Chapter 10 Jessie
Jessie
I lie in bed and wait for him. I try not to, but right now all the arguments I’ve been using to convince myself that touching him would be a huge mistake seem ill thought out and poorly formed.
Exhibit A – he’s my stepbrother
So what if his mother is married to my father?
I’m not married to anyone and it’s not like they asked for my blessing before they got married.
In fact, I think you’ll find I was against the marriage from the start.
This whole thing is their fault, really.
If they’d bothered to ask me, I’d have said, “hell no,” and this whole fucked up step bro situation could have been avoided entirely.
And what the hell were they thinking, putting us out here alone in the guest house?
I mean, have they seen Luke? He looks like he was built for the sole purpose of getting guys to start questioning their sexuality.
For me that question was asked and answered years ago, so I’m the last guy on Earth they should have put in this position.
It’s almost like they wanted something to happen.
Far be it from me to disappoint them.
Exhibit B – he’s so sweet and nice, and I’ll hurt him badly if I go anywhere near him.
Is he, though? Is he really? Because he sure as hell didn’t seem all that nice when he flipped his lid about me talking to Izzy.
His brows were furrowed and his chin was drawn down to his chest. He was breathing roughly, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth like an animal.
He looked like a totally different person.
It annoyed me and shocked me at the time, but I can’t deny I respect the hell out of him for it.
You’re not going to talk to her like that and talk to me the way you talk to me through the wall.
The mettle of him caught me off guard.
What if he’s not the sunny momma’s boy we all think he is?
Exhibit C – He’s a virgin.
Okay, okay, he probably is the sunny momma’s boy we all think he is, but what of it?
I know virgins get a bad rep for getting attached, but he’s clearly considered Gould’s offer, or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.
It wouldn't need to be serious. He's here.
I'm here. It would be the definition of a situationship.
A short situationship. A simple transaction, a base interaction that serves a purpose for both of us; he gets his V card punched and I get to punch it.
If that’s not the definition of win-win, I don’t know what is.
It’s not like it would be all that great.
He’s a total noob and I’ve never fucked a guy.
Not a recipe for mind-blowing sex. Obviously, I’d still be pretty decent in bed.
I kind of have a talent for that type of thing.
He’d most likely be crap, over-eager and nervous, so once it’s done it would be done.
Over and done.
I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?
Our parents find out and both have a heart attack? They’re both fit and young, they have a lot to live for, they’d probably make it.
I get disowned and he goes back to being the beloved only child? Not all that different from the status quo right now, so hardly worth worrying about.
Also, it’s not like they’d need to know.
I’ve never felt the need to inform either of my parents of who I’m sleeping with.
It would be a one-time thing. We could bang it out and get it out of our system.
It’s simple, really. Besides, we’re both going to college in September.
If it’s super awkward afterwards we’d won’t have to see each other all that much.
We’d only really have to see each other at Christmas, and over spring break, and the three months of summer, and again at Thanksgiving, and at birthdays, and our parents’ wedding anniversary.
Shit.
If it’s awkward, it’s going to be awkward as fuck. Not only that, it’s going to be awkward for the rest of our lives.
The rest. Of. Our. Lives.
Leave him alone, Jessie.
For the love of God, man, leave him alone.
I’ve talked myself round in a circle, and not for the first time. This is my decision and it’s final. I’m going to leave Luke alone. It’s a mature decision, moreover it’s the right decision. There’s no doubt about that. I feel pleased and proud of myself.
My resolve lasts for almost twelve minutes.
Luke goes to his room after showering and potters around like he always does.
He opens his wardrobe and closes it again.
I hear him hopping from one foot to the other.
Pajamas tonight? He gets into bed, lying down heavily so the headboard knocks against the wall.
He lies abnormally still for a long while, so long I start to think he’s going to be a good little momma’s boy and go straight to sleep.
I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed when I hear the tell-tale sounds of him grappling for pleasure.
I don’t dwell on the matter for long. I’m instantly on my knees, kneeling on my mattress with my ear pressed keenly against the wall.
“Bet that feels good, huh?” I drawl, despite common sense strongly suggesting I shut the fuck up. “Bet you missed having a dick in your hand. Bet you’re horned up as hell.”
He doesn’t answer. I wasn’t expecting him to.
He starts stroking fast. I wasn’t expecting that either.
“Slow down!” I bark.
He ignores me and keeps going at his own pace.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” I say softly, placing one hand on the wall beside my face, “I got something for you. A peace offering.” It isn’t. It’s the exact opposite. “Look in the back of your drawer.”
I hear a frustrated sigh. I can’t tell if he’s frustrated with me or with himself. Probably a bit of both. Can’t say I blame him. He seems to deliberate for a while and then he yanks the drawer open. He fumbles around until he finds what I left for him.
“Do you like it?”
No answer.
“Wanna play with it? Open the box and hold it in your hand. Feel the weight and thickness of it. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you exactly where to put it.”
Again, no answer. Not a word. Not even so much as a creek of a mattress spring. He must be sitting stock still. Anxiety trickles up my limbs.
Shit. Have I pushed him too far?
I hear the dull thud of a foot landing on the floor and then another.
Rapid footsteps are headed my way. My bedroom door flies open, slamming into the wall from the momentum.
I squawk and leap away from the wall, hoping like hell he didn’t see me with my ear plastered to it.
I slink ungracefully down into a seated position, leaning my back against the wall and curling one leg under myself.
His face is like thunder. His lips are pulled up into a sneer and his eyes have gone from sky blue to faded blue denim.
He stalks over to me and for a second I feel a tremor of fear.
He looks me dead in the eye and roughly throws the neatly boxed butt plug I bought for him onto my lap.
For good measure, he returns the lube in a similarly ungracious manner.
I feel a quick surge of relief. There’ll be no parking of minivans or anything else in Luke Bennet. Thank fuck. He’s saved me from myself. I seem to be hellbent on making a calamitous decision when it comes to him, but he has more sense than me and I’m grateful for that.
Let this be the end of this madness.
He turns towards the door, and I’m flooded by an intense feeling. It’s horrible. Cold and dark. It reaches deep inside me and wrings my guts out. It’s so awful and unprecedented it takes me a second to place the emotion. I feel shocked and sick when I do.
Sadness.
I’m infinitely and insanely sad to see him turning his back on me.
The sense of loss I feel is completely disproportionate with what’s happened between us.
I try to find my voice, but my chest is still squeezing too tightly.
I lean my head back against the wall and prepare to watch as he walks away.
He’s still for a few beats. He has his back to me but he’s still within reach.
The tension in the room reaches nuclear levels.
He doesn’t move for a while and then at last, he does.
When he does, his legs aren’t the things moving.
His hands move. They lift the hem of his T-shirt a little, just enough that he’s able to dig his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, one hand on each hip, slowly inching them down.
I let out an awful, humiliating, sound as he eases his pants down to slowly reveal the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.
It’s tanned and smooth like the rest of him, except for the slightest hint of peach fuzz that lights up as my table light hits it.
His cheeks are full and round. Solid muscle with just enough padding for fingers or teeth to sink into.
I look down at the butt plug in my lap and my hands start to shake as I grasp his intention. Playtime is over. He’s done with my shit. No more instructions through the wall. He’s called my bluff.
I deliberate for less than a second.
He stands perfectly still as I unwrap the box. God, people who package shit like this are assholes. If they don’t know that horny people don’t have great fine motor coordination, what the hell are they doing in the business of packaging sex toys?
After a short but intense battle, I wrestle the steel plug from its bindings.
I hold it in my hand, feeling strangely confused about the turn of events that sees me being the one testing the weight and girth of it.
I don’t wonder for long. I get to my feet and stand directly behind Luke.
I’m taller than he is, not by a lot, but enough that I need to lean down slightly to talk into his ear.
“Reach back with both hands. Grab a cheek in each hand.” A surge of power engulfs me, making me feel almost high, when he does as I say. I take a quick breath to steady myself. “Spread ‘em.”
He does.
For good measure, he leans forward a little, too.
I glance down, jaw slack, as my gaze follows his crack all the way down.
I can see a slight hint of his hole, just a shadow, and I want more.
I press my free hand into the small of his back making him arch and spread himself more.
I grab the lube and have a skirmish with that too.
As soon as I’m victorious I squeeze a generous amount onto the plug.
I look down at his ass again. I want to touch him.
I want to run my hands lightly over his skin.
I want to sink to my knees and rub my face and my lips all over the globes of his ass.
I can’t make the leap. I’m still shitting myself that I’ve somehow misunderstood what he wants.
He gave me the lube and the butt plug, right?
So that’s what he wants, and that’s what I’m going to give to him.
I take a quick, shaky breath and slide a slick finger down his crack, I circle his asshole lightly, moving fast so my nerve doesn’t fail me.
“Lean forward.” My voice is shakier than my breath is.
He does as I say, and as he does, I line the tip of the plug up with the center of his neat little pucker and I push it in. The tip sinks in, but he tenses and pushes it out. I reach up and take the back of his neck in one hand, applying gentle pressure.
“Relax.”
He adjusts his hands, grabbing hold of an even bigger handful in each one, spreading himself wider, strong fingers cause soft flesh to pleat.
I press the plug upwards again, this time it slides in.
I move slowly, nudging the small metal tip in and out of him until the thickest part of it sinks in.
He makes a soft sound as it does. His hole is hungry.
It must be ravenous, because he swallows the rest of the plug greedily, sucking it into his narrow channel, and pulling the base close to his body.
“Which hand do you use to jack it?” I ask.
“Left.”
“Did someone tell you using your left hand feels like someone else is touching you?”
“Yeah.” I hear a soft smile in the word.
You know nothing, momma’s boy. Just wait till you feel my hands on you.
Imma blow your mind.
I pry his left hand off his ass cheek and squirt a dollop of lube in his palm. “Jerk it.”
I don’t need to tell him twice, he takes off with vigor, molesting himself with long, firm strokes that make his forearm flex hard.
I’d like to tell him to slow down, but I’m so turned on it’s taking all my focus not to whip my own dick out and use it to roughly replace the plug that’s inside him.
I’m not a hundred percent sure what’s going on here right now, or how I got myself into this situation, but I have a feeling that would be a very bad idea, so I focus all my attention on watching.
I allow myself to lean forward and rest my chin on his shoulder.
I inhale as I do it. Sea salt and fresh air.
I tilt my head, trailing my nose along his neck, wracking my brain, trying to identify the scent that eludes me.
I place my lips on his neck and drag them up and down once.
I do it again. The second time I do it, I lick him from the base of his neck to the shell of his ear, trying to use taste where my sense of smell fails me.
As I do it, I reach down and take hold of the butt plug’s flared base, I pull on it, starting a gentle game of tug-of-war between his muscle and me.
He leans back into the hand I still have on his neck. I press my fingers into the taut sinews I find there and inhale again. This time it hits me.
I know that smell.
Sea salt, fresh air, and something I want.