collarbone.

  I’m not in the mood, and shit, maybe I do need Arovag, but my mind isn’t there. “James…”

  “I miss you, Lauryn, I miss the way you taste, the way you feel,” he breathes his words like a man starved for sex. I mentally calculate how long it’s been since the last time we made love: three weeks, maybe longer? My hands wrap around the back of his neck as I force myself to get into it. I love James. I should want to have sex with him.

  He unhooks my bra and pulls my cotton pajama top over my head. I arch my back until my hips are aligned to his, and the bulge of his cock presses through the thick fabric of his dress pants.

  I’m feeling nothing down there. Not an inking of warmth or a sliver of desire, but these things take time. It’s a slow burn with James. It’s never been instant. There’s a reason
we have a stash of KY Jelly socked away in the nightstand.

  My eyes close, and my mouth finds his. I detect a hint of mint that barely covers his stale coffee breath. I try to ignore it. No one has perfect breath all of the time. When you’ve been together as long as we have, you tend to overlook certain things. We’ve just gotten comfortable, that’s all.

  “God, Lauryn, I miss this,” he groans as his hands work his belt. He frees his hardness and palms my hips, lifting me up enough to prepare for his impalement.

  Impalement. That’s what it always feels like. Like my body is resisting his attempt to insert himself into me. It feels sterile sometimes. Like we’re just going through the motion. I open my eyes and peek at his face. I want to know if he’s really enjoying this. His face is pinched. His eyes are closed. He’s anticipating the way my body will feel the second we come together.

  I pull in a deep breath and assure myself it’s going to feel amazing. Sex with him has lately been about as exciting as a Sunday morning in church, but we can change that. We need to try new things. We need to ignite the fire. I’m going to take an Arovag next time we have sex and see if it makes a difference.

  James’ hand grips the base of his cock and he rubs the head of it against my sex, back and forth, soft and gentle, just he way he always does. Our sex life is a dull routine – a combination of strategically memorized movements.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  My phone.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  James groans. His head falls back against the sofa. “Who the hell’s calling you now?”

  “Good question.” I’m dying to know. No one ever calls me this time of night unless it’s my boss, and that’s never a good thing. I brace my hands against his shoulders, using them as leverage to get up, but his hands grip into my hips.

  “No, no, let’s just keep going,” he begs. It’s a bit of a turn off when a grown man begs from a place of horny desperation and not passionate longing.

  “I’m sorry. I have to get this.” There’s a soft lump in my throat. Guilt perhaps. I’m marginally relieved for the interruption. I scamper across the room and dig my phone from my bag. I’ve already missed the call.

  MISSED CALL – 8:08 PM – SUTTON PIERCE.

  Shit.

  A tingle in my belly zips through the rest of me - a tingle placed there by Sutton and not James. That scares me, but I refuse to give it too much thought. Thinking too hard about things that don’t make any sense can lead my mind into dangerous places.

  “Who was it, babe?” James’ words are innocuous, but his tone is annoyed.

  “One of the doctors in my territory.” I press the top of my phone until the screen goes black.

  “Why would they be calling you at night?” James is still sitting in the middle of the sofa with his rock hard cock in his hands.

  “Um, I don’t know?” My mind races in an attempt to come up with something. James isn’t a jealous man, but I’m not sure he’d appreciate knowing I had dinner with an ex-boyfriend he never knew about. I’d mentioned Sutton over the years to James, only ever in passing and never by name, and only ever with a mouthful of contempt and disdain directed at Sut and my father.

  Ding-ding.

  I glance down to find a text filling my screen.

  SORRY FOR UPSETTING YOU TONIGHT. MY OFFER STILL STANDS. I CAN SHOW YOU THE WORLD…

  I laugh, clapping my hand across my mouth. I used to make Sutton watch Aladdin with me over and over when we were kids, and I’d make sing A Whole New World with me as we danced jumped from chair to chair and sofa to sofa in his mother’s family room.

  YOU’RE A DORK. I type back, forgetting for a moment that I’m still mad at him. There’s a huge smile claiming my face, that I didn’t even try to fight. I wipe it away before James can see.

  “Babe, what are you doing over there? Come on. You’re leaving me hanging here.” Now he’s whining, and it doesn’t help my situation any. I’m dryer than the Sahara down below, and it’s going to hurt. James has never been much of a foreplay guy, though I’d kill to feel his mouth on my sex just once. It’s been years since anyone went down on me.

  “Sorry,” I say as I realize I’m waiting for Sutton to type back.

  I do not like him, and yet I’m waiting for him to text me back. What is wrong with me?!

  I shove my phone back in my purse and walk back to James. My phone dings again. I want to read the text more than I’ve wanted to read any text before in my life.

  James grabs my hands and pulls me back to his lap.

  I can’t do this. I can’t straddle my boyfriend’s raging boner and obsess over Sutton’s text message. It’s wrong. It’s weird. It’s confusing. I’m not in this moment whatsoever. My body is straddling James, but my mind is somewhere else completely.

  “Babe,” I say, scooting away from his cock. “Not tonight, okay?”

  James snaps his head to the side, looking at me through squinty eyes as if he can’t fathom the fact that I could flip a switch and lose all interest in fucking him all of a sudden. “Seriously?”

  I climb off his lap and grab my pants off the floor. “I’m tired. I have a meeting in the morning with Connie. Let’s have a nice, romantic night tomorrow, okay?”

  James says nothing, and I watch as his face morphs back into a calm, natural state the way it always does. He’s a good guy, my James. I silently remind myself of how lucky I am to be with him as I grab my bag and sneak it back to my room.

  I’m sneaking.

  I’m sneaking around with my phone.

  This isn’t me. I don’t recognize this giddy, butterfly-filled girl prancing down the hallway with her phone in her clutches dying for the moment she can read the text her ex-boyfriend slash stepbrother just sent her.

  GIVE ME A CHANCE.

  My heart races, thrumming hard in my chest. I squint and read it again.

  GIVE MIAMI A CHANCE.

  Oh. Miami. It said Miami.

  ***

  “I have to run into work real quick,” I whisper to James. It’s seven in the morning, and he’s passed out in my bed. His eyes flutter briefly and he makes a sound that leads me to believe he heard me. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  A half hour later I’m sitting across town in my boss’ office. She’s yammering on and on about some new Cuban-Thai fusion restaurant she tried the night before, and I’m trying to pretend like I’m interested.

  “Don’t you just love Miami?” She rests her chin against her dainty wrist as she leans into me from her side of the desk. Her lashes are long. Extensions I think. And her sleek dark hair is cut into a harsh bob. Her forehead is smooth as glass, and her lips are full and coated in shiny gloss. “I could spend the rest of my life here and not have a single complaint.”

  She glances out the window, toward Biscayne Bay.

  “We should be down there today,” she sighs. Her shoulders rise and fall with dramatic flair. “Working on our tans. Anyway, have you had a chance to try this Arovag yet?” She tosses me a wink-wink.

  “Connie.” Her name comes out as a naughty giggle. She knows we’re not supposed to dip into the company stash like that.

  “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t been tempted to try it.” She leans back, flashing me a coy kind of grin that tells me she’s already sampled the product and loves it. “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s freaking amazing. Corporate is onto something. And it’s about damn time they made something for us women.” Connie pulls her shoulders back and her dark hair shines against the sunlight filtering in behind her. “Just because I’m almost fifty doesn’t mean I don’t still want to get busy sometimes.”

  She leans across her desk and slides over a stack of brochures.

  “I’ve studied all the material,” I say. “Know it like the back of my hand.”

  “Good, good,” she says. She flips open to the middle of the brochure. “These are brand new, and I wanted to show you this.”

  A small photo centered in the middle of the b
rochure shows a handsome doctor in blue scrubs and a white lab coat. His arms are crossed and there’s a clipboard clutched in his hands. A cocky smile fills his face, and his muscles are bulging and threatening to burst through his sleeves Hulk-style. He looks familiar. I squint and lift the brochure closer to my eyes.

  And then I clamp my hand across my mouth. “Sutton.”

  “Oh, you know Dr. Pierce?” Connie lifts a single, arched brow. “People around here call him Dr. McHottie. Apparently he works as a hospitalist because he had a few issues with female patients stalking him at his clinics.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s the rumor.” Connie slips the brochure out of my hand and stares at his picture, smiling as if her fifty-year-old brain is thinking naughty thoughts. He closes it and hands it back to me, licking her lips as if her mouth is watering. “Anyway, he’s going to help us launch this drug. He’ll be the face of the Arovag campaign.”

  “Shouldn’t a woman be the face of the campaign?”

  “Ha! You’re thinking too old school, Lauryn,” Connie shakes her head. “Corporate wants a masculine, sexy doctor to be the face of Arovag. You know how they are. They do their studies and their beta testing. Apparently using a hot doctor on all their marketing materials was the clear winner with this drug. Don’t ask me. It’s above my pay grade, honey.”

  I flip the brochure open once again, taking a good, hard look at Sutton.

  “You two will be working closely together over the next several weeks,” Connie adds. “He’ll accompany you to conventions and hospital luncheons. He’ll be there to answer any questions about the drug that people may have, and you’ll be there selling the hell out of it the way you always do. You’ll make a great pair. Two attractive young people selling a drug that makes women horny.”

  She smiles and shakes her head, her hair moving in slow motion before settling back into its rightful place.