Stepbrother Fallen

by Aya Fukunishi

  Rafe slides a hand up my body, tracing across the wrinkles of my dress until he reaches my chin. He lightly lifts my head towards his as he dips down, a full head taller than me, and kisses me. His stubble tickles my skin as his tongue slips between my lips, and as he kisses me deep his hands move up to the sides of my head, holding me in place as if he's afraid I might pull away.

  I've never felt anything like this. I've had boyfriends before, as well as a few drunken fumbled kisses in dark corners of high school parties, but I've never felt this kind of passion. Rafe feels as if he needs my kiss to survive; as if I'm his life support, and if I broke my lips away it would end him. He pulls me towards him as if he wants to consume me, and I gladly submit.

  Rafe is swollen for me now, excited by the feel of my body. His hands roam across me as I press myself against him, and I just wish we were somewhere – anywhere – other than this damned diner car park.

  I pull away from the kiss reluctantly, still grinding myself into him. "Motel," I gasp, pulling my hand away from him just long enough to point to the building across the way on the other side of the car park.

  Rafe nods and pulls away from me to jump into the car, and I can't help but laugh at the sigh of his erection tenting the crotch of his jeans. I don't dare look back, but out of the corner of my eye I can see the waitress watching us as we leap into the Jeep, and I'm sure the woman has seen Rafe's... excitement.

  I thank God for Penny's slutty wisdom as I race the car across to the motel. My friend had once let me in on the fact that the motel is... accommodating to couples in a hurry. There are no other hotels for miles around, so this motel is the only place a young couple with strict parents might come to enjoy themselves, and I know the cleaning staff don't bat an eyelid if they return to a room they've just cleaned to find the door locked and the key missing. They just expect to find a little tip left in the room to make up for the trouble of cleaning it again.

  I spot an open door on the ground floor, and as I pull the car into a spot right in front I see a cleaning lady pushing her cart in the other direction three doors down. Seconds later we're in the room, the door securely locked behind us.

  Rafe tears his t-shirt over his head, messing up his already tousled hair. In the half light through the crack in the curtains his skin gleams, the curves of his muscles picked out in sharp relief. He steps forward quickly and presses his mouth against mine, reaching down to grab a handful of my dress as his tongue darts between my lips. He pulls away just long enough to tug the fabric over my head, then I dive back into his embrace as I unbutton his jeans.

  Rafe's erection pops out like a coiled spring as I push his jeans down his legs. He pushes me back onto the firm bed, slips his thumbs beneath the elastic of my drenched panties and tugs them from me as I unhook my bra.

  I feel a tight ball of excitement swell deep inside me as I see Rafe stand naked in the half light, and feel the cool air against my bare skin. This is the first time I've ever been further than a kiss, and it's certainly the first time I've ever felt the indescribable pleasure of watching a man drink in the sight of my naked body with undeniable hunger. I never imagined it could feel this exciting to see the effect I have on a man; watching as his erection swells, his breath quickens and he heart pounds, all for me.

  Rafe climbs to the bed above me, his firm, hot shaft sliding up my leg as he moves towards me. I let out a moan as he reaches down and spreads my legs with a strong hand, pushing me open so he can enter.

  "I need you, Madison," he whispers in her ear, his breath hot against my neck.

  I buck my hips forward towards him, eager for him to enter me. I wrap my arms around his back and dig my nails into his skin. "Fuck me, Rafe," I pant, breathless. "Fuck me now."

  Rafe slides one hand down to my waist and holds me firm as he pushes himself slowly inside. I was expecting to feel pain, but there's nothing. I feel myself spread wide to take in his thick, wide head, but I'm so fucking wet he slips easily between my lips as soon as he pushes forward. I bury my face in Rafe's chest as he pushes deeper, muffling a gasp against his firm muscles as the probing head tears me with a brief, momentary pinch.

  I look down in the dim light, entranced and aroused at the sight of Rafe's shaft thrusting in and out of my pussy, The muscles of his stomach flex and tighten with each thrust, and within moments his skin glistens with our mingling sweat and my gushing juices.

  Rafe reaches up to grasp the bedpost, using it as leverage to pull himself deeper inside me, and I wrap my legs around his back, squeezing him, drawing him in. His pace quickens as his hunger takes over, and he dips his head and his mouth searches until it finds my full breasts. It// only brings me closer to climax, the feel of Rafe's tongue teasing one firm, pert nipple before switching to the next. His searing breath and the cool air conditioning makes my skin tingle as I move between hot and cold.

  Before long I feel a tight, hot, condensed ball of energy build deep within me, like the seed of the big bang ready to explode outward, all encompassing. My heart pounds in my chest and my breath falls into a ragged pant as Rafe moves faster, pushes deeper, harder, until finally I can hold on no longer.

  "I'm coming!" I gasp, digging into Rafe's back hard enough to draw blood. "Fuck, I'm coming!" I've never felt an orgasm like this, not in the countless times I've provided my own. This is something different. This is deeper than anything I've ever felt, or even imaged possible. My climax pulses through my body like lightning, waking every nerve ending from my toes to the tips of my fingers, jolting me to life as if I've never truly lived until now.

  Rafe presses his lips against mine as his own climax arrives, thrusting his tongue into my mouth as he fires his seed inside me, a seemingly endless stream that mixes with her own juices until it feels as if I'll overflow. My drenched, dripping pussy is on fire, sending new jolts through my body with each thrust from Rafe. By the time his orgasm is over and he holds himself deep inside me I feel I might pass out.

  "Oh my God," I gasp, lost for better words. "Oh wow. I... I never imagined I could feel like that."

  Rafe grins, teasing me by twitching his pelvic muscles, shifting his cock by the tiniest fraction of an inch to draw yet more joyful shudders from my body. "You're amazing," he pants, his hair dark with sweat and his face glistening. "God, you're sexy."

  He carefully moves to the side, still holding himself inside me, until we lay side by side and locked together, still delighting in the thrill of being connected so intimately. I can't bear the thought of losing this feeling. I'd happily spend the rest of my life filled with Rafe, stretched wide and tight as his enormous manhood drew endless orgasms from me. "My God, Rafe, let's just stay like this forever," I laugh. "Who needs college and a job? Just make me come until we're old and gray."

  "Sounds good to me," he replies, kissing my neck. "But I think the cleaner might want her room back soon."

  I smile, squeeze Rafe's firm butt cheek to pull him closer and feel him grow harder inside me. I look deep into his eyes, smile and whisper "I think she can wait another half hour, right?"

  Rafe grins and looks down with renewed hunger at my eager body. "Let's call it an hour."

  We see the squad car parked in front of the house as soon as we turn the corner, and my heart turns to ice in my chest. We both know why it's back. Rafe reaches out and squeezes my hand as I pull to a stop, and for a brief moment I wonder if we shouldn't just keep driving. Just head back to the motel and hide out, or hit the road and vanish, just the two of us.

  As we sit and stare at the squad car the front door of the house bursts open and mom comes storming out with fire in her eyes, closely followed by dad and Office McIntyre. I've seen my mother in dark moods before, but I've never seen anything like this. Her face is contorted with cold hatred. She doesn't even look like the same person.

  I don't want to let go of Rafe's hand, but he tugs it away a moment before McIntyre pulls open the door. "Don't tell anyone about us," he whispers. "You don't want to get mixed up in t
his."

  Officer McIntyre looks furiously at me before turning his attention to Rafe. "Rafe Stone," he announces, business-like, as he pulls a pair of cuffs from his belt, "I'm placing you under arrest for the assault of Michael Bowen and Lawrence Anderson." He pulls Rafe roughly from the car, spins him until he's bent forward over the hood, and snaps the cuffs behind his back. Rafe makes no effort to resist.

  I climb out of the car and watch through a haze of tears as the cop marches him to the squad car. McIntyre pushes Rafe's head down as he opens the rear passenger door, guiding him into the back.

  I feel numb, like this isn't really happening. Just half an hour ago I was laying beside Rafe in bed, our bodies glistening with sweat, panting with blissful exhaustion after the second time he made me squeal with joy. I can't believe that it's over. I can't believe he's in cuffs, bundled into the back of a squad car on the way to jail. This just can't be happening.

  Through blurred, tearful eyes I was as the squad car pulls away. Through the window Rafe looks back and smiles at me, his eyes locked on me as if I'm the only thing that matters to him in the world.

  The car pulls slowly around the corner, and right on the edge of my perception I can hear mom yelling at me, and dad trying to calm her down. I feel someone grab my by the wrist and pull me back towards the house, and I move without resisting, pulled like a rag doll. I don't care.

  I just feel numb.

  The weeks following Rafe's arrest were a living hell.

  Lawrence Anderson, the guy Rafe had beaten to a pulp, had woken that Sunday morning with a raging hangover, a broken cheekbone and a wicked grudge. The night before he'd been too drunk to speak to the cops, but when he woke up in the hospital – around the time Rafe and I arrived at the diner – he was more than ready to confirm the ID of his attacker.

  The terms of Rafe's probation were clear. If he re-offended he'd face not only the new charges but also the original charge of grand theft auto. No second chances. No exceptions. He spent three days in the local jail before he was extradited back to Colorado, where he was quickly tried by the judge who had originally allowed him to go live with Karl. This time it was made clear there would be no soft option.

  Rafe's lawyer sent a request for me to appear as a witness at the trial. There was no hope that he'd escape jail time, but the lawyer was convinced he could have the sentence reduced if I testified that Rafe was fighting to defend me. Mom wouldn't allow it. From the moment the cuffs were snapped on his wrists in our driveway I was forbidden from having any contact with him. I argued until I was blue in the face, but there was no talking her down.

  Rafe was dealt the maximum sentence the judge could issue: three years in jail. I only learned that from online court records.

  While Rafe was sitting in a Colorado jail cell I faced weeks of uncertainty about whether I'd be charged with giving a false alibi to a police officer. Mike Bowen's parents made a big noise about it, arguing that I should spend a little time in jail for trying to absolve their son's attacker, but eventually they gave up the fight when public opinion turned against them. Nobody could bring themselves to argue that I should do time for sticking up for my stepbrother.

  The fear of going to jail was nothing, though, compared to the horror of my parents learning the truth about me and Rafe. As soon as he was arrested the whole sorry story began to come out. The gossip network was alive with rumors about what had happened, and by the time the waitress at Frank's started blabbing about the morning she saw the two of us rush to the motel you'd think we were Bonnie and Clyde. In the eyes of the community I became some sort of gangster's moll, egging Rafe on to commit his crimes before dragging him to bed.

  It was mortifying. Everyone loves a good piece of gossip, and we gave it to them in spades. Before long most people believed that Rafe was my real, biological brother, which only made the story all the more juicy. By the time the summer ended and I escaped to UCLA mom and dad had broken under the pressure of the whispered words and sidelong glances. They sold up and moved to a place by the ocean about an hour north of the city, leaving all the rumors behind.

  As for me... well, mom and dad didn't want to talk about it. Dad never spoke about it, but mom convinced herself that what happened between me and Rafe was just a stupid mistake. I tried to explain to her that it was more than that, that the feelings I had for Rafe weren't just a schoolgirl crush. I told her I loved him, but she only heard what she wanted to hear.

  But it's true. I loved Rafe Stone.

  I'll always love him.

  S

  EVEN YEARS LATER

  "Madison Edith Moriarty, will you just relax for a minute? Take a breath, girl. You've done this a dozen times before."

  I give Penny a sharp look. "That's not my middle name, dude. Don't be telling people that's my middle name. That's the kind of thing that sticks."

  Penny laughs and picks up a hardback from the stack on the table in front of me. "Oh yeah, my mistake. It says here you're Madison Moriarty, the Gobi Rider."

  I cringe a little at the cheesy black and white portrait on the dust cover. My publisher asked me to wear a fedora. I couldn't tell you why I agreed. I may have had a few drinks in me.

  Penny sets the book down. "Anyway, chill out, Mad. You're getting all squinky again."

  I know she's right. Penny has been with me for all my book signings, and she knows they freak me out more than being caught in a dust storm on the Mongolian steppe.

  I should probably catch you up, shouldn't I? It's been seven years, after all. I hope life has been treating you well.

  So... ummmmm. UCLA? Yeah, that didn't exactly work out. It turns out college really wasn't my thing. I only lasted two semesters before I got frustrated by the endless assignments and general bullshit of college. Mom and dad were paying around $33,000 a year for fees, housing, books and every other little thing that adds up to so much, and the idea of asking them to spend that kind of money on a degree I wasn't sure I even wanted just seemed a little silly.

  I was so bored with school that I started taking long walks instead of going to class, and that's how I ended up on the doorstep of the enormous Mormon temple off Santa Monica Boulevard. Don't worry, I didn't find god and become a nun (or whatever the Mormons have instead of nuns. They don't have nuns, right?). No, I was just interested in the building. The temple is... well, you have to see it. It's a pretty damned crazy looking concrete castle, and I couldn't resist walking into the visitor center to take a look inside.

  It was there that I met a group of young guys who'd just returned to the States after a year of mission work overseas. It turns out these LDS guys get everywhere. They walk the world in their smart white shirts and black ties, knocking on the doors of everyone from African tribesmen to Siberian reindeer herders, trying to spread the good word.

  Now of course a lot of you will be thinking that sounds like a pretty douchey thing to do, sort of like an extremely polite version of the Crusades. You may be right, but whether or not you like the idea of missionaries trying to impose their values on folk in the developing world there's no denying that it's a pretty cool way for a young person to spend their year off between high school and college.

  I started getting coffee with these guys once a week down by the temple. I just couldn't get enough of their stories, and my favorites by far were the tales told by Dwight, an awkward little jug-eared kid who always looked like a ten year old wearing his dad's suit. If you passed him in the street you'd swear he was just starting high school, but this guy had spent a year living in a ger – a big felt tent used by Mongolian herders – with a family who didn't speak a word of English.

  Dwight described Mongolia as the last great frontier, and the closest thing to the wild west that still exists. He told me it was the most sparsely populated country on the planet, with around three million people living in an area the size of western Europe. He told me there were just a few paved roads in the whole country, and that you could walk for weeks without coming across anothe
r soul. From the capital city of Ulaanbaatar the nearest McDonalds was 1,000 miles to the south in Beijing, on the other side of the unimaginably vast Gobi Desert.

  Sold.

  As soon as I returned home for the summer I explained my problems with school to mom and dad. I told them I didn't want to spend another three years staring blankly at a whiteboard, and I didn't want them to have to spend another $100,000 for a piece of paper. It took a lot of talking and a hell of a lot of buttering up, but eventually I got dad to agree to let me take a year out and give me $15,000 to visit Mongolia and 'get it out of my system'. He was certain I'd be on the next flight home after my first day without a power outlet for my curling iron.