Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance)

by Graham, Abigail

  I need some air. I grab a water bottle and some sunglasses, lock up, and head out. There's a path almost two miles long winding through the museum grounds, so I don't have to go somewhere. It goes past the house and up a hill, which is a bit of a strain to start. I'm puffing a little by the time I get to the top, stop, and swipe my hand across my forehead to wipe back the sweat. On top of the hill I can see the old house, the original museum building, the annex and the sculpture garden, a collection of classic and modern all jumbled up. The centerpiece is this huge red metal thing that's kind of like a windmill. On a breezy day the wind catches it and makes it move, and the cuts in the metal make it look like there's a man and a woman dancing inside. It's actually pretty clever. The wind picks up and cools me down a little, and the big sculpture starts creaking and turning, dancers cut out of the air by negative space.

  I start walking again, with a purpose. The path goes down through the garden. I don't stop to take any looks. A few patrons are wandering here and there, appreciating the collection.

  I've seen it.

  Of course, I'm not the only walker. Admission to the grounds is free and lots of people have friends-of-the-museum passes, so quite a few people, mostly older folks, walk the path pretty regularly. I imagine there'd be more if we let people walk dogs.

  What the hell am I going to do with myself?

  I was almost jogging when I started but by the end of the sculpture garden path, I'm trudging forward with my hands in my pockets, eyes cast down to the ground. I need to make a decision and I need to do it soon.

  This isn't just about where I want to go to school or what I want to do with my life. I want her to be proud of me. I want her to be happy with something I've done. I want to live my life, not the one she wants to make with me.

  That's when my day decides to go to hell, and Lucas shows up.

  He looks out of place on the grounds of the museum. Scholarly pursuits and Lucas do not match. He comes jogging down the path and catches up to me, moving that way he always does, shoulders hunched, a leer on his face as he checks me out. It's not like when Apollo looks at me. Lucas makes me feel naked in a bad way, like he's stealing something from me just by looking at me.

  "Dee dee," he says, throwing his meaty arm over my shoulder.

  I shrug out from under him. "Don't touch me."

  "Your mom said she'd be away for the week. Thought I should stop by and check up on you."

  "She told you?"

  "Yeah. On Facebook."

  I blink a few times. My mom is on Facebook? And she's been talking to Lucas?

  "I don't need anybody checking up on me, least of all you."

  I break into a jog. Of course, he follows me. Suddenly I realize this might be a mistake. I'm moving away from all the people, towards a patch of preserved forest on the southeast corner of the grounds. Where the trees start up ahead, it's dark, the path shadowed and secluded. Lucas easily keeps pace, and I’m already winded from jogging this far. When I look back it feels like it's a million miles back to the museum or the garden or the house, and I'm stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with him.

  Deep breaths. I'm being silly. He wouldn't try anything, would he?

  Either way, I don't want to be out here, or anywhere else, alone with him. So I stop, turn without giving myself time to feel winded, and start jogging back.

  He moves to block my path. When I try to cut around him he moves again, with surprising grace for his side.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Home. I'm tired. Excuse me."

  Lucas' hand shoots out and clamps down on my arm.

  "Hey, no rush."

  I shake my arm, but he doesn't let go.

  "Get off of me, Lucas," I warn, my voice rising. "I'm not joking. Don't touch me."

  He yanks my arm and I stumble, drive my elbow into his stomach and try to shake loose. All I end up doing is sliding my arm in his grip, so he has me by the wrist.

  "That hurt, you little bitch. Why don't you just-"

  "What's going on here?"

  It can't be.

  Apollo comes jogging up the path, the heat-haze behind him shimmering. He slows as he approaches. His eyes fix on Lucas' hand on my wrist.

  "She said let go, meathead."

  "You again," Lucas growls, releasing me as he steps forward. "You need to learn to stay out of my business."

  "Do I? I think you need to learn to stay out of my business."

  "What?"

  Apollo nods at me.

  "She's my business."

  Lucas summons all of his eloquence and growls, "Fuck off."

  "I don't think so. Come on, Diana. I'll walk you home."

  I move towards Apollo and Lucas blocks my way, turned sideways, one eye on Apollo.

  "I don't know how you think this is going to go, but it's not going to be good for you," Apollo says, his voice jovial, almost joking.

  Then, Lucas takes a swing at him.

  Apollo just folds out of the way, twisting so smoothly I can barely believe he kept his balance. Lucas stumbles right past him, but apparently that wasn't enough for him. He turns around, swinging his meaty fist in a backhanded blow that connects with nothing but air. Apollo ducks the blow like he saw it coming last week and isn't all that concerned about it. Lucas grabs at him and again, nothing.

  "I know what you're going to do before you do it," Apollo sighs. "Just give up."

  Lucas' face goes from red to purple as he tries another grab and again, Apollo just slips out of the way, like there's nothing to it at all.

  "That's not going to work. I'm like water."

  "What?" Lucas snorts. "You little shit."

  Another grab, another miss. Apollo dances back, well out of snatching range.

  "I'm warning you."

  Lucas dives at him.

  "Water can flow," Apollo sighs, "Or it can crash."

  He spins on the ball of his foot and kicks, and his other foot connects with the side of Lucas' head. Lucas goes tumbling into the grass, clutching his ear, and curls into a ball. He tries to get up but just flounds and flops there, moaning and clutching his ear. The look on his face is shocking, somewhere between confusion and fear. Apollo takes my hand before I even realize he'd moved. His touch his soft, deceptively so considering what he just did. His fingers lace through mine.

  "Come on," he says, very softly. "Let's go."

  I walk back to the house with him in silence, leaving Lucas lie there. Apollo still has my hand.

  I slip my fingers loose from his grip and stick my hand in my pocket. He does the same.

  "What's up with him?"

  "I'll be blunt. He wants to fuck me. My mother has been egging him on."

  "Uh, why?"

  "Because," I sigh, blinking back the burning in my eyes. "To her I'm just a little doll to play with as she likes. I have to do everything her way, no matter what. I guess she wants me to have a star football player boyfriend. It doesn't matter that he's a lecherous creep and I can't stand him. She doesn't see things the way they are. She sees the way she wants it to be, and if reality doesn't fit her vision, reality is what's broken."

  "You've been arguing with her."

  "Yeah. I have to reply to admission letters by the end of the month. She wants me to go where she went, do what she did. I don't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't want to be a museum whatever. I want to do something different. Besides, her life sucks. Why would I want to emulate it?"

  "It can't suck that bad. She's got you."

  I snort.

  "Very smooth." I sigh. "We used to be closer but she's just seemed so bitter and controlling ever since I started high school, really. Lucas has been on me since I was a freshman. First year, it was grade school shit, and then he turned all the girls against me. There's these cliques…"

  "Clicks?"

  "Cliques. With a Q. Anyway Lucas has all the popular girls wrapped around his little finger. I don't even matter to him. It’s not me he want
s, it's the girl that's always turning him down. It could be anybody. Mom doesn't see that. He's good at showing a different side to people when he wants to. I think he's a sociopath."

  "Huh," Apollo says, a hint of a nervous tone in his voice. "Well, that's all over now, right? No more high school shit."

  "I hope so. You can't imagine how disappointed I'll be if I start school in the fall and it's High School, Part II."

  He snorts. "I guess so. Hey, look, house."

  There it is.

  "What are you doing today?"

  "Me? Being a man about town, I guess. I had nothing planned."

  "Why don't we…" I trail off.

  Why don't we what? I can think of a few things. I have a hard time not thinking of those few things, point of fact, especially when I look at him. I almost have to grip the sides of my pockets to keep from touching him.

  "I'm not sure. Diana, my father…"

  "Had a talk with you about me, yeah, I know. Look, I know it makes it weird if our parents are… involved."

  "Makes what weird?"

  "Come inside. I need to take a shower."

  "Uh, is that an invitation?"

  "You're staying in the kitchen."

  "Oh."

  He deposits himself in the living room instead, and turns on the television while I head upstairs, my heart pounding. I could invite him to take a shower with me. I think I'd rather enjoy that.

  Slow down, Diana. You met this guy what, three days ago? You hardly know anything about him and…

  He's incredible. Call me what you will, that little show with Lucas got my motor going. He's so primal. I wonder if he's down there picturing me up here naked in the bathroom. I hang my robe on the hook and stuff my sweaty clothes in the hamper, and get under the water. It soaks hot into my hair and smooths it down my back, and the water flows between my legs. My eyes flutter open a little, then closed again as I think about Apollo moving the way he did, so lithe and graceful, almost like a dancer. There's a lot of power in his body.

  I lean back against the wall and slide my hands between my legs. The wetness I find there isn't from the shower at all. I close my eyes and stifle a little sound as I begin to slide my fingers along my lower lips, the stimulation sending shivers down my legs that make my knees buckle. I sink to the bottom of the shower, sitting in the spray, and hug myself thinking about when I was in his lap, feeling his hard-on pressed into me, the way his hands pressed lightly into my skin and his taste filled my mouth as I kissed him and lunged on top of him. My legs trap my hand and I start circling my clit with my finger, shuddering when the sensation is almost too intense, but I feel a sudden desperation for release.

  It doesn't take long. It's like just thinking about him drives me higher and higher, until I have to press the back of my hand against my mouth and stifle the sounds as I drive myself to further heights of pleasure. Part of me wants him to burst through the door, strip, and get in here with me. My toes curl as the peak hits and I curl up into a ball, whimpering, almost biting my hand. As it fades my legs stretch out until my feet hit the other side of the tub, and the water just pours over me.

  That wasn't good enough.

  I stand up, leaning on the wall for balance. I feel more winded now than I did before, and no less excited. I lean on the wall under the shower, rest my head against it, and just let it pour over me. Then I turn it up, until the room fills up with steam, and let it scour down my back. I don't know what I want my life to be anymore. I don't know what Apollo is doing in my house. I don't understand anything that's happening to me. When I finally turn it off I'm so used to the heat my teeth start chattering and I start shivering as I towel off, wrap up in my robe, and open the door.

  It would be nice if Apollo was waiting outside to grab me, but he's not. I pad barefoot and dripping over to my bedroom, close the door, and listen to the soft sounds of the television from below. After I put on a long t-shirt and a pair of threadbare shorts, I walk slowly down the stairs, my hair still wrapped up in a towel. He's sitting on the couch, and he has his feet up on the coffee table. Mom would be furious.

  "Hey."

  "Hey," he glances over his shoulder, and the look is heavier than an outright stare from someone else.

  I'm doing the lip bite thing again.

  "Want something to eat?"

  "Nah. I'm thirsty, though."

  I grab a couple of sodas from the fridge and hand him one as I sit down. I"m not sure what to do. Do I scoot closer, so we're touching? What am I even trying to accomplish here? His fingers brush mine and the cold of the can makes them feel warmer as I pass it off to him. I look over and realize he hasn't been paying attention to the show playing on the television since I walked in the room, any more than I have.

  "I don't know anything about you."

  "I don't know much about you, either," he confesses, shifting a little closer on the couch. "I know you're compassionate, bold, thoughtful. You care about your friends. I think I envy you."

  "Envy me?"

  He shrugs. "I've never had friends my own age, not even acquaintances, really. My mother died when I was young. She raised me herself until my father came and took me, after she…"

  "I'm sorry," I mutter, looking down at the floor, past my soda can. I take a drink but it doesn't cool the heat in my chest. "I feel like shit for bitching about her in front of you."

  "It's not like that."

  I glance over at him. "So what's it like?"

  "You know I have clear instructions to stay away from you. Yet here I am."

  I set the can on the table (on a coaster!) and turn to face him, sitting sideways so my elbow leans on the back of the couch, and prop my hand on my chin. He leans back, turns a little to face me. I can feel him trying to force his eyes still but they keep roaming over me. My shorts are hiked right up to my hips. I cross my legs, and his eyes wander down to settle on them. I must have still been a little damp when I dressed. I can feel the cloth clinging to my shirt.

  I am such an amateur.

  He puts his can next to mine and slides over. This time his eyes are on mine, and they don't waver. The longer he holds the stare with me, the tighter I feel in my stomach, like I'm coiling up. I think he's going to lean in and kiss me.

  Instead he yanks the towel off my hair and drops it on the floor behind the couch, pulls me to him, and buries his face in my wet hair. He breathes deep, his chest expanding against me as his arms slide around me. He breaths out slow and his hot breath tickles my skin, and he does again.

  "What are you…"

  "Savoring you," he says, and tugs me closer. I"m almost on his lap.

  Now he kisses me. Oh God I'm melting. It's like swallowing a spoonful of warm honey. Before I know it I fall back on the couch and take him with me, and he's lying on top of me, lips locked with mine.

  Oh.

  His hands slide up my forearms to rest on my palms, and lightly hold them down, while his thumbs trace little circles around my knuckles and the kiss deepens. I'm as hungry for it as he is. I can't keep my hands off him, feeling the muscles on his stomach and sides twist and bunch when he moves, spreading my fingers across his chest. I slip my legs around him and he breaks from the kiss, his tightly muscled chest heaving against me as he catches his breath, only to start again when I've barely caught mine. It's as if we don't have enough time and he wants as many kisses as he can before we have to stop.

  Do we have to stop? Why can't I want this?

  I feel his hand cool on my side, slipping up into my shirt. My eyes flutter open but I don't stop him, if anything I welcome it by doing the same. His skin is smooth. There's a scar up his side from some injury and I find myself unable to stop tracing it with my finger. He shifts so he's lying on his side, pulling me against him, my head cradled on his arm while his other hand moves lightly over my ribs, down to my hip, and back again, each time edging a little closer to my breast. He must be able to feel my heart beating. Finally I gasp as his hand slides up, cups my breast and ever
so lightly squeezes, his thumb brushing over my nipple. He goes still and I know he can feel my heart now, pounding in my chest.

  Another kiss. He pulls back a little, smirking as he makes me sit up to reach him, teasing me for it. He rises further and pulls me onto his lap so I sit there straddling him. I can feel his erection, his hard-on pressed between my stomach and his. It startles me when I realize how big it feels. I've never done anything like this before. His hands roam under my shirt up my back with the same attention he paid to my chest, his fingertips tracing every little contour and dip in the muscles, tracing up my spine. Then his mouth finds my throat, and one hand slips up to my shoulder blades to pull me close, while the other works into my shorts. He spreads his fingers, cups my butt, and squeezes. I let out a little squeak and he laughs.

  "You ever been spanked before?"

  "Spanked?"

  "You have a spankable ass."

  Before I can argue he slips his hand free of my clothes, and smack, a shock shoots up my spine from the impact of his hand on my ass.

  That felt… good.

  I arch my back a little, shifting in his lap, and he groans as his cock grinds against my stomach. I wiggle my butt and he lands another stinging smack on me, and I shudder. It feels good, like a tart taste, or dipping my toes in ice cold water.

  "Again."

  His hand hits my rump, and then slides up my back, along with his other one. I wriggle as he pulls my shirt up all at once, pulling my arms up with it, and he twists the cloth and pulls it tight, so only my mouth is exposed and my arms are trapped next to my head, and I'm not wearing a bra and I feel so naked. He keeps the cloth knotted in one hand and pulls me close to him, only the thin cotton of his shirt separating him from me, his skin from mine. I'm shivering, not from cold, but just because I'm naked. He can see my bare chest. I've never… I even kept myself covered up in the locker room.

  His mouth brushes mine in an almost kiss, and his voice is in a whisper so soft I feel it as much as hear it.

  "Shy, aren't you?"

  I nod, just a little. As much as I can.

  "Why? You're beautiful."

  A shudder rolls through me and my gasp turns into a kiss as his lips meet mine. The shirt slides up as he tugs it loose and, heart pounding like a fist against my ribs, I let it fall to the floor and sit topless in his lap. I open my eyes as he holds my sides, slip my arms around his head and kiss him, harder. His hair is silky smooth in my fingers, his skin warm. He squeezes my butt with both hands and I wince, a little sore from where he smacked my rump. I like it anyway.