7. Montana
7
Montana
I wake up in a panic.
I forgot to lock the door again.
My thighs instinctively seal together, my quads tightening, and my arms circle my body before my eyes even have the chance to open. Instinct, I guess.
I look to my left and see an unfamiliar wall, then quickly peer to my right and see my nightstand and cell phone. Taking a quick breath, I press against my pounding temples, slowly dragging my shaking hands down my face and holding them on my warmed cheeks as I familiarize myself with my surroundings. It takes me a moment to calm my shuddering body and orient myself to where I am. I’m not at my mom’s old house with strange, unfamiliar men lurking. Well, there’s still that…
Wait, Wesley.
I’d texted Kathy last night for Shane’s number, using a weak he’s at the grocery store, and I need milk excuse to ensure I got my clap back for the tainted pizza, all while I was waiting to hear back from Wes. Kathy’s delusional ass didn’t question it. I hoped it would anger him, but it was the principle behind the image that stood strong. You can’t fuck with me, and you sure as shit won’t break me .
And if the pizza picture wasn’t enough, I took the blade he’d stabbed into the last pepperoni slice and jabbed it into the wall, hoisting up the soiled red panties that had been lying out for all to see. Maybe they’ll get the hint and start cleaning this place up.
Grabbing my phone, I immediately search through my messages. Sure enough, there’s an unopened one from Wesley.
Wes: Practice ran late so I’m gonna headd back and shower then try to get ahead of ths Economics paprr. Call you tomorrow?
I toss the phone back on the nightstand and fall back on the bed. He sent the slurred message at 12:41 this morning. I'm not an idiot. I'm sure after practice, the rugby team had a feast of beer and boobs.
A heavy sigh leaves my chest, and I shift to my side. But as I turn, I feel a wetness between my thighs. Shocked, I sit up straight and toss the blankets off me. I peer down at my tank top, damp with perspiration from sleeping in this hotbox, and as I look further, I notice my underwear is stuck to me.
Laying back again, I dip my fingers into the elastic band of my panties, sliding them further south. I’m not supposed to get my period with the birth control I’m on. I generally don’t, so this would be new. Maybe the stress and all the changes in my chaotic life recently have me running red again.
As I bring my fingers up to my face, I see it.
Wet. Sticky. Pearly and iridescent. Cum.
I must’ve had a wet dream.
Getting out of bed, I head for the shared bathroom on our end of the house to shower and get ready for my first online meet and greet with my Statistics class. Luckily, Shane’s door is closed, and the rest of the house appears silent. I never did hear them come back last night. Partying until all hours of the morning, I’m sure.
I strip off my clothing, dropping the wet underwear onto my tank top, and look in the mirror. My heart nearly stops when I see it. On the glass is a message written in what looks like a permanent marker.
YOU OWE ME A NUT
Such an idiot. Clearly, he’s mad because I turned those rough-looking girls away from the house last night. After texting back and forth with Markie, I assumed Wes was surprising me when I heard the light knocking. Opening the door a little too eagerly, I was met with bitchiness, black fishnet stockings, and blue-streaked hair. I suggested the two unwelcome visitors go scissor to pass the time before slamming the door in their faces and passing out for the night.
Guess I lost the boys their late-night pussy. Welcome to the world of having me as your new roommate.
Ignoring his displaced aggression through angry mirror messages, I turn on the shower and step in. Letting the warm water release the tension in my shoulders, I sigh with pleasure before hearing the lock on the bathroom door click open. I grip the shower curtain, wrapping it around my naked body and peering around it just as Shane walks in through the mist, wearing nothing but black sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
“Get the fuck out! I’m showering!” I shriek.
He flips the lid of the toilet up, ignoring me as he whips out his cock. His eyes aren’t even open as he tips his head back, facing the ceiling while he drains his main vein into the toilet. Inadvertently staring, I can’t help thinking that even limp, that thing could bring a woman to the land of orgasmic bliss.
Hating my thoughts, I replace them with anger, pulling the shower curtain open wide and turning the showerhead nozzle toward him just as he’s flushing. The water sprays across his face and chest, and he winces at first, barely cracking his eyes open before peering down at his sweats.
Scowling, he decidedly steps out of his pants. No. No. No. Sliding them down his sculpted thighs, I note his lack of underwear before taking in the dark trail of hair descending from his navel to the deeply cut V of his abdomen. A large raised scar slashes across his side just under his ribs, converging across the all-too-defined lines of his structured abs. He kicks his sweats to the floor, not bothering to cover himself at all. I try to play it cool, but like the horrific car crash he is, I can’t stop looking.
He approaches, taking a step into the shower along with me, and I scream.
“What are you doing?!”
He shoots me another scowl, this time with his eyes actually open. “Someone got me all wet, so I’m showering. Same as you.” He peers down at my tank top and soiled underwear on the floor, then glares back at me.
My spine stiffens, and my face floods with heat. There’s no way he knows. How could he possibly know I had a wet dream? Did I moan? Fuck, I must’ve moaned.
He reaches around, where I’m still standing, wet, naked, and completely frozen in shock, clutching my arms around my body to cover as much as I can, and grabs the body wash. Lathering himself up, the scent of minty spice hits my nostrils as I study the way his hands coast over the muscular cuts of his body. His lean torso that tapers into his waist, layered with striated muscle, his corded forearms being worked by the hands that made my body come alive before that camera—all of it is far too appealing to watch firsthand.
He’s your stepbrother.
“Must’ve been a good one,” he remarks. “Got someone new on your mind?”
He’s a dick.
“Do you not see me here?” I shriek. “Where’s the fucking privacy?”
“Ah, you feel unseen,” he comments, not even looking in my direction. “What a concept.”
There’s meaning beneath the statement. But I don’t care enough to piece that puzzle together. All I know is this man is throwing a serious wrench in my plans. At my silence, he turns to face me.
“You lost your privacy the minute you gave me clearance.” His hungry eyes scan my body. “The moment you invaded my world and made it your own.”
I guess we’re doing this. Right here. Right now. Naked as the day we were born.
“You deceived me,” I seethe. “That’s the only way you got away with screwing your new stepsister on camera, you sick fuck. Lies; your favorite tool?”
He takes a step forward, towering over me, causing me to step back into the shower wall. His eyes flicker with fire.
“Does it matter?” he says sharply. “Does it honestly matter to you that I took advantage of an amazing opportunity? You went there to fuck a stranger.” His head tips to the side as if he’s truly studying me. His gaze is direct, his pupils dark as the night. “And as far as I see it, you did. So no, it doesn't fucking matter.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. I did go there to fuck a stranger, and fuck a stranger I did.
“There are two ingredients to deceit, sweet sister,” he begins softly, leaning in closer until we are only a breath apart. “A good bit of truth and a few little lies.”
“A few little lies,” I scoff. “Like the fact that you faked an entire company just to fuck me? Seems more than a few.”
“Who is it you’re trying to be, Montana?” he asks, gripping my upper arm.
His hold on me does more than it should. His touch burns me. Makes me feel things in places I’ve worked hard to negate. But my body outweighs my mind as if it just can’t forget how good it felt to be in his maddening grasp.
Snapping out of it, I rip my arm from his hold and slap him away, but he shoves his naked body against mine in response, fighting with me until his muscles out-muscle me, and he successfully holds me in place. The water is now running cold as we stand together, pressed against one another, the rage building between us doing more than enough to keep us warm. I feel his thickening cock rub near my inner thigh, and my insides flood with heat. Closing my eyes tightly, I try to ward off the want.
“What’s it to you?” I growl before spitting the excess water dripping down my mouth in his face.
He squints, tightening his jaw, before opening up those dark lashes again and glaring down at me, the water cascading over his low-fade haircut. He doesn’t say anything, simply staring back and forth between my eyes as if searching for something…or someone.
“Get down on your knees,” he commands softly.
“What? No. Not hap—”
Water interrupts my words as he grips my wrists, crushing the bones in one hand and pushing me until I’m beneath the showerhead. Like a drowned rat, I spit and cough until his leg kicks out the back of my knee, forcing me to kneel at the bottom of the tub and face him as he insisted.
“I swear to God, I’ll draw blood if you put that thing in my mouth,” I hiss, shaking my long, wet locks out of my face.
“A promise I can live with,” he murmurs.
He steps forward, his cock long and slick near his thigh, as I inch closer to the faucet to get away from him. Water trails down his torso, and my chest tightens the closer he gets. I swallow, peering up at him now. He glares down at me, the water cascading around his large frame as his body becomes some sort of shield, protecting me from it.
“Sweet Monty,” he says softly, reaching down to caress my face. “You don’t even know who you are anymore.” I flinch as his fingers comb through my hair, gathering it at the back of my head and slowly running down the length of it, methodically brushing it out. Preparing to grip it in his palm and mutilate my throat, perhaps? “But I do,” he whispers. “And I never forget.”
He leans forward more, and just as I’m sure he’s about to invade my mouth with his manhood, his lip curls, and a look of utter disgust washes over him.
“Right where you belong.”
His hands drop from my hair as he stands upright, getting under the water to wash himself of any remaining soap. He just wanted me on my knees? I fumble to stand, my head jerking back and my hair pulling tightly from my nape. I’m stuck. He twisted my hair around the shower faucet.
I sit at the bottom of the tub, cold water dripping around my shoulders and neck, mulling over his words. But before I can put any of it together, he leans forward and turns the water off, leaving me near the drain, naked, dripping, and cold, as he steps out of the shower.
“You’d be wise to delete that video, Shane,” I warn, working to untie my hair.
We haven’t really discussed it yet, but just knowing he has possession of the pornographic material has me shaking beneath my tough exterior. He could ruin everything I’ve been working toward.
He says nothing as he dries himself off. Still working to untie my knotted hair, I finally free myself from his trap and stand, closing the shower curtain and turning the water back on to finish washing myself.
“You’d be wise not to suggest it,” he says from the other side of the curtain. “And you’re as mad as they come if you think I’m deleting that masterpiece.” He slams the bathroom door on his way out, making my heart skip a beat.
My cheeks boil with heat as my maddening anger toward him overwhelms me. I hate the fact that he called our sex tape a masterpiece. I despise the way it makes my insides sizzle. That familiar tightening in my belly returns whenever I think about that experience. It was easily one of the most erotic and forbidden things I’ve ever done.
Something I can’t seem to make myself regret, no matter how badly I should.