Wicked Stepbrother (Book Three)

by Lila Price

  I nodded frantically— I needed him, I needed him now. I swung a leg over his lap and positioned myself above his ready and waiting cock. I went as slow as I could; his cock rubbed up against my clit for an instant, but Jacob shifted, and it neatly slid into my entrance.

  “You’re still so fucking tight, Sasha,” Jacob said, eyes flickering with pleasure. I panted as I continued to drop myself down, his thick cock straining at my pussy. “Go on,” Jacob urged me. “Take it all.”

  “I…” I wasn’t sure what I meant to say. I can’t? No, I could, I needed to, I wanted to— but Jacob was right about this position. I felt his cock easing past what I’d thought before was his deepest point, then continue onward. I gasped; Jacob smiled.

  “There you go. Good girl,” he said. “Almost there.”

  “Almost?” I panted— how had I thought he’d truly fucked me before. I shifted my hips and felt him edge deeper into me.

  “I was holding out on you,” Jacob said, leaning in close so he could keep his voice low. “But you’ve got all of me now, Sasha Copeland.”

  I nodded, gasping for breath; Jacob was rocking his hips back and forth, and the sensation it caused made the room feel almost unbearably hot. I pitched forward, wrapped my arms around him. Jacob moaned, then placed his hands on my back to steady me.

  He stood up so quickly that I felt for a moment like I might pass out—

  “No, no, keep your legs around me,” Jacob murmured into my ears. “I’ve got you.”

  He did— his arms around me, my legs wrapped tight to him, his cock buried deep inside me. Jacob began to lift me up like I weighed nothing at all, sliding me on and off of his cock. I tried to help— I meant to help— but I was overwhelmed by the feeling of him, of the rays of pleasure he was uncovering with each stroke.

  “Come for me,” Jacob said— demanded. “I want to feel you coming with my cock buried in your sweet little pussy.”

  I bucked at his words, heat rushing through me, my clit rubbing against the bottom of his torso, his cock grinding against some deep part of me that made me feel like I may split in two. He thrust into me again, lifted me up a bit higher so when I slid back down, his body slapped hard against my entrance.

  “Jacob,” I moaned, unsure how loud or quiet I was being— unsure of anything except how perfectly full he made me feel.

  “Tell me you’re mine,” he ordered.

  “I’m yours,” I gasped.

  “You are,” he confirmed, pushing harder into me, grinding against me. The orgasm was rushing through me now, scrambling toward a climax I already knew was going to leave me gasping for breath. Jacob was an artist, though— I never came until he wanted it to happen. He knew exactly how to hold me back until I felt I might explode with need.

  “Please,” I whimpered.

  “You’re going to come so hard, Sasha.”

  “I am. Please, Jacob, please,” I gasped, now clawing at his back, squeezing his torso so hard with my legs that I felt my muscles locking up.

  Jacob’s hand slid down my back, wicking away the sweat forming there; he could cover nearly my entire ass with his palm. I thought this was all he meant to do, until suddenly, I felt his thumb pressed against that entrance. I gasped, tensed, but Jacob didn’t hesitate— I was soaked with pleasure and sweat, and his thumb slid into my ass—

  I came. No, that was hardly the word for it— because Jacob had made me come plenty of times before. This time, though, with his cock so deep in me and his fingers prying at such a forbidden place, I came so hard that it felt like something in my chest might break. I cried out, long and wailing and needing, and my legs and arms went limp around him, but Jacob stayed in me, pumping, thrusting as I pulsed around him.

  When I was drained and exhausted, he turned and released me gently onto the bed. Every nerve in my body felt lit up, but my brain seemed to be slow to connect— like the power of my orgasm had short circuited it. Jacob waited until my eyes blinked open, until I smiled up at him.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  “I think so,” I said faintly.

  “Bend over the bed,” Jacob instructed. I nodded and, a little wobbly, got to my feet. I bent forward, and Jacob immediately pushed his cock against my clit, then let it least at my slit— down, along my pussy, up the back toward my ass. It lingered there for a moment.

  “You’re still so tight,” Jacob said, pushing against me a little harder, the head of his cock threatening to enter my ass, aided by the wetness my pussy had provided. Jacob rubbed my ass cheek with a hand, squeezed it hard enough that I knew he was looking down at his cock teasing against my entrance.

  “You liked having my finger in your ass, didn’t you?” Jacob said huskily.

  “Yes,” I gasped as he pressed a little harder still. He wasn’t going to fuck my ass though, was he? I didn’t know anything about that, I didn’t know what it entailed, I didn’t know how it would feel, but I did know that I wanted him in me again— maybe anywhere in me.

  Jacob leaned forward so his mouth was closer to my ear. “We’ll build up to that too, I promise,” he said lowly, then almost instantly changed position and charged into my pussy. I cried out in pleasure as he pumped into me, fucking me harder than he had before— harder than I would have been able to stand before.

  I woke up in darkness. I’d stayed at Jacob’s often enough now to be instantly familiar with the smells, the sounds, the feel of expensive sheets beneath me. That familiarity is why I knew instantly that I’d woken up because Jacob was no longer in the bed beside me. I sat up and saw that the bathroom light was on, the door opened a tiny crack, spilling yellow light in a stripe across the floor.

  I couldn’t see directly into the bathroom from this angle, but I could see a reflection in the window. Jacob was standing in front of the sink, staring at his bare chest. He lifted his right arm, put it down again. Repeat, rotate, put it down again. His bad arm— he was doing the PT exercises. Lift, rotate, down—

  He flinched. I froze, even though he surely had no idea I was watching. Jacob calmly lowered his arm. Lift, rotate, down. Lift, rotate, down. I stared at Jacob’s face, waiting for another flinch, trying to figure out how the exercise only seemed to aggravate his shoulder one out of every ten rotations.

  Then I realized: He wasn’t doing his PT moves. He was trying to master his face— his expressions. He was trying to get rid of the flinch itself rather than the pain. I watched him go about it for nearly a half hour, until his face was expressionless as he moved his arm— until he was able to feign health.

  My chest tightened and I felt tears stinging my eyes.

  I felt words bubble up, the desire to call out, to tell him that was ridiculous, that he could hurt himself permanently if he tried to play on a still-injured arm.

  But then I thought about his parents, and all they’d said that evening. That boy Adams is hot on your tail, son. Get back out there, or this’ll all have been for nothing. Sitting on the sidelines is every bit as bad for you as an injury is.

  He’d told his father he’d be back in by the Clemson game— a week from tomorrow. I knew, without doubt, that he was going to play in that game— but also knew, without doubt, that he shouldn’t.

  17

  Piper was with Adams— not dating him, exactly, but with him in a way that meant other girls admired and hated her at the same time. It was clear his star was rising; he was a frequent topic of conversation on sports shows, in the school’s newspaper. Side by side charts compared him shamelessly to Jacob, and while the pros typically considered Jacob better overall, they always noted that Adams was stronger in his junior year than Jacob had been— which they speculated meant that Adams’ senior year would put Jacob’s to shame.

  The additional playtime was giving the rest of the team a chance to adjust to Adams’ leadership style, and I heard grumblings that the freshmen players who had been relegated to serving seniors beers at parties were delighted to see the old guard taken down a notch.

 
“It’s all just stuff to fill air time,” Jacob said when we passed a bar after the homecoming game— Harton had won by a landslide— where two different college sports stations appeared to be doing profiles on Adams. “Once I’m back in, it’ll all fade. He’s a great player, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve got experience on him. That’s where it’s at, with quarterbacks.”

  “Of course. Plus, I think Piper is actually pretty miserable with him,” I said, nudging him, and Jacob smiled. We were walking the same path we’d taken all those weeks ago, when I’d met him at the club and he’d left his friends behind. It wasn’t intentional— it was just a nice evening walk. As we neared the Manhattan, I saw that it was full of athletes once again— beefy football players had spilled onto the street, and inside, I could see the compact women of the gymnastics team, all wearing their Harton athletic gear.

  “What’s going on there?” I asked.

  “They do penny PBRs for Harton players in uniform if we win the homecoming game,” Jacob said, grinning. “It used to just be for football players, but someone ages and ages ago pointed out a while back that it just says “players”, so now everyone in the athletic department comes out. It’s a tradition, now.”

  “Want to go?” I asked, though what I really wanted to ask was “why aren’t you there?”

  Jacob hesitated— I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him hesitate like this, like he was uncertain. Like he was worried. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he said swiftly.

  He guided me over to the bar; once he was within everyone’s line of sight, they began to call out greetings. The football players standing outside jostled toward him, looking like they wanted to clap him on the shoulder but were worried about picking the wrong one and exacerbating his injury. They knew me by name now, too, and smiled at me, which felt strange but also nice.

  “Here, man, it’s on me,” a player— it was Greene, I realized, then realized I knew the names of all the players nearby from watching the games. Greene reached into his pocket and slapped a handful of pennies into Jacob’s hand, lettings dozens fall to the ground.

  “You’re too kind,” Jacob laughed, and pocketed them. “See you guys inside?”

  “Nah, Adams is in there being a dick,” Greene said under his breath.

  “Perfect,” Jacob said darkly. He took my hand and together, we walked into The Manhattan.

  The bar was so similar to the way it had been the first time I met Jacob here that it almost felt like I’d stepped back in time— only now it was Adams in the throne, taking visitors. Piper was by his side, leaning against him possessively, but she didn’t look particularly happy to be there. She looked even less happy when she saw me and Jacob come in.

  “Hey, you two!” I called out with such false glee that it was almost laughable.

  “Hey, Piper,” Jacob said warmly. “Adams.”

  “Brother!” Adams said, rising. He held out a hand, then— “Oh, wait, man. Don’t want to fuck your arm up.”

  “I’m not too worried about a handshake. Especially if it’s yours,” Jacob responded, still warm, still grinning, but I felt his grip tense on me. The crowd around them laughed at the joke, and Adams threw his head back and rather drunkenly guffawed.

  “Can I get you a drink man?” Adams said.

  “Nah, Greene hooked me up with his riches,” Jacob said.

  “Well, then can I get you a drink?” Adams said, turning his attention to me. His gaze washed over me with none of the propriety the guys outside had shown. Piper went stiff beside him.

  “I’m all set, thanks,” I answered crisply.

  “Ah, yeah, yeah, your man’ll treat you,” Adams said, laughing and leaning back against the bar. His chest was broad— broader than Jacob’s, actually, now that it was puffed out like this. I rather suspected the pose was to show that fact off. “Lucky man, lucky man,” Adams muttered loudly.

  “I am,” Jacob said, and turned to the bar to end the conversation. I, however, found myself roped in by Adams’ eyes on me. It wasn’t the smoldering, hypnotic gaze that Jacob had used to trap me so early in our relationship; it was more demanding, capturing me in a way that made me afraid in some way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  “You let me know if he ever stops treating you, yeah?” Adams said coyly.

  “What would you need her for?” Piper swept in, and licked at the edge of Adams’ right ear to recapture his attention. Adams grinned and turned his head, then kissed her on the lips. It was the outlet I needed; I turned away from him, though not quickly enough to miss him answering Piper’s question.

  “Come on, baby— why have just one roommate when I could have two? Hell, aren’t there three of you?” he said hungrily, in a voice just playful enough that if he’d needed too, he could have claimed it was all a joke. Piper laughed faintly, and I stepped closer to Jacob, wanting desperately to get out of Adams’ space.

  “I heard a rumor you’ll be back in at Clemson,” the bartender, a hipster with a stellar handlebar mustache, said as he slid four PBRs across the counter (for a total of five pennies).

  “Absolutely,” Jacob said, smiling broadly. The bartender’s words seemed to have returned some of the cockiness that I missed to his face. “Shoulder is healed up perfectly. Wanted to play today, but you know how it is. Gotta wait till everything is a hundred percent.”

  “Can’t wait for it. That guy is good,” the bartender said, nodding toward Adams, “but you’re the hero, Everett.”

  “Thanks,” Jacob said, nodding to him, then grabbing all four bottles— two in each hand— by the neck. He and I wound past a series of athletes, Jenna included (I was grateful she was in the midst of a conversation and didn’t notice Jacob), and returned to the players outside. Jacob set the bottles down on a table filled with empties; I nursed one while he pounded another and fell into a lengthy discussion of the upcoming Clemson game with the other players, seemingly fueled by both the words with Adams and the bartender’s enthusiasm. It wasn’t until I checked my phone that I realized he’d been talking for nearly a half hour— and I’d been standing nearby, quietly waiting.

  It was the exact thing I’d insisted on not doing the first time we’d been at the Manhattan together— sit around waiting for Jacob’s attention. As soon as I thought this, I felt selfish and stupid. After all, I’d more or less had Jacob’s attention for the last few weeks, since football was off the table. But now, it was about to be on the table again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was only a sample of what was to come. Of course I wanted Jacob to heal, for him to play— but as I sat in silence and replayed our relationship, I couldn’t help but realize that until he was injured, Jacob had been…well…Jacob. The Harton hero. He’d shown up in my class, called me out to the bar, slept with me, then vanished with other players the following morning. He hadn’t reappeared in my life until he was injured.

  Until he had nowhere else to go.

  But he didn’t know you then, I reminded myself. And you didn’t know him, not really— you just wanted him.

  It was a small consolation, though, especially when Piper was inside fending off Adams’ attempts to rope me into a threesome. I would never say it aloud to Jacob, but Adams wasn’t all that different than he had been back when we first met. If he returned to that version of himself…

  No. He needed to play. He needed to heal— really heal. I lifted my eyes to Jacob, watched him and the other players going through plans and shit-talking the Clemson team and laughing, already celebrating their future win with Jacob at the helm. I thought of him standing in the bathroom mirror, perfecting a stone-faced expression. He might hurt himself further at Clemson— but that meant there was no risk for me. No risk that he’d return to his old self, no chance I’d be cast aside in the same way I once was.

  I put down my long empty bottle and pretended to stare at my phone until, ages later, Jacob returned to my side, looking flush with enthusiasm and perhaps the slightest bit tipsy. He kissed my forehead briskly. “What are you star
ing at?” he asked.

  “Nothing, just an article,” I said.

  Jacob laughed. “Everyone else is playing games on their phone, and you’re reading. This is why you’re perfect, Sasha Copeland.”

  I smiled, and felt something in me melt. What had I been thinking, entertaining the idea of him re-injuring himself like it would be a good thing? I swallowed as we left the bar and started toward his apartment.

  “I have to tell you something,” I said, leaning against him. His arm was around my shoulders and I felt tucked into him, encompassed by his body in a way that still delighted and frightened me, a little.

  “Anything,” he said.

  “I know your arm isn’t healed. I saw you in the bathroom mirror Thursday night, practicing keeping a straight face when you move it.”

  We continued walking forward, but Jacob’s torso stiffened beside me. “It just got a little sore when we were having sex— I was putting more weight on it than I should have.”

  “Jacob—“

  “It’s fine, Sasha. Or it will be.”

  “But what if it isn’t?”

  “It is.”

  “You told me yourself that you could injury it permanently, though, if you play on it too soon. Are you really going to play at Clemson? Or are you just trying to make your parents and the school happy and shut Adams up?” I asked, stopping so fast that his arm slipped right over my head, tousling my hair. Jacob stopped and turned to me, every line of his face begging me to end the conversation.

  “If I don’t get back in the game soon, the NFL will forget I exist. They’re not going to bring in someone who’s still on the bench with an injury. It’d be a stupid financial risk, if nothing else. I need to play and get drafted.”

  “But what if you get injured worse? Even if you’re drafted, you’ll never get to actually play in the NFL,” I protested.

  Jacob’s jaw tightened. “They’ll have to pay out my contract either way. It’ll still be a better career move.”