“Don’t you involve her in any of this shit.” My voice comes out like a growl. “You didn’t tell him anything about her, did you?”
“Plenty of the guys already know she’s your stepsister. One of those bitches finds out and it’s like gossip club in the high school girls’ bathroom.” She pauses and looks over at Natalie again. “But no, I didn’t tell anyone about your stupid stepsister bullshit. One of the reasons why I got this beautiful fresh cut.” She points to her lip, and I soften for a moment.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “I’m sorry he—” Natalie steps up and takes Katy by the arm. Katy is still as hell for a moment and she almost pulls away. But Natalie works her magic, first smoothing Katy’s hair to the side and then pulling her to sit down on the sofa in the living room.
“What are you doing, sister?”
“We gotta get you cleaned up. You’re Katy?” She nods and watches Natalie like a hawk while she runs back to my bathroom. A few seconds later, she appears with peroxide and gauze, shit that I wouldn’t have known I even had. “I know we probably won’t be best friends, Katy,” Natalie says, sitting down next to her, “But I can clean up your cut. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
“Not really.” Katy’s voice changes when she responds to Natalie. She’s hardwired to snap at women—I’ve seen it one too many times—but her voice shakes when she responds to Nat, losing the hard edge it had before. “I was staying with Frank, but I was going to stay at the club tonight.”
Natalie dabs peroxide on Katy’s lip and talks to her in gentle tones. Every now and then, Katy answers or shakes her head, but now Natalie’s talking too low for me to hear. I pace back and forth in the hallway, wondering what the hell we’re going to do—or more specifically, what the hell I’m going to do. My shoulder is doing better, but I haven’t been training enough to fight someone and win. And if Frank knows I could lose one of his rigged up fights, he’s probably got someone on tap who can beat the shit out of me and put my shoulder right back where it was. If I go into hiding, I look like a pussy, and I have no way of reaching out to the boys at the club—no way of maintaining control over my scheme to take Frank down. And if Frank is threatening to find out who Natalie is, then it’s only a matter of time before he does. I curse myself again for going to her before I’d worked my life out. I go back to my bedroom and fill up my plastic shopping bag with fresh clothes. I’ll have to take Nat up on her offer for now, especially since I think she’s offering up my apartment to Katy. I hear her out there, fixing up a plate of bacon for Katy and asking her how she wants her eggs.
“Scrambled,” I hear Katy say. And by her tone, I can tell that she doesn’t quite know what to make of Natalie. This is part of what draws me back to her, and it’s what made me know she’d take me in when I came back. The damn woman loves to take in a stray. Before she got her cat Beatrice, she had two one-eyed dogs and a cat with three legs. It’s a wonder that Bee has all her parts and that she doesn’t have five or six foster siblings all vying for Nat’s attention. It’s likely because she hasn’t been back in town all that long, I think. Stick with her and she’ll open up a home for abused animals and battered women in need of breakfast.
Stick with her. There’s a thought. In the past three years, there were days that I only thought of Natalie, and now here we are, both skirting around the issue. And for what reason? It probably hinges on me and what a risk I am, and how unlikely it is that a relationship—any relationship—with me would work. I drop my toothbrush into the top of the plastic bag, and I walk out into the living room to see a strange scene—Katy still talking to Nat, both of them sitting and eating off a plate of my bacon. Nat slips Katy a small wad of cash and stands up, brushing a couple of bacon crumbs off of the flowy tunic thing she’s wearing.
“Katy’s gonna stay here,” she says. I pause for a second. There are a few ways this could go, and I don’t like the way where I’m telling a beat-up woman to get the hell out and go stay with a man whose prone to keep on beating her—or getting someone to do the beating for him, anyway. Katy nods at me, and I see genuine thanks reflected in her gaze. She’s still eating when Nat comes and takes my arm. A surge of warmth rolls through me, even if I’m not pleased at the prospect of having Katy at my house. Hell, though, there’s nothing here now that she or any of the boys could get ahold of. I just have to make it three more weeks—then the big fight is here, and I’m free of Frank and able to pay Ash back for the down payment on the new gym.
“Come on along,” says Nat. She pushes me toward the door and waves back at Katy. “Now you can’t say no to the Island Guest House. I got that girl taking up space here, and we’ll be somewhere no one can find us. Well, if they looked in every house in Manteo, I guess they would. But I don’t think Frank’s guys are that smart.”
“Probably not.” She starts walking over to the Civic, and I catch her arm.
“This shit, it’s all more serious than I wanted it to be, Nat. If Frank’s looking for you—”
“It’s a good thing he won’t be able to find me, then, isn’t it?” The corners of her pouty pink lips turn up in a smile. “Come on now. Leave that Camaro here. It’s too easy to spot. You ever think of that when you were restoring it, hot shot?”
“Naw, you got me there, Nat.”
“No one’s gonna follow a shitty old Civic. We’ll park it somewhere discreet. No one will know the difference.” The breeze whips around us, and Nat’s hair starts to fall loose from her bun, whipping around her face in soft golden waves.
“Natty, I’m gonna have to fight.”
“You don’t have to do anything except get your shoulder healed, Josh.” She purses her lips and then blows out a little puff of air. “If you have to fight, we’ll see about it. But give yourself a few days to get better. Please.”
“All right then.” I think of Nat in one of those little guest cabins at the Guest House, and I wonder if she’ll continue seeing me through like she already has. I think it better not to mention the whole sex and relationship thing since we’ve dealt with enough shit, but there’s a handful of condoms at the bottom of my plastic bag suitcase, and I know all the spots on the island where I can buy more. My cock stirs at the idea, and I walk to her, shaking it off before we both get in the car and drive off to the little bed and breakfast, away from everything that’s dangerous, everything that’s bad.
We ride on in comfortable silence. I’ll have one last night, according to what Katy implied, and Frank’ll expect me back in the gym tomorrow morning, training before I’m ready.
This is the calm before the storm. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can, and I’ll fight like hell to keep it all together.
Especially for Natalie. Everything for Natalie.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When we shut the doors of the Civic, I feel like we’re back in the real world—like all the shit that Josh has gotten us into isn’t real, and the only real thing is that we’re two people who slept together, and we’re going away, getting away. I drive out onto Beach Road and then hit the highway. Surprisingly, Josh doesn’t say a word until we’re about to cross the causeway. Maybe he knows he’s spewed enough bullshit for the day. When we’re halfway to the island, though, he speaks. The sound is jarring, and it disturbs the peace of my little daydream.
“About a relationship—”
“Don’t start. And do me a favor.” I cut my eyes at him. The asshole still isn’t wearing a shirt, and there’s an almost painful throbbing between my legs when I look at him. It’s all I can do not to think of the way his skin feels when it touches mine, the way his muscular legs and hips feel when they’re thrusting against me. No, maybe thrusting isn’t even the right word. When Josh fucks me, it’s more calculated—patient and deliberate, like he’s been planning each move for years. And maybe he has been. But his words don’t match up. Maybe that’s the pitfall of falling for a guy like this. He has all the skills to make a woman keep coming back, and exactly zero ability to communicate—or even s
how—how he really feels.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t talk until I tell you to. Let’s see how you do if we’re not saying a damn word to each other for a bit.” We pull up to the stoplight before the quaint little bed and breakfast. He nods, and I turn onto the street and pull in all the way behind the house. I know that what I’m planning is probably a miserably bad idea—the second I touch Josh again, I’ll be pulled in deeper. And once I’m deep enough, I won’t know how to pull myself back out. It was almost like that at the end of high school, and I’ll be damned if I want to do that again as a woman on the brink of her perfect career. But here I go anyway.
Josh carries my bag up to the little house. Its quaint yellow shingles and white trim make me feel like I’m stepping back in time, like there’s something better than all this shit we’re dealing with. He holds the door open and I walk in. This cottage—Summer calls it the Sunset Cottage because you can see the sunset over the sound from the far window—is just one big room. Wide-planked hardwoods, tall open ceilings, and hand-wrought wooden furniture with leather cushions make the place feel sumptuous and rich, an oasis in the center of a tiny island town. There’s only one king-sized bed, and it sits right in the middle of the room like a damn invitation. I’m sure the sheets are Egyptian cotton, and the blue and white coverlet looks like it was finished in raw silk. Maybe this is sending Josh the wrong message—but then again, I sure as fuck don’t know what the right message is.
Josh drops my bag down in the middle of the floor and puts his sad plastic grocery bag on the small dining room table. I move my bag to the corner, still silent, trying not to break the spell. He walks around the room, brushing his hand over the leather cushions of the chairs, picking up the driftwood knick-knacks on the shelves. I watch him, wondering just how his arm healed up almost completely in two weeks, and how the hell he looks so healthy, his movements cat-like and suddenly graceful again. He turns to me and looks me up and down. A little smirk appears on his face, like he can read what I’m thinking.
I stand in front of him, arms crossed. I know what I want, what I need—but it almost seems excessive now. It seems like this isn’t something I should want at all. My sex is still raw and throbbing from fucking him last night and again this morning, but the slight pain makes me want him more. His smirk turns to a full-on grin and he walks over to me and puts his hand on my waist. I nearly melt then, succumbing to the strength of his arms, giving myself to him.
“Let me taste you,” he says. “Even if you won’t stay here with me.” I nod but put my finger to his lips. His words send a shiver through my body, and I more than appreciate the raw, husky quality of his voice. But we’re both better when we’re not talking, arguing the same thing over and over again in circles. He kisses my fingers and then takes both of my hands, raising them above my head and pulling off my shirt in one quick motion, so quick that I can barely catch my breath. Goosebumps take over my flesh, shivers spreading out to the far reaches of my body. As soon as he unhooks my bra, his hands are on my breasts, kneading, pinching and rolling my nipples, sending shocks and sparks of pleasure deep into my center. My sex responds with pulsing, with the rush of slickness that Josh has always inspired. But unlike every encounter in our history up until this past month, it’s been unrequited. Some women might feel grateful, but instead I’m confused and afraid. Still, there’s no denying my body—I’m holding onto the fireworks he creates during these stolen moments because I understand them better than the rest of what I’m feeling.
His gaze meets mine for an instant before he kneels in front of me and yanks down my jeans and casts them onto the bed that seems far too classy for either of us.
“If you don’t want me to talk, sweetheart, then I need something for my mouth to do.” He buries his mouth against the lace of my panties, his tongue pressing against the fabric, seeking out my clit and circling it, pushing against it. I feel like I might fall, but he grabs my ass with both hands and holds me up, burying his face between my legs. He gently sucks on the sensitive button, pulling flesh and lace into his mouth at once. My panties are soaked with evidence of my desire, and arousal courses through every cell in my body, its epicenter focused on Josh’s tongue as it searches my pussy.
“Oh God,” I moan, drunk on my own lust, bringing my fingers to Josh’s thick, chestnut hair. Josh pulls hard on my panties, ripping the lace away from my body, and I gasp. He chuckles and moves his lips right back to my pussy, moaning and licking up and down my slit like he’s starving for me, like drinking me in will be his salvation. Stroking me steadily with his tongue, he brings me to the edge, and I’m moaning so loud that I’m sure that anyone walking down the street would be able to hear me as I start to come. He brings his mouth back to my clit and sucks it in hard, then slips two fingers inside of me and presses against the ridged texture inside, tapping against it and sending exhilarating waves of pleasure through my center. I meet my release, crying out, the sensation fluttering through me, slow and delicate and sweeter than all the times before.
Josh kisses the tops of my thighs and lets his mouth travel up the naked expanse of my body. He stands and takes me into his arms, lowering his lips to mine before I can recover completely from my climax. My body is still pulsing, my thoughts still blurry and thick, aftershocks still pouring through me. I move one hand over the ink he’s spent so much of his fighting money on, and for the first time, I see it as beautiful, as part of him—and not as a waste. For the first time, I get it. It’s the display of his scars on the outside; it’s how he’s come to terms with who he is, how he understands and relates to the world.
“That was… God, that was…” I can’t get the words out.
“Just the beginning.” He opens his mouth to say more, but instead he smiles and lifts me with ease. I wrap my legs around his waist, and I don’t protest when he walks me over to the bed and throws me down. Closing my eyes, I listen as he drops his shorts to the floor. There’s the distinct sound of a foil packet ripping, and my body responds with the same starving need that I felt in Josh’s lips. I need him inside of me, and I wrap my legs around him again and pull him down on top of me. He laughs and rolls me over on top of him, lifting me up and placing the head of his cock against my entrance. As I open my eyes, I grab onto his waist and slide onto his cock effortlessly. He sits up and brings me in close, kissing me as I begin to ride him. His tongue glances against mine, and I start to ride him hard, my sex swelling and throbbing with each movement. Inside of me, he’s hard as a rock and throbbing, and his breath is coming faster and faster. Just when I think he’s going to explode inside of me, he rolls me over again and thrusts into me hard. Grabbing my hips, he drives himself into me again and again, kissing me on my forehead, my cheeks, and down my neck.
“Josh,” I whisper, and I’m babbling now, saying his name over and over.
“Natalie,” he moans gently. I wrap my legs around him and he slows down so that each thrust makes contact with my clit. Shivers expand over my body, and I’m pushed to the brink again. With my body nearly elevated to another plane of existence, I barely hear what he says next. “I love you, Nat. Tell me you’re mine. You’re all mine. This body, every piece of you.” His voice is a deep whisper, but my mind wakes up enough to process each word. “Say it,” he says. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I groan. “I am.” I arch my back against him, and he pushes into me hard, driving my orgasm home, the pleasure spilling through me, unstoppable, irrepressible.
“I’m coming, baby,” he moans. “You’re making me come with that sweet, perfect pussy.” My head is still reeling with all of it—his words, the heights of pleasure I never thought of reaching. He swells inside of me and his muscles tense against my body, and finally, he lets go, shuddering and falling against me, kissing my lips and biting down on the lower one for just a moment.
We lay there, tangled together for minutes, and I’m guessing he’s trying not to speak—even though he had a difficu
lt time with that during our most recent sexual encounter. The words swirl in my head in a mist of confusion—words I’ve never said to anyone but my mother back when she was alive. I’ve thought those same words about Josh, maybe a thousand times over the ten or more years I’ve known him. But I never thought they’d be real. I worry at my lip, pulling it through my teeth and burying my face against Josh’s neck. His scent—fresh and clean and masculine—fills my consciousness, and I feel comfort lying here. Despite all the shit that lies in our path, we’re here, and for once, everything makes sense.
Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 17