by Kade, Teagan
Another mystery solved.
“Mom found me jerking off into them, threatened to send me to live with my alcoholic aunt if I didn’t leave you alone.”
“How embarrassing.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
I swallow. “And what about now? What do you think of me these days?”
The question hangs there. I wait.
“I still want to steal your panties. I still think about you every chance I get. I’m still in love with you.”
Almost on cue the skies open above us, the downpour falling heavy and hard. I watch Brock with my mouth, panting, water starting to run down my shoulders and back, snaking around my thighs.
His hands are on my face. He pulls me towards him. We kiss.
The rain’s cold, blown away as another jumbo roars over. My ears ring, his tongue hot in my mouth. I reach up and take him around the neck. I pull my feet up onto the bonnet, lifting my skirt with one hand and pulling my panties down. I untangle them from my ankle and toss them away into the downpour.
His lips are on my neck, burning against the cold, hot like the fiery fissure between my legs. I press my tongue against his, run my fingers over his Adam’s apple.
He rolls over on top of me. I gasp when he takes me under the ass, lifting me and turning to place me down on the hood of his car. It buckles slightly under my weight, but he doesn’t seem to care.
His voice is husky, heavy and desperate. “Spread your legs.”
I do.
A hand is on my thigh, his fingers inside me.
I moan as he fucks me with his slim, delicate digits so at odds with his powerhouse frame.
“Wider.”
I like this demanding Brock.
I obey and blink up through the rain, water salty in my eyes.
I build, a blood-rushing orgasm sure to follow. My mouth opens to the heavens and I brace myself against the hood of the car, the back of my head on the windscreen, but he draws his finger out.
Another plane, lights blurring past, our two forms lit up momentarily, hundreds of people carried away above us to holidays and lovers.
He slides down my body and presses his head between my thighs. The moment his tongue presses into my body I melt from the inside out, running my fingers through his hair, drawing him towards my pussy.
He presses his tongue deeper, drawing it out and flicking it over my clit already sensitive and exposed. I buck off the bonnet, hair lifting behind me and the rain hammering all around us. Cold, it mixes with the warmth of his tongue, his lips as they pull at my clit.
I’m burning up already, my core clenching and drawing tight and the need to come building and growing.
I start to jerk and jam myself against his face, force him to fuck me harder with his tongue. He narrows the body of it, plunging it in and out of my hole like a little cock.
I won’t be able to take much more, but I don’t want it to end now.
I push his head away and lift.
He goes to climb on top of me, but I push him back further, sliding from the bonnet and getting to my knees in the mud.
I start to undo his belt, his buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me,” I beg him.
I take his cock out, hard in my hand.
I open my mouth and he guides himself inside. He holds the sides of my head and levers into me. I suck and use my tongue, curling it around his hardness and concentrating on the indentation between his glans. His back arches and he presses forward into my throat, fucking me deeper and deeper until I’m stifled of both air and sense.
He draws his cock out hot from my mouth and holds up his balls. I suck them in turn, rolling them in my mouth while his hand pumps up and down his shaft.
When he re-enters my lips, I have to reach around and hold onto his buttocks he stuffs his cock so far down my gullet. I cough and splutter, but he holds me against him firmly.
His excitement mounts and his actions grow more and more frenzied, his hips swinging against me.
My nails dig into him. Even suffocated as I am, my arousal builds alongside his own. My hair hangs wetly against my face. I shiver and spasm but concentrate on the task desperate for the searing reward of his cum filling my mouth.
He presses himself right to the root, the soft curls of his pubis against my nose, but just when I think he is to release, he pulls away, spinning me around and thrusting me back onto the bonnet of the Camaro, my cheek pressed into the cold duco.
He gathers my hands behind my back and loops them with his belt. The mud and grit collect against my skin as he cinches the belt tight, my wrists pressed awkwardly together at the small of my back.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, panting desperately.
He doesn’t reply.
I watch my breath span out as a ghost on the paintwork while I wait.
Finally, he gathers my belted wrists and lifts them, drawing my head up from the hood and my ass towards him.
My arms buckle and strain. I cry out at the precise moment he fills me.
It can hardly be described as love-making. He takes me hard and fast, plunging himself over and over into my tight need.
I suck in air and water through my teeth, each thrust driving me against the hood.
I hiss, my breath growing short and halted, his own rising to match even as the rain dumps down from the heavens.
As I grow close, he slows and shortens his thrusts, reaching for my hair. He teases me, plays and fucks me at his leisure, laughing at my back.
I begin to beg him, a child.
His cock pops out of my cunt slick with my desire. He immediately takes hold of it, wrestling it between my ass cheeks and adding pressure to the tiny knot of my anus.
I’m lost, caught in the sudden submission and my whole body filled with strange and alien sensations. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. “Brock…”
I grunt and moan, never in my wildest dreams imagining he’d take my ass too, but he does with the same constant progress he tackles everything with.
Inch by inch the iron rod of his cock fills my ass, the scorching press of my anal passage stretching and opening to accommodate him.
He yanks at my wrists and the pain flares again, that beautiful release that has turned my sex into a soaking mess below.
He fucks my ass slow at first and then builds, using my wrists to pull me back onto his cock, impaling himself deep inside me. I answer him as best I can, my hips tilting to take him.
I’ve never been interested in anal sex, never even considered it, but as he takes me it starts to feel amazing, the sensation so taboo, so different to anything I have felt before.
He leans down and whispers into my ear. He calls me dirty, filthy names, and with those words burning in my head I come, a climax of cataclysmic proportions flooding my entire body.
My ass begins to clamp and squeeze out his member. He lets it go, pulling out and releasing over my the pale globes of my ass.
I continue to be ravaged and racked by my orgasm. It seems endless as I slide off the hood into the mud, water gathering around my hips and armpits, trails of it falling through the column of white formed by the headlights of an approaching jumbo.
And there, in the mud, naked, his cum on my backside, I realize this is happening. Whether it’s right or wrong doesn’t matter. I know deep down this is meant to be. My stepbrother just fucked me in the ass, took my anal virginity… and I loved it.
I’m the good girl no longer.
He lies beside me in the muck and opens my legs, his mouth moving over my sopping pussy. My wrists strain in his belt. He draws away and massages my clit with the heel of one hand until, head back, I come again, letting forth an unholy shriek to the heavens as the chill works its way down into my very bones.
Back at home, sheets muddy and wet, we continue… onto the kitchen bench, the shower. We don’t stop until the sun rises.
*
When I wake, I can hear my cell go
ing off through the wall.
I pull myself out of bed, half-stumbling over a guilty trail of clothes we left around last night.
I can hear the shower going, Brock absent from the bed.
It’s work. One of the tech guy’s is on the other end.
“Sorry to call you so early,” he begins, “but we lost the signal on the tracker.”
It’s too early for this. “The tracker? Oh, the tracker,” I remember—Brock’s car. “It’s off?”
“We’re not sure. Are you able to check it out?”
I poke my head around the side of the doorframe to Brock’s room, but it looks like he’s still in the shower. “I can check it right now if you’d like.”
“Perfect.”
“Call you back in five.”
I throw on some jeans and creep outside as quietly as I can, checking Brock again once more through the bathroom window before I come to the garage. I get low onto my back, the concrete cold, and slide under the car, reaching for the spot where I placed the tracker.
It’s gone.
I search again, but there’s no sign of it. Maybe it came off, all that crazy driving?
“Looking for something?”
Brock’s standing above me, a towel around his waist, body wet. He tosses me something small. I catch it in both hands—the tracker.
Fuck.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What the hell, Maddy?” He’s pissed, and I understand.
“Let me explain,” I start, already feeling like a cliché.
He’s up, pacing around the garage, hands gesticulating wildly. “Explain what? That the only reason you’ve taken an interest in me is because you’re on the job? What do you think I’m into, Maddy?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
I nod feeling like shamed schoolgirl.
“Holy fuck. How long?”
Honesty is the only way out of this. “Ever since you got back.”
He sits back down holding his head in his hands. “I’ve been duped before, you know, but never like this. I never expected it from… you.”
He looks me dead in the eye. “What is it? Tell me, right here, right now, what they think I’m doing.”
“Drugs, of course” I blurt. “They think you’re running drugs in the car, ice, and I know where your car has been, that warehouse near the bay. You can’t tell me it’s not suspicious.”
Brock seems surprised. “The warehouse? You want to see what’s in the warehouse?” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “Come on then.”
*
The journey to the warehouse is ice cold, such a stark juxtaposition to last night. He doesn’t speak. He just rolls his hands over the leather of the steering wheel and goes faster, the car screeching around corners, running reds.
I shut up. This is my mess. I can’t think of anything that could repair this, any way to dig myself from his hole.
He slides to a stop in front of the warehouse. It’s late and the whole area is abandoned, only the odd vagrant or bum watching on from the dark. I’ve only seen it from above in the captain’s office. Here, in the flesh, it looks even more dilapidated.
Brock gets out and I follow. He takes a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, ushering me inside.
I move through a disused office, a hallway and out into the main warehouse.
The room is sectioned off, this frontal section lit with strong lighting, rows and rows of marijuana plants in place. Well, they were kind of right.
Brock walks over to a plant and inspects it. “See the frost and orange hairs,” he says. “It’s close to harvest.”
“It’s true,” I mutter, more to myself, “maybe worse. You’re not running drugs, you’re growing the stuff.”
Brock turns and approaches me. “Yes, I am, but I won’t make a dime from any of this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I grow this all for medicinal purposes.”
I actually laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. You remember Joe’s daughter?”
“The little girl with cancer.”
“Right. Joe’s the one who came to me first. He thought given my… previous work I could help, and here we are. Now I supply all kinds of people—kids, the elderly—and you know what, Maddy? It works. It takes away the pain, it helps, and it feels good to help. That’s why I give it all away.”
“Admirable,” I say, “but still illegal.”
“You’re right, but who knows for how long? They’re about to pass a bill making medicinal marijuana legal. I’ll be legit.”
“And until then? What if you get caught?”
“If I get caught, I’ll go away knowing I’ve helped a lot of people.”
“These people aren’t junkies and low-lives, Maddy. These are mom and pops, career dads and mothers. They don’t want to deal with some dodgy dealer down in the projects. I can supply them product I know is top shelf, product that will do its job and give them peace of mind if nothing else. Ask Joe. New York legalized it all last July. The same will happen here soon enough.”
“They smoke it?”
“No, nothing like that. I extract the oil, that’s all.”
“But how did you fund it all?”
“I’m not proud of my past, Maddy. I did terrible things. I was a terrible human. I made a lot of money and hurt a lot of people in the process, but now I’m making amends the only way I know how.”
The smell in here is pungent. It’s not helping with my train of thought. “They’ll track you through power usage.”
“I rerouted it equally through the entire block. The place itself is registered to a shell company.
“Clever.”
“I’m not fucking around, Maddy. Believe me.”
“I do.”
He hangs his head. “Sure doesn’t sound like it.”
He gestures to the door. “Go.”
Outside, he locks the warehouse, but I’m already at his car.
I tap the boot. “Open it up. Prove me wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Tell me you don’t have a stash in here.”
“I don’t have a stash in there.”
I keep eyeing him. “So, prove it.”
“Fuck. Fine.” He unlocks the boot, the lid popping up. I reach down to the false floor and lift it away. I’m hoping it’s all gone, just a figment of my imagination, but the bricks are still there.
Brock looks in. “What the fuck. They are not mine.”
“It’s your car.”
He stands back from me like I’m a viper. “You did this. You’re what, framing me?”
“Get over yourself, Brock.”
He’s pacing back and forth. He steps down to his car, opening the door and swinging inside. “It’s all about trust, Maddy, and you can’t be trusted. Oh, and tell your boss your burned.”
He slams the door and hurtles off down the road.
It starts to rain, fat, smoggy droplets from the sky. Fucking perfect.
*
The captain reclines so far back in his chair I can see his hair-infested belly button. “Jesus H Christ, Collins, what do you mean you’re burned?”
“I mean Brock knows I’ve been spying on him.”
“How the fuck did he figure that out?”
“He found the tracker.”
The captain brings his hand down flat on his desk. “Shit.”
“Shit.” Thwack.
“Shit.” Thwack.
“Shit.” Thwack.
“It was supposed to be so easy. I mean, Christ, you live with the guy.”
“Sir?”
The captain snaps. I see his entire face implode. He knows he’s let something slip.
“What do you mean I live with him? Did you know he was my stepbrother?”
“Of course we fucking well knew, Collins. Why do you think you were brought in?”
Any icy ball is forming in m
y stomach, that terrible knot of realization that I’ve been played. “But what about the others? Any one of them could have put their hand up for the operation in the meeting.”
“But they didn’t, did they?”
“Because you told them not to,” I finish.
The captain is watching me carefully. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all gone to hell and now I have to clean up this cursed mess.”
I can’t believe it was his plan all along, that I was so naïve to think in the first place somehow I’d be chosen for this job on merit alone. I’m, I try to pinpoint it, angry yes, but something else. I’m… disappointed. I tell this to the captain like a father scalding a child.
He doesn’t take it well. “You are disappointed? How do you think I feel? I thought you’d handle this like a professional, but instead you’re off fucking his brains out every chance you get, and he’s your stepbrother no less. I don’t even know what to make of that.”
I stand, chair falling backwards, my face red and hot. “That was private!”
“Nothing’s private around here, Collins. Now get out of my sight.”
I pull off my badge and take out my Glock, thrusting both down onto the captain’s desk. “Fuck you.”
And I leave. I just storm right out of there, past everyone else holding their coffees close and trying not to look obvious, like they haven’t all been pressing their ears up against the door. “Fuck you!” I scream, pointing to no one in particular. “Fuck you and fuck you and you and you and you.”
You’ve done it now, Maddy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
This is the sort of thing I need to talk about. I need someone nodding and saying, ‘Yes, Maddy, you did the right thing,’ but Alice left yesterday back to Rosie and her perfect country life.
Dad’s my closest option, but I’m not ready to have a heart-to-heart with him about my burgeoning sexual relationship with my stepbrother just yet.
I arrive home and find the driveway blocked by two white trucks. I honk once, Dad emerging from the main house with a very serious group of men, all bald, all in black. I know immediately who they are—repo guys.
I get out and immediately start on the attack. “What’s going on, Dad?”
I watch as another two men carry the TV out.