Out of Line: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance

by Juliana Conners

  At the cabin, the key is exactly where Jack said it would be—under the third rock by the hot tub.

  I peek under the hot tub cover. Eugheugheugheugheugh. Dirt and dry mud coat the sides. At least there isn’t any stagnant water hosting a family of mutant mosquitoes.

  Thank God I’d stopped at the supermarket and hardware store on the way up and stocked up on cleaning supplies and other essentials. Some elbow grease should make the tub somewhat usable.

  My muscles ache to sit in the bubbling water with a black-cherry wine cooler in one hand and my Kindle in the other. Over the next few weeks, I plan on binging on Margaret Atwood and losing myself in her dystopian worlds.

  Once I haul my shopping bags into the dusty cabin, I pull my hair into a ponytail and get to work opening windows and wiping down the black melamine counters in the kitchen.

  I put on the radio and listen to my favorite country station, dancing like a fool and singing at the top of my lungs. I can’t carry a tune, but since no one can hear my screeching, what do I care?

  Dancing every day is something I’ll miss. When I was eight, I tried out for the junior cheer team with Chelsea, which eventually fed into the high school team. So, for twelve years, cheerleading has been part of my identity. I’m ready to find out who I am without it.

  The cheer squad are like my family, and I’ll always be there for them, but I don’t live and breathe cheering like they do.

  When I’m satisfied the inside of the cabin is clean enough, I go outside and hose down the hot tub before using a chemical called Spa Purge. The guy at the hardware store promised it would kill all bacteria and non-living contaminants—gross—as well as clean the filters.

  After I fill the tub and shock the water, I cover it up. The directions say I can’t get in for at least twelve hours. Bummer. I don’t care if I have to stay up until the wee hours, I’m getting in that tub.

  What next? I eye the old powerboat on the grass by the rickety dock. The coach should take better care of this place. At least the boat is covered from the elements.

  No one’s been here for quite a while. And what with the wedding and coaching, Jack’s time is limited, which meant something had to give. The cabin is as secluded as any cabin could be, with no nearby neighbors overlooking the property.

  Chelsea and I used to throw parties here for the cheer squad as a bonding experience. At the beginning of school last year, she snuck Wesley up for the weekend and from what I recall, they made out pretty heavily in the bed I’m going to sleep in, but the first time they had sex was under the old Ferris wheel at our rinky-dink amusement park- or was it in his bedroom? I can never keep up with her sexcapades.

  For too long I’ve lived vicariously through my best friend. It’s time for me to make my own life and memories.

  I spend the rest of the day napping, reading, eating, sunbathing, and trying not to think about Aaron. Something I epically fail at.

  When my mom reached her hotel, she called three times to make sure I was okay. I told her if she called again, I’d switch my phone off.

  Twelve hours later, when stars fill the clear sky, I remove the hot tub cover and dip my fingers into the steaming, bubbling water. A faint hint of chemicals wafts upwards, but I don’t think my skin will melt off if I get in.

  I run inside, grab a towel, a few wine coolers, and my Kindle. After all that cleaning, I can’t wait to feel the massage of the water jets.

  Since no one else is here, I decide to skinny dip. I’m sure the chirping cicadas and nearby critters won’t be too bothered by my naked body.

  I set my supplies on the edge of the tub and look around, even though it’s silly to do so, but you never know who could be lurking in the shadows. Satisfied I’m alone, I strip off and step into the welcoming water, and relaxation rushes over me, relieving the tension in my lower back and shoulders.

  Surprisingly, all of the jets work, and I position myself so my lower back is pummeled by gushing water. Nothing is better than this, I think.

  Reaching over, I grab my Kindle. All day, I’ve been reading The Handmaid’s Tale, but now I want something light and fluffy. Something sexy to go along with the sultry night.

  I pick a book from a series about virgins who sell themselves at auction. Pure fantasy. All the men are alpha billionaires. In this fictional world, billionaires are on every street corner—if only—and the girls have unbelievable sex with these billionaires for like a million dollars. I guess in a way they’re prostituting themselves. But, hey, for a million bucks, I’d do the same.

  I swipe through all the narration and go straight to the sex. In this scene, the billionaire has tied up the virgin and is teasing her until she begs him to fuck her.

  Aaron playing the part of the billionaire and me the virgin pops into my brain. Damn it. I don’t want to think about him or us. I don’t want to think about the orgasm he gave me the other night. Trying to dislodge him, I shake my head, but it’s no use, he’s taken up permanent residence in my mind.

  I power off my Kindle, wanting to throw it and its alpha billionaires into the woods, but I don’t because it was a Christmas gift from my mom. Instead of throwing it, I carefully set it down on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.

  Once again, Aaron is at the forefront of my thoughts. Now I imagine I’m on the bed, tied to the headboard. He’s kneeling between my legs, and his fingers are inside my pussy.

  Arousal prickles my skin and beneath the steaming, bubbling water, my nipples pucker and my clit swells.

  I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be turned on like this, not by him. I have to stop reading those fucking books, and I have to stop fantasizing about him.

  The more I try to force him from my head, the more his image takes over my thoughts, the more my body aches for him.

  As if having a mind of their own, my hands drift down my body to between my parted legs. Maybe if I give myself some relief, I’ll stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about his mouth, his body, his cock.

  I open my legs further and my fingers stroke up and down—slowly at first, picking up speed the more turned on I get.

  I open my eyes to make sure there’s absolutely no one around, and I giggle at my foolishness. There’s no one for miles. No one will know about my naughty hot tub session but me.

  I use my free hand to massage my breasts and tweak my nipples. My nipples are one of my most sensitive zones and always help get me off.

  Every time I pinch my nipples, my inner muscles clench and my clit twitches. I trap the slick bud between my fingers and scissor up and down, around and around.

  I imagine Aaron between my legs. Imagine his tongue lapping my clit and pussy opening. Licking me, sucking, biting, teasing, eating.

  My stomach muscles tighten, and I spiral higher and higher and higher. Thoughts of him fill every inch of me.

  My inner walls tighten, aching to clamp down on him. I grab my breasts, one after the other, and before I can stop it, his name falls from my lips.

  “Oh, God,” I call. “Oh, God, Aaron.” At the onslaught of my orgasm, my back arches and my body lifts from the water.

  “I’m here,” he says.

  My fantasy is so real, I think I hear him. I open my eyes and then quickly close them because what I saw can’t be real. It can’t be. No way.

  I open my eyes again in a squint.

  Shit. Crap. Fuck.

  Standing a few feet from the hot tub wearing a UCLA t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans is Aaron. The bastard grins at me like the cat who didn’t just get the cream but one who got the whole cow.

  I need the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I need the universe to implode. I need to wake up and realize this was a dream.

  I lower myself into the tub until only my face is visible. My heart pounds and my chest heaves. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” comes his reply, “but I think the answer is very obvious.”

  “Jack didn�
�t tell me you were coming to the cabin. I’m supposed to be here on my own. You need to leave.”

  He saunters over, like only he can, and rests his elbows on the edge of the tub.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Sissy. This is my family cabin, and I intend to spend the next few weeks here. Why do you want me to leave? A few minutes ago, weren’t you calling my name? You said, Oh God, A—”

  “Shut up,” I spit, my entire body flaming with embarrassment. “You’re not staying, this is my time, and you’re not welcome.”

  “Not welcome at my family cabin? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Neither am I,” I say stubbornly. “Turn around so I can get out.”

  “Why?” he asks with a shrug. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked—twice.”

  “Once. You didn’t see me naked the other night. I didn’t take my dress off. Now turn around.”

  He gives a slight bow. “As the lady wishes.”

  “The lady wishes you’d go away.” When he turns, I jump out of the tub and grab my towel.

  This can’t be happening.

  This. Can. Not. Be. Happening.

  Chapter 9

  Aaron

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

  Of all the things I expected to see when I reached the cabin, I didn’t expect to see that.

  Taylor, little Ms. Perfect, fingering herself in the hot tub and calling my name when she came. When she saw me, she looked like a cornered animal, unsure of whether to flee, freeze. fight, or attack.

  No way.

  No fucking way.

  A few seconds after I hear her get out of the tub, I hear her storm into the house. My dick urges me to follow her, but, much to its disappointment, I resist the temptation. I’ll give it some attention later.

  I didn’t know she would be here. I figured she would be at the same camp as Chelsea. The same camp they go to every year.

  If I’d known, would I have changed my plans? I’m not sure. I know it would be easier for her if I left, but that’s not going to happen.

  Right now, I need a beer to help process what I witnessed. That and my hormones need to cool down.

  She called my name. My name. She also called God’s name, but that’s neither here nor there.

  Sure, I’ve had women call my name during sex before, and perhaps they’ve called my name when they masturbated, but it’s not something I’ve ever observed. I should have walked away when I first saw her, given her some privacy, but I was frozen to the spot.

  The whirring hot tub and bubbles must have drowned out the sound of my car coming up the dirt driveway. I blow out a breath and glance at the steam coming off the water. Perhaps I should get in the tub and jerk off. Relieve the tension crawling through my veins.

  Taylor comes outside wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top. She might as well be naked for all the skin they cover up.

  She crosses her arms and stands statue still, like she’s ready to go ten rounds in the ring with me.

  “Number one,” she begins, “your dad said I could stay here. He said nothing—not a word—about you being here. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.”

  I grin. I want to go back at her and say you already came, sweetheart, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “Number two. Stay out of my way.”

  I gesture towards the house. “This place might not be big enough for us to avoid each other.”

  “Don’t come near me. Understand?”

  “That’s not what it sounded like a few minutes ago.”

  Heat flames her cheeks and fury fills her eyes. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to be around you. That—that was just a moment of madness.” She looks at my crotch. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  I shrug. “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.” I glance at her pussy and lick my lips.

  She follows my line of sight. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

  “It’s my cross to bear.” My phone rings, interrupting our sparring match. I dig it out of my back pocket and look at the caller ID. It’s Kayden. Maybe he has some news about the doctor. “As much as I want to stand here and argue with you, I have to take this.” I don’t want her to hear my phone conversation. The last thing I want her knowing about is the issues I’m having with the team. Hell, I don’t even want to know about the issues I’m having with the team, and I’m living through them.

  I walk down to the water’s edge and answer. “Hey, dude. You find out anything?”

  “Nothing, Man. Just calling to see how you’re doing. How’s your shoulder?”

  “Hurts like a mother. Driving for three hours hasn’t helped.” I walk over the rickety deck towards the boat.

  “You know I can get you anything you need. I have oxy and Vicodin left over from my knee surgery.”

  I laugh. “I’m good thanks. The last thing I need is a pain pill addiction. It’s nothing some Advil and couple of beers won’t help. Appreciate the offer, though.”

  “What are friends for? Where are you anyway, dude?” Kayden asks.

  “My dad’s lake house. Keeping my head down for a few weeks.”

  “Where’s the lake house? Don’t remember you ever mentioning it.”

  “Eagle Lake in Blue Ridge.”

  “I know it,” he says. “Spent a few summers there at my uncle’s place before he sold it. Well, see you around. Take care of your shoulder.”

  “Will do.”

  We both hang up. Kayden is like my brother, but it wasn’t always that way. When I joined the Bruins, I was a cocky freshman quarterback—still am cocky. He was a sophomore. The star of the show until I came along and took some of his thunder.

  At first, we had our issues. We were more like rivals than teammates. During one game, in extra time, Coach yanked him off and sent me on. After I won the game with a Hail Mary pass, we worked out our issues for the sake of the team.

  We’ve been best friends ever since. He’s a good guy, and I’d be lost without him.

  After grabbing my bag from the car, I walk up to the house and look around for Taylor, but I don’t see her. She’s probably in her room sulking. Or masturbating. I laugh at that thought. I wonder if she needs some help.

  I throw my bag in the downstairs’ bedroom, change into a pair of shorts, grab a beer from the six-pack I’d bought on the way and go sit on the dock.

  I glance up at the master bedroom window. Is she watching me? Fantasizing about me. Wanting me the way I want her?

  ***

  The next morning, the smell of frying bacon wakes me from where I fell asleep on the sofa. I scrub my hands over my face and make my way into the kitchen.

  Taylor is there wearing a skimpy pair of gray cotton shorts and a loose pink vest. Again, not leaving much to the imagination. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s doing her best to tease and tempt me.

  She looks over her shoulder. Disdain flashes across her face. If looks could kill… “Morning, brother.” She sets a fried egg topped with cheese and bacon between two slices of toast.

  “You got any extra there,” I ask, ignoring her sarcasm.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Great. I’m starving.”

  “You’ve got two hands, right? You know how to fry an egg and make toast.”

  Taylor sits down at the kitchen table and skims through her phone while eating. I pull out a chair and sit down opposite her.

  “What are your plans today,” I ask, doing my best to remain polite.

  “That’s really none of your business, is it?” She continues scanning her phone, not bothering to look up when she speaks.

  “I guess not.” Just because she’s acting like an ice queen doesn’t mean I have to act like the asshole she thinks I am.

  “I was thinking about taking the boat out later. Maybe go fishing and then do some hiking if you want to join me.”

  At my invitation, she sighs and sets her phone on the table. “I’d rather jump into an active volcano filled with venomou
s snakes, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Ouch. Message received.”

  I eye the coffee percolating on the countertop. “Can I have some coffee, or do I have to make a pot for myself?”

  She shrugs. “Help yourself but clean up when you’re done. I’m not here to pick up after you. Got it?”

  “Loud and clear,” I say. When I stand and move toward the coffee, I purposely brush my hand against her bare shoulder, and I don’t miss her intake of breath.

  That one autonomic reaction shows how much I affect her. Plus, her masturbating session in the hot tub yesterday more than proves how much she wants me.

  If Little Miss Perfect wants me, she can come get me, and she will come get me. I’ll make sure of that by teasing her to the point of insanity.

  “I’m going out to the rocks to read,” she announces, standing from the table and putting her plate in the dishwasher.

  “Did anyone ever tell you, you know how to party.”

  “You’re such a—”

  “Asshole, I know.”

  “I was going to say jerk.”

  Taylor goes out back with her kindle in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

  I take my coffee outside and suck in a deep, head-clearing breath. There’s nothing like the silence of the lake on an early summer morning to make everything in the world seem right.

  Sitting down at the sun-bleached picnic table, I take out my phone and check my emails. The first email I see is from my coach. My stomach drops, and I prepare myself for the worst. It’s not like him not to call if he has something to say.

  Aaron,

  I’m not going to lie. It’s not good. Call me when you get a chance.

  Short and sweet.

  I delete the email. I don’t want to call him. I don’t want to talk to him because I’m not ready to hear what he has to say even though I already know.

  He’s dropping me from the team.

  Permanently.

  My career is over.

  I’ll never make the pros.

  I’m no longer a quarterback.

  What the fuck am I going to do?