Chapter 8 ~ Bellamy
Yeah, we’re step-brothers, and we fuck
––––––––
Morning came too fast for my liking, yet not fast enough.
I slept like shit, tossing and turning, until I gave up and jacked off to his picture for the third time, imagining his hands on my thighs while I fucked his bratty mouth.
The ice bath I took this morning helped, but not as much as the coffee I sip as I rummage through my closet for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes.
At this point, I am not getting to that class on time, and I woke up earlier than I need to so I wouldn’t be the last one there.
“If Minho kills you, can I have your record collection?” Yeseo asks.
I chuckle. “Yeah, and you can have my flat screen TV, the Xbox and my Pokémon collection.”
“Really?”
“No.”
We’ve been on the phone since I woke up. It was originally so Yeseo could help me choose an outfit, but she gave up before I even showed her my options.
I don't want it to look like I am trying too hard to impress Minho, so I decide to go with wearing an Eden U dark grey hoodie with a tank top underneath and ripped jeans that fit well enough that if he checks me out, he’ll see I’ve got a nice ass.
Not that I want him to check me out or anything. That would be a ridiculous thing to want after the longest sex dream of being fucked by Minho in the shower.
I still think hate sex could work for us, especially if it gets me a few steps closer to making him my boyfriend. I just need the right incentive. Step-brothers with benefits has a nice ring to it. But then, what does Minho get out of it?
He hates me and rightfully so.
“Do you think I have a chance?” I ask after a while, and I hate how weak and vulnerable my voice sounds the moment the words leave my mouth. “I know I fucked up, but I don't think I can walk away.”
Yeseo doesn’t say anything at first, but when she does, I exhale a breath I didn't realise I was holding until I let it go.
“I think if you just sat down with him somewhere not so public and apologised, you would have a better chance—slim but a lot better,” she starts. “But I also know you two like these back-and-forth sparring matches, so see how this goes and if he rejects you... again—”
“Thanks, just the reminder I needed today.”
Yeseo laughs. “Sorry, I am just saying.”
“I know.”
I am going to need a miracle at this point if I am ever going to get him to like me the way I like him. I might also need professional help because repeatedly dreaming of your step-brother kissing you is—well, it's weird, but fuck it, right?
I want to kiss him again. Preferably without alcohol in my system this time. And a girlfriend in the way.
“You sure I can’t convince you just to start small?” Yeseo asks through the speaker. “Maybe get him a box of those gross Oreo doughnuts he likes.”
“As cute as that sounds, I like to think consistent teasing and poking will do the trick.” Besides, if I can’t convince myself to start with baby steps, then I wasn’t being convinced by my step-sister on how to proceed with getting Minho to at least like me.
I would add those doughnuts to my to-do list, though.
“Remember this after he pours iced coffee on your head,” Yeseo tsks. “Also, call your mother; apparently your psycho of a dad is harassing her about wanting to see you.”
Can’t this man just leave us alone?
I sigh. “I will be sure to give her a call later.”
“Good, now, I have work, but let me know how badly my brother fucks you up or don’t; I’ll just ask Noah.”
I open my mouth, but Yeseo hangs up, and my phone buzzes as I go to grab my car keys to see a text from Noah himself pop up.
Noah: You’re really going to do this
Not a serious question since he already knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop me from typing a response.
Me: See you there
Noah: He’s going to skin you alive, dude
I grin despite myself.
Me: I am hoping he does a lot of things to me
Noah responds seconds later with a single facepalm emoji. My grin widens as I pocket my phone and leave my room with a rush of excitement coursing through my veins.
Ready or not, Minho, here I come.
***
I’m late. Five minutes to be exact. But it is fine because it's 8:05 A.M.; I made a quick stop to get Minho a little gift to call a truce—however temporary that will be—but hopefully he takes it as a cease-fire and not as me making fun of him for liking something so sticky and sweet.
I might have had one before I got out of my car and hated it. I am just not the biggest doughnut fan, so this will be a treat for him, not me.
I’m standing in front of door 616, checking the room number online twice before I push the door open and poke my head in, just to make sure I’m not walking into the wrong lecture hall by accident.
This room is half full, tiered seats slop down toward a lectern where the professor, a weirdly familiar hot blonde with rectangular glasses and her boobs basically out on display, is arranging a stack of handouts.
Where have I seen her before?
Whatever.
I am sure if I hear her speak, it will jog my memory.
Still, until then, I scan the rows as people push past me to enter the room; that’s when I find him in the fourth row near the window, his head bent over a notebook, headphones on, his wireframe glasses perched on his nose, catching the sun's rays, his laptop open to his playlist. Minho’s wearing a dark mesh hoodie that makes his skin look pale, and he hasn’t noticed me yet as I make my way to him.
Hasn't even looked up.
It doesn't matter. I let myself watch him for a moment, and that familiar heat rises in my chest. The same heat I feel whenever we talk or that night when I sent that photo and imagined him staring, hating it or being unable to look away.
Unless he deleted it?
I’ll have to send him more—for teasing purposes, of course.
I take a deep breath, walk the rest of the distance between us and drop into the seat right next to him.
The sound of my bag hitting the ground is loud enough in the quiet room that Minho’s head snaps up toward me before he removes his headphones.
The look on his face when our eyes meet—shock, confusion that quickly morphs into disbelief.
And then, as if slipping a mask on, pure unadulterated hatred and annoyance flash in his eyes.
I have to say, it is everything I’ve been hoping for since registering for this class, and I am not the biggest history fan, so this is going to be interesting to see how badly I fail every assignment and test while trying to get Minho’s attention.
My step-brother’s jaw tightens as he quickly looks away from me, his mouth flattening into a hard line, and all I can do is stare like an idiot.
I am almost taken aback when he glances at me again for a full three seconds, his pen frozen mid-stroke, and I smile at him like we are the oldest of friends.
I drop the box of Oreo doughnuts in front of him, and his eyes go wide like saucers before they look back up at me again.
He’s so cute when he’s confused.
“Mind if I sit here?” I keep my voice low so only he can hear.
“Yes, I do mind; there are other seats,” he says through gritted teeth, pushing the box of sweets aside, all while keeping his voice equally quiet. “What are you even doing here?
I ignore that last part.
“I know, but this chair is my favourite now.” I bend over, open my bag and pull out a notebook I have barely written in.
The majority of pages are still blank except for the first three, where I doodled a dick in the margin of the first page during yesterday's health and fitness class. I flip past it, look at Minho, who is burning daggers into my skull, lean in, and whisper, “Don’t worry, I won’t bite. ”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re in the wrong class.”
“Nope,” I say dramatically. “Check your roster, you’ll see I am registered to be here.”
Minho’s eyes flick down to his notebook, and I see the moment his mind tries to put it all together, figuring out whether I am lying or telling the truth, trying to remember if he’d seen my name on the attendance list a few weeks ago.
I wasn’t since I transferred late—like how I transferred into everything else in his life.
“You switched programs,” he says, not to me but to himself, as if he still can’t believe it; then his eyes meet mine again, and I swear I could lose myself in his. “I can’t believe you would pull something so—”
“Romantic?”
“Idiotic.”
I lean in a little more, and he doesn’t back away. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, baby.”
He’s glaring now and leans in until our mouths are almost touching.
All it would take is for me to close the gap, and that alone sends a tingling sensation all the way to my dick.
“I am not and never will be your baby.” Minho shakes his head.
“God, I can’t believe I am going to have to suffer your presence here now. ”
Well, he'd better get used to it because I am about to hire a tutor so I don't fail all of my classes. I want him, but I also want to succeed in school.
“I am so glad you noticed the effort I put into this game of cat and mouse of ours, little brother,” I tease.
He scoffs. “I am sure a lot of people noticed.” He looks down at his notebook, but his hand is shaking. I see it the moment his pen scratches against the paper a little too hard. “Leave it to you to do something without any subtlety—do you just get off on tormenting me? Is that why you are here?”
Yes?
A little.
But I am definitely here for you, Minho. That's what I would have said if I didn’t like seeing him turn fifty shades of red.
“Who said anything about wanting to be subtle?” I ask, settling back in my chair, stretching my legs out and giving him my best smile. “When I want something, I just go for it and deal with the consequences later.”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “And what is it you want, because I want my book back.”
I lean over for my bag and pull out said book he so desperately wants back, and drop it in front of him.
“I want you.”