Our kiss breaks, and I look down, and I can see him. See his desire pushing against his jeans. I can’t believe I’m kissing him. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
It’s like I’m not myself. I pull him down onto the sand, and he sits behind me, wraps his arms around me, and I push back against his body as he kisses the back of my neck. His hot breath makes my hairs stand on end, and shivers run down my body from head to toe at his every touch. His fingers leave trails of fire all over me.
His hands are hungry, groping, squeezing me, and I turn my head to the side and he takes my lips again, and while he’s kissing me, while we’re tonguing each other, while I’m practically hyperventilating, he’s running his hand slowly south, over my belly, and under my skirt.
I want to stop him. I don’t want to give in to him. But, oh God, I don’t want him to stop. He begins to rub the inside of my thigh, squeeze it in his big and powerful hands, inching ever slightly upward, under my skirt, toward my molten center.
And I know I’m so turned on. I can feel it, the tightness in my belly, the fullness at the juncture of my thighs. I even become aware of the wetness in my underwear, pressing back against me when he suddenly cups my sex.
I gasp, feeling the heat of his palm radiate into my core, and then he’s rubbing me through my underwear, and all I’m doing is pushing my head back into him, arching my back, stretching out like a cat in the sun.
Somehow, I don’t care that we’re on a public beach. Somehow, I’ve been immunized to modesty. My body craves his touch, yearns for completion at his touch, and I’m powerless to prevent my physical urges from taking control of me, from dictating my every reaction.
And so I give in. I let him touch me. I crane my neck to the side so he can kiss me, lick me, take my earlobe into his mouth and suck on it. I hear him smell me, and my hands go unconsciously to his knees, and I’m gripping onto them, feeling hard muscle, and I’m somehow able to see the image of his thighs in my mind, naked, thrusting into me, tensing and flexing as he buries himself deep inside me.
I moan and I writhe and I undulate my body. I’m making noises I’ve never made before, and I’m doing something I’ve never done before, and his fingers are playing me like an instrument, granting me these glimpses at such intense pleasure I know it will make the world melt away around me.
And then he finally stops teasing me. I feel his fingers slip beneath the elastic, and his hot flesh is on mine, right in my center, right in my most private place. There’s this great swell of nervous anticipation in me, and my heart is hammering in my chest, and the roar of blood in my ears drowns out the sounds of the sea and the birds.
It’s just me and him, his breath on my neck, his fingers on my sex, and my moans on the wind.
He pushes a finger inside me and I grip onto his legs even harder. He angles it upward, rubs the front of inside me, and I feel so, so good. He pushes a second finger into me, and I feel myself stretch around him, and he’s still also somehow working my clit, and it’s just all too much.
I’m gripping onto him like it’s for dear life, and he settles into a quick rhythm, and I feel myself climbing higher and higher, getting closer and closer to the edge.
It’s like a big spring is inside me, coiling up, tightening and tightening, just waiting to be sprung. I can feel it in my belly, and I’ve never felt anything like this before. I can’t help but smile as I writhe and as I moan, as he plucks strings of pleasure so deep within me, strings I never knew existed.
“Shit,” I gasp, inching closer and closer to my eventual crisis. “Don’t stop!” I gargle. “Don’t stop!”
My knuckles have gone white from where I’m holding onto him, and my fingers ache.
I cross the line, I tighten up, my body flexes, and ecstasy crashes over me. I suck in air, hold my breath, squeeze around his fingers. I feel pleasure explode inside me, radiate out of me, and I’m in heaven. I’m soaring, in orbit. It’s all I can see… white-hot.
And then I’ve passed the peak, and I’m coming down the other side, and my whole body feels weak, and I’ve never felt so satisfied in my life.
And, distantly, a little voice is screaming at me: You idiot!
*
I feel her shaking in my arms, feel her clenching around my fingers. She’s moaning as quietly as possible, but her body is frozen rigid, a snapshot of her pleasure. God, I’m hard as fucking steel, horny as a dog. I could fuck her right now on this beach, in public. I wouldn’t care.
But she might.
I know she’ll be sensitive and so I gingerly pull my fingers from her, stop rubbing her swollen clit, and bring my hands out from beneath her underwear. Her eyes are still closed – she’s lolling back against me now, panting – and I smell her on my fingers, suck her pleasure off them.
She smells so fucking good, and she tastes so fucking good. I would eat this girl out every single day, make her come every single day all over my face if I could. What can I say? She just does it for me. She’s just right in every way.
And the crazy thing? She thinks I’m wrong in every way.
And somehow, that’s right in every way.
I hold her in my arms, watch as her breathing slows, watch as the glisten of sweat on her forehead, on the back of her neck, dries. I can smell her, I mean, really her, not her perfume which has faded. She smells good. I could wake up next to this every day, I could smell this girl every day.
I freeze.
What the hell am I thinking about?
“That was,” she says breathlessly, “Really good. I’ve never, um, you know… that hard before.”
It’s like I’m watching myself. It’s like I’m not me and I’m disembodied. I see myself brush her hair from her cheek, tuck it behind her ear. I see myself kiss her cheek.
And then I see that moment of realization cross her face. She instantly sits forward, eyes-wide, panicked. She’s thinking: What have I done?
I’m sitting there, surprised at myself, wondering just what the fuck I’m doing. Kissing her cheek? Playing with her hair?
That’s not me.
What is this girl doing to me?
“Oh God,” she whispers, getting up and smoothing her dress. I notice for the first time the dress has pockets.
I get up, too, and I pull out my pack and lighter. My cock is hard as a rock, straining against my jeans. I watch as she looks at it, notices it, and then pretends that she didn’t. She points at my cigarette instead.
“That’s so disgusting,” she says.
I grin. We’re back to our old ways. We’re pretending this never happened. “I don’t—”
“Give a fuck,” she says.
“Right.”
I watch as her eyes travel down my body again, to my crotch. She’s looking at my tented jeans.
We meet eyes, and there’s some kind of conversation there. I’m telling her, Yup, that’s a boner. She’s telling me, No fucking chance.
I grin again. “I didn’t expect you to, anyway.”
She gets cross, puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
She’s huffing, wiping strands of hair that are stuck to her face and neck. She’s flushed and hot and sweaty, and she’s still panting, and her knees are still weak.
What can I say? I know how to finger a girl.
“You do know what I’m talking about. Don’t lie, Cass. Lying isn’t you.”
“Don’t call me Cass. Only my friends call me that.”
“Then don’t lie.”
“Even if I did know what you were talking about, we’re in public. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“If that’s the excuse you need,” I say, looking into her eyes. “But considering what we just did in public—”
“Excuse?” she asks, face growing somehow redder. “For what?”
“For being afraid.”
“What would I have to be afraid of?”
She’s getting awkward now. I can see I’m getting to her. I don�
�t know why I’m doing it, but I just keep talking. That’s me. I just keep on pushing.
“That you won’t know what to do.”
“You know what, Chance,” she says, jabbing a finger at me. “I’m telling you right now. Go away. You said you would if I told you.”
I nodded. “I did.”
“Then do it. Go away, okay. I’m going home. Don’t follow me anymore.”
I shrug. “Fine. See you later.”
“No you won’t,” she says. “No you fucking won’t.”
“Whatever you say, Cass.”
“Don’t call me that.”
I walk back to my car, and lean against the hood. The sun’s almost fully set. The sky is streaked purple and pink now, but it will be dark soon. In the distance, I can see her walking, carrying all her stuff. I’m staring at her ass, at her legs, at the way her hair flicks with each angry step she takes.
My fingers tingle, and I flashback to moments ago. I’m fingering her, and she’s in total bliss. I know what I’m doing, of course, and she’s loving it.
I feel myself getting hard again. Or maybe I never stopped being hard. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.
She disappears around a bend.
The sun disappears beneath the horizon.
I light up another cigarette.
*
chapter five
He’s such a fucking dick. I can’t believe it. He seriously knows how to ruin a moment. Not that the moment wasn’t already ruined when I realized I had just let him finger me on the beach!
But deep down I know I’m so angry about it because he was right. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. More worrying than that, I didn't know what to do next.
But it’s not like it helps matters that we were on a freaking public beach. Sure, nobody was around, but someone could have been!
I start thinking about my orgasm… and I can’t help but smile. Gosh, it was good. I can’t get my fingers deep enough inside me… my arms are too short. I don’t know what he was touching, but it felt great, and his other hand, on my—
“Stop it,” I say to myself. “You made a mistake, you idiot! You’re a smart girl, remember? You’re smarter than this!”
But somehow I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about the kiss we shared, the way his lips just utterly claimed mine. I can’t stop thinking about how good a kisser he was, how it felt so good to kiss him, so easy, so natural.
I can’t help but think about the feeling of pushing up against him, feeling his hardness against my abdomen. He was so hard. I mean, I always knew that men got hard, but I never really expected it to feel like that.
And that was even through his jeans!
Oh, what am I doing to myself? Why am I torturing myself like this? Why did I even let him do that to me! I can’t believe it. The first time a guy fingers me and it’s like I’m mesmerized, like I’m powerless.
I’ve got the gown draped over my arm, and it’s getting heavier, and I’ve got my cap in my other arm, my bag hanging off my wrist, and I’m walking in these uncomfortable pumps, and I’ve still got fifteen minutes to go, and it’s getting dark.
Nothing is going right today.
On top of all that, I’m wondering why I even stormed off from Chance, why I just didn’t get back into his car.
But I know why! It’s because he’s a dick. He just can’t help it. That’s just who he is.
So why do I like him so much?
Maybe it’s not just that. Maybe I didn’t get into the car because I’m embarrassed. Because I don’t want to listen to him call me out, or tease me, after he’s just had his two fingers buried inside me, after I’ve just spent all that time pressing my body into him, moaning, sweating… coming.
I hear a girl’s screeching laugh, and then see, zooming down the road, some expensive car with the top down. “No more school, baby!” she shrieks as the car whips by me. From the glimpse I catch of her, of how she’s dressed, she is going out on the town, fake IDs at the ready.
I have to go home, feed the cat, and probably spend the whole night thinking about Chance.
I sigh, my shoulders drop, and I trudge on to my empty home.
*
I’m not following her.
Well, I am following her. But that’s not why I’m following her.
A group of four girls whizzes by in a silver Mercedes E550 convertible. They’ve got the top down and none of them are wearing their seat belts.
I laugh while thinking about what Cassie would have to say about that. She’s right, of course. Little-miss-smart.
She doesn’t know I’m following her, and she’d probably be real indignant about it, too.
But I wasn’t about to let her walk home at night alone, especially not this night, graduation night. All it takes is one drunk, overreaching and overbearing asshole to ruin a girl’s night.
And on this night, there would be plenty of them. Another car screams by, and I catch the glint of a green beer bottle in the passenger seat.
Twenty minute walk through past house parties with people spilling out onto the street? Hey, anything could happen. It’s not like I’m playing hero, but I did just manage to piss her off into walking home, so I’m at least partly responsible.
And she thinks I’m the asshole.
I puff on my cigarette, walking the same route she does, and eventually I see her reach her house. She unlocks the front door, and as she’s walking in, I swear she casts a glance in my direction. I’m just standing at the corner, smoking. Loud bass is thumping from a nearby house party.
But her body language betrays nothing. I don’t know if she recognized me or not.
I shrug, and start walking back to my car.
I’m going to get fucking drunk tonight, and party with the boys.
*
chapter six
“You know, Jess,” I say, looking at my best friend. She’s sitting at my computer table tapping away on chat. “I’m the last.”
“What’s that?” she asks, but she doesn’t turn around to look at me.
“I’m the last of our group of friends.”
Now she turns, eyebrow cocked, and a look of curiosity on her face. “Are you talking about sex?”
“Yeah,” I say. I break eye-contact with her. I am embarrassed by it. I don’t know why I should be – I’m about to turn nineteen and it’s not like that’s too old – but I am.
“Babe,” she says, wheeling the chair up to me and putting her hands on my knees. “Don’t stress about it too much. It’s not really a big deal.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask, scrunching up my brow. “What if I’m a twenty-five year-old virgin when I finally get a boyfriend, and I have no idea what to do?”
“Honey,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “Most guys don’t know what to do. They think they do, but they don’t.”
“And what if he does?”
She pauses, pushes her lips together. I can see the cogs whirring in her mind. She’s trying to figure out who I’m talking about. But she can’t, and she won’t. She’d never suspect it.
“Are you dating somebody?” she asks coyly, a tentative smile pulling at her lips.
I feel my ears grow red. “No, of course not.”
“Cassie, you worry about things too much. Why are you such a worrier? Why can’t you just be like normal people and not care about everything so much?”
“Normal people care about things, Jess.”
“Wrong!” she chirps, wheeling the chair back around to the computer table. I can see that the plastic wheels are creating new scratches on the wooden tiles, but I don’t really care.
“What do you mean ‘wrong’?”
“You worry more than usual. Maybe you need to see a professional about that.” She snorts, so I snort back louder.
“Right. Hey, look, I’m trying to talk to you about something here.”
Now she turns around again, but this time she’s not playing anymore, and I’m
glad. Jess can be dismissive sometimes, but she does always seem to know when to stop kidding around.
“What’s bothering you, Cassie? Why don’t you just tell me.”
“I’m just… worried, that’s all. I won’t know what to do.”
“Well, have you watched porn?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Well, forget everything you saw,” Jess says, raising a finger. “Porn is made for guys, and it’s not how real sex is. Real sex is slower, more personal. It’s not as loud – well, most of the time, I guess – and you’re not expected to bend yourself into positions that look painful.”
“I know all that,” I say, shaking my head at her. “But I mean, like, okay, I’ll be honest. Sometimes I worry about… you know… how to proceed. Like, is there a cue? How do you know when to move from one—”
“Oh, jeez, girl, it’s not like that. It’s not robotic.”
“Well, can you tell me about your first time? Did it hurt?”
She pauses, looks up at the ceiling while she remembers. “No, not really. I mean, maybe at the beginning. We used lots of lubricant.”
“And?”
She shrugs. “It was pretty good, actually.” I can see a smile starting to form on her face, and it makes me feel at more of a disadvantage. I can talk circles around Jess when it comes to history or economics or even mathematics, but when she says it’s ‘good’, I have no idea what she means.
I hate that.
“It’s just good, Cass. It feels good, you know? It wasn’t his first time, and he knew to take it slow.”
“Dave?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?” I frown. “It wasn’t his first time?” I can hardly believe it. I wasn’t about to say mean things about my best friend’s boyfriend, but to me, Dave was definitely not a catch.
“No. That’s what he said, anyway.”
“Does that bother you?”
“It used to,” Jess says. “When we first got together it did. But then I realized there was no point in being jealous.”
Chance Her Stepbrother Page 3