Chapter 13 #2
I close the door with a firmness that makes the frame shake and press a hand up against it. Dropping my head, I drag in long, deep breaths.
I didn’t sleep last night—at all. The family is dealing with a threat so hot it’s cracking the foundations of loyalty, and that’s no small preoccupation. My body isn’t behaving normally. My head is thick with omens and my veins are pumping with vengeance. I’m not myself. Not myself at all.
With one last exhalation, I push my weight off the door, strip out of my pants and slip into the shower. I instantly feel cramped, like I’m too large for the cubicle—which I probably am. The sooner I get my own place, the better.
I need to breathe. I need to be able to walk around the house without getting a fucking semi for my stepsister. Especially if she’s going to start wearing tight dresses in addition to the flimsy bed shorts.
Cazzo.
I glance down at my erection. Shutting the door on her and stepping under a cool shower has done nothing. I am hotter now than I was five minutes ago.
I wrap a hand around my cock. I need to deal with this before I get in a car with her and drive her to the damn doctor. At pace, I stroke my hand up and down the shaft. I’m hard but I’m not on that edge. I need a visual.
Every time my mind strays to those smooth bronze legs and soft brown eyes I drag it back to one of my regulars. Patty usually works. I try to picture her curly blonde hair and pouty lips coated in a slick of gloss that tastes like raspberries. It seems too distant though. Too far away to hold onto.
I try to imagine the feel of her artificially large breasts in my hands. They’re so voluminous they should spill over my fingers, but they’re firm—unnaturally intact. They don’t feel warm to touch. There’s no shivering breath in my ear.
Patty isn’t working.
I try Kali, the girl from Japan. Not only is she stunning, she’s classy and ethereal, only ever giving just enough to sate, always holding something of herself back.
I admire that about her. The only time I really get to see truth in her soul is when I make her come.
She appears surprised, like she’s not expecting it, and her limbs turn liquid, which she seems to hate.
It’s as if she fears losing control—that she never intended to climax and is annoyed at herself.
I recall the last time I made her come but the sense of victory isn’t there. The heated arrogance that slithered beneath my skin doesn’t return. In fact, her face, even in the eye of her orgasm, is doing fuck all to get me off.
Nothing is connecting with my cock.
I can’t stand here beating off for the next ten minutes, but neither can I sit in a car next to Bambalina with a raging hard on.
Fuck.
So, I let it.
I let my mind wander to that dark, forbidden, incestuous corner of my head.
I find her in the kitchen. It’s pitch black and she doesn’t know I’m there.
She gasps sexily when I spin her around. Her neck lengthens and arches backward when I tighten my hand around it. I push until her ass hits the table, and I keep pushing as she scrambles on to it. She’s wearing the tight pink dress.
I nudge her knees apart with my thigh, then, keeping one hand curled around her throat, I graze the fingers of my other over her bare leg. Her eyes rest on me softly, her skin trembling as I glide my way up her thigh.
I lick my lips and feel the water from the shower pelting my hunched back. My cock is growing harder, longer. Pulsing inside my palm. I stare at it in wonder, but my vision is somewhere else.
My fingertips burn hotter the higher they drift.
They touch cotton, but the skin is softer.
It’s like velvet, and satin, and chiffon, and myriad other luxury fabrics I really shouldn’t know the name of.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, and it’s making my entire body perspire.
Even without the water pummeling me, I would be dripping with sweat.
A wave of triumph crests my shoulders when I slip my fingers beneath her dress.
Her intake of breath rings so loud it fills my head.
All my senses are attuned to this visual—Bambalina half-sitting, half-lying on the kitchen table, propping herself up on trembling arms as my hand closes around her throat and my fingertips broach her inner thigh.
A tingling sensation creeps up my legs and down my torso. I reach the hollow of her thigh, just an inch from her opening—her soft, damp pussy. Brown eyes burrow under my skin, livewires coursing across every surface.
Her lips part and her words give me permission. Actually, they beg.
“Touch me.”
I take my bottom lip between my teeth and flex out my forefinger. When it brushes over her clit, she lets out a cry that wraps around my torso. It’s like she’s been waiting for that one breach, that one touch, and now she’s unfolding before my eyes.
Her hips buck into my hand and I stroke her clit while pushing two fingers inside her sweet, tight opening. The hand clamped around her throat slams to the table and I lean my heaviness onto it while watching her come undone, breathless and hot.
So fucking hot.
So fucking wrong.
In my head, I have my fingers deep inside my stepsister.
Her thighs are clamped around my wrist.
She’s sobbing my name.
And, in the shower, I’m coming.
My feet hit the bottom of the stairs with a sharp thud. “Let’s go.”
Her shoes click along the floor behind me but I’m no longer affected. I’m fine now. I beat off my sexual frustration, got that highly improper image out of my head, and now I’m fine.
That is, until I open the passenger door and watch her slide those long, smooth brown legs into my car, curling heels that are as thin as pencils into the footwell.
The second I sit in the driver’s seat, I switch on the radio. I need to drown out the voices in my head. I thought they’d washed down the shower drain along with my cum but they’re still hanging around. That wasn’t part of the deal, I tell myself.
Like a fist is clenched around my lungs, my chest feels tighter the closer we get to the medical center.
I tell myself it’s because I should be on the ground, in the districts, helping to protect the people who trust us, not driving some teenage girl to see her gynecologist. But the strain on my breaths tells me it’s something else.
I may as well admit it. I don’t like that Bambalina is about to be put on medication that makes it okay for someone to fuck her. I don’t want anything to do with it.
I should have said ‘no’ to my mom. Next time she asks me to do a favor like this, I’m just going to tell her exactly what we’re dealing with on the streets. I’ve protected her from it for most of my adult life. Once I tell her the unfiltered truth, she won’t ask me for anything again.
A reception desk sits just inside the hospital entrance. “I’ll wait over here,” I say, before making my way to the seating area.
I train my gaze on my phone as she completes the paper work, and don’t look up when she lowers beside me. She sits perfectly still but now and then I feel her gaze heat the side of my face.
“Thanks for bringing me,” she says, quietly. “I know how busy you are.”
“It’s fine,” I reply, not looking up.
In my periphery I see her fingers fidgeting.
“It’s a bit weird too. You know, having you bring me, well, here.”
I look up as her gaze coasts around the sterile waiting room, her upper lip curled in a half-grimace.
I lower my phone and straighten. “Is this what you want?”
Has anyone even asked Bambalina if she’s ready for birth control?
Her voice is small. “I guess so. I haven’t really thought about it, but Antonia’s right, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
For some reason, her answer makes me feel inexplicably angry. I grit my teeth to stop from saying something I can’t take back.
“It’s what girls my age do, I suppose,” she says, oblivious to the red hot fury leaching out through my pores.
Fortunately, a nurse appears and calls her name before I can explode. When Lina turns to face me, I force a fake smile.
“Will you come in with me? Please?”
My eyes widen as I look across the waiting area to the room she’s been called into.
“It’s okay,” she says, meekly. “I don’t think they need to examine me. They’ll probably just ask me questions. But I’d like someone to be there with me, if that’s okay?”
I give a brief nod, stand and follow her into the room.
The nurse leaves before closing the door behind us. A doctor sits behind a desk and motions to the two chairs in front of him.
Then, to my shock, he addresses me instead of her.
“Good morning Mr. Di Santo. It is my pleasure to welcome you.”
My sharp tone makes Lina flinch. “We’re not here for me, doctor. We’re here for Bambalina.”
His gaze flashes to my right. “Of course. Absolutely. Miss Castellano, I understand we are looking to put you on birth control, is that correct?”
She lifts her shoulders. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Wonderful.” The doctor glances at me with a slight nervousness. “I will need to take some vitals and ask you some questions, okay?”
“Yes, okay.” Despite her verbal willingness, her tone doesn’t sound convincing and I feel a sudden anger toward my mother for making Lina do this.
“Let’s start by taking your blood pressure.”
I force my hands into my pockets while I watch the doctor take various different measurements, soothing her through the process.
Touching her. Part of me wishes I’d stayed outside, but part of me would much rather be in here so I can keep a fucking eye on him.
Beneath the thin fabric of my skin, my blood is boiling.
“That’s all done. Now, I need to ask you some personal questions.” The doctor’s gaze again flicks to mine as if to check if it’s okay for him to do his job.
“Go ahead,” Lina says.
“Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Do you suffer from migraines?”
“No.”
“Is there a history of blood clots in your family?”
The questions all blur into one ear-piercing groan. I continue to watch for any sign he’s making her uncomfortable but she seems fine. She seems… perfect.
“Have you ever had sexual intercourse?”
My ears close out any sound, tuning only into the next words that come out of her mouth.
“No, doctor.”
Cazzo. The collar of my shirt just got a little tighter.
“I still need to ask you to take a pregnancy test, if that’s okay?”
“Why?” I bark. “You heard her. She’s never had sex.”
The doctor flashes a look at me that is almost sympathetic. I haven’t warmed to him and he’s making that worse.
“I need to be absolutely certain before I prescribe the medication,” he says, carefully.
Through the haze of insanity, I feel her fingers on my forearm. “It’s okay. I expected this.”
I stare after her as she follows the doc’s instructions and walks into another room carrying a small package. As soon as the door closes, I pan a lethal gaze his way.
“It’s policy, sir,” he says. “If there’s even the smallest chance she might be pregnant, I can’t prescribe medication. It could harm your baby.”
His words knock the wind out of me. “O—our baby?”
“I’m sure you’re careful, Mr. Di Santo, but…” he dips his head, keeping his voice down. “Pulling out is not always effective, sir. Even if, well, it’s not fully fledged intercourse.”
My jaw unhinges.
He’s implying I’ve almost fucked her?
The image of me partially inserting my cock into Bambalina ignites a madness inside me so unhinged I want to snap his neck.
“That’s my sister you’re talking about,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
Shock spreads across his features. “I—I’m sorry, sir. I just assumed—”
“You assumed wrong.”
He pushes his chair back and holds up his hands. “I didn’t mean—”
I stand slowly and tower over him, spit landing on his desk as I snarl. “You think she’s sexual?”
“No, I—”
“You think I could attempt to fuck my own sister?” The hypocrisy of that statement sits back as I channel venom into my words.
“Really, I—”
I reach into the waistband of my pants and pull out a gun, then I press the barrel into the space between his eyes.
“You will not look at that woman again. If I catch you looking at her face, at her body, at any part of her again, I will fire a bullet straight into your brain. Then all those policies you’re so fucking fond of won’t be of much use to you, will they?”
His eyes cross as he stares at the gun in my hand.
My voice is lethally low—bordering on deranged. “I don’t care if she asks you a question. I don’t care if you need to talk her through the medication. If I catch you looking at my sister one more time, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
“Y—yes. Of course, s—sir.”
I withdraw the gun slowly, and as I do, the handle on the door turns.
I slide the gun back into my waistband and turn to face her.
She dips her gaze and walk past me to place the pregnancy test on the idiot doctor’s desk.
My chest relaxes when I see the line confirming it’s negative.
I knew she wouldn’t be pregnant, but still, the suggestion someone could knock her up without really trying has crawled under my skin and won’t leave.
She waits for him to look up but he doesn’t, because he values his life.
He conducts the rest of the appointment with his focus squarely on the test. Lina glances at me, confusion clouding her brow. I shrug.
When it’s time to leave, he hands her a prescription and lifts his gaze to me.
“Thanks, doc,” I grin.
His eyelids are shaking. “Anytime, sir.”