Chapter 11 Jessie
Jessie
I’m on my hands and knees on the floor next to my bed.
I’m mopping Luke’s semen off the floor with a bunched up handful of tissues.
I’m reeling. My dick is so engorged that if I cough right now, I’ll probably blow my load.
My thought waves are limping along, ungainly and wildly unintelligent, struggling to make sense of what just happened.
I’m stunned. I can’t believe he walked in here, started throwing sex toys around and then presented his ass like that. I can’t remember a time when anything has shocked me more. And to think I thought I was the one in control of the little game we’ve been playing.
As shocking as all that was, it didn’t come close to being as shocking as what happened next.
He came, groaning and trembling as he splashed on the floor.
He used rough, vicious strokes, hard enough to make his arm shake, to extend his peak.
When it was over, he pulled up his pants and stepped over the puddle he made on the floor.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said.
The only thing more notable than the incredible nerve of him, was the total lack of sincerity in his apology. He walked out of my room with the toy still lodged in his ass. Back straight, head held high. He didn’t pause and he didn’t look back.
I’ll admit to three showers today and that’s about it.
I haven’t been able to think straight. I’m not sure how I pass most of the day, though I do know that at one point I feel the cool skin on the back of Rachel’s hand against my forehead and she says, “Hope you’re not coming down with whatever Lu’s had. ”
I’m not sure if I answer or not.
I go to bed early because I can’t stand the tension. Or the anticipation. It’s been so bad, I’m almost considering taking Luke up on his offer over coffee this morning, “Wanna talk about it?”
If you know me at all, you’d know that’s very unlike me. I hate talking about this kind of thing. I don’t know what to say. None of my options are great.
I want you, but I don’t want to be with you because I know my mom will hate me for it and I highly doubt my dad will be crazy about the idea either?
He’s still in the living room watching TV. I’ve tried calling my mom, she must be out, and I’ve tried three books in my Tbr but I can’t get into any of them.
I want you, but I don’t want you to want me because I’ll be bad for you. I’ll hurt. I’ll trash your feelings at some point in the not-so-distant future and then we’ll have to keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives because guess what…we’re family, or something.
The bathroom door closes, and I hear the shower start running. Oh fuck. He’s probably undressing right now. He’s probably dragging his shorts over the perfect mounds of his ass and dropping them on the bathroom floor.
I want you, but other than a couple of drunken blowies and hand jobs, I’ve never been with a guy. I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m a ruthless fucker at the best of times. I’m the last person on Earth you want to have teaching you this stuff.
Soft steps pad past my door. I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
I’ve seen him make the journey before. He wraps a white towel around his waist, tucking it in over his left hip bone.
He doesn’t dry himself properly. He never does.
There are always droplets of water glistening all the way down his spine.
I want you, but…
My heart starts to pound as he settles in for the night.
I realize I’ve spent every waking moment today waiting for this.
I lie back on my bed and listen to his movements.
I close my eyes because it feels like I’m able to hear more that way.
In my mind’s eye, I see him naked. I’ve seen his legs and chest in the pool and the ocean and I’ve seen the back of him, too.
My mind fills in the blanks for the rest. I’m erect from the thought of it.
I’m so hard, I have to rub the heel of my hand against my shaft to stop my erection from becoming unbearable.
The worst of it is that the thought of him naked isn’t what makes me so hard.
It’s the thought of his face, open and smiling, as we ate our lunch together despite the uncertainty in his eyes.
It’s the way he raised his hand to cover a smile when Rachel felt my forehead.
When the smile faded, he dragged his hand absently across his lips and his forefinger lingered on his full, fleshy bottom lip, tugging it down slightly so I could see the pink wetness inside.
He gave me this strange, knowing look. I couldn’t tell if I liked it or not, but my dick sure as shit did.
I lie and wait for him to start jerking off until it feels like I’ve been waiting for days. Time lags until it feels like I’ve been waiting all my life.
“Luke,” I mouth, stopping short of allowing any sound from escaping, but only just.
I want you.
“Luke,” I say again, before I can stop myself. That time I do use my voice. It’s dry and desperate, it sounds the way he sounds when he says my name through the wall.
He doesn’t answer.
My guts clench with longing. He’s on his bed. I’m on mine. We’re less than a couple of feet apart, but it feels like miles. For the first time, the distance between us feels intolerable to me. It ignites the same feeling as yesterday.
Sadness.
Sadness that something beautiful is right there, so close, yet so far out of reach. I roll over onto my side, facing the wall, and rub my hand down my shaft again. I curl my fingers around my cock and squeeze firmly as it pulses in my palm.
“Luke.”
He still doesn’t answer, but he opens his drawer roughly. More roughly than usual. I tell myself it’s because he’s trying to make sure I can hear him.
“Don’t touch your dick, okay? Not yet.” I’m not sure if he’s obeying me, but I can’t hear any movement so he might be. “Lube up your fingers. Your forefinger and your middle finger. Make them nice and slick. You’ll need it for where they’re going.”
No movement. No sound. The silence from his side of the wall is deafening.
My breathing is coming in great, uneven gulps.
Along with the rapid beat of my heart, it’s all I can hear.
I lie there in limbo, hating myself and hating my parents for divorcing and hating the whole world for good measure.
I lie there until I can’t take it for another second.
I swing my legs off the bed and start for the door before I’m consciously aware I’ve made the decision to do it.
His bedroom door is ajar. I push it open gently, unsure if I don’t want to startle him or if some idiotic part of me is still hoping he might not see me.
He does. He’s expecting me. His bedside light is on and is casting a soft glow in the room.
His eyes are lazily watching the door. He’s lying on his back with one hand under the back of his head.
He’s stark naked. His legs are crossed at the ankles and his free hand rests on his chest. The bottle of lube lies on the bed beside him.
My eyes travel downward, even though I can feel him looking at me.
They land between his legs. His dick is rock hard, thick, veiny meat beneath taut skin.
So beautiful I’m instantly rendered breathless.
Speechless. His eyes meet mine, but aside from that he remains completely still.
“Don’t you want to play?” I speak softly, hoping to disguise the quiver in my voice.
“I do want to play,” he sounds a lot more certain than I do, “but I haven’t done that before.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’ve been waiting for you.”
His words cause a flurry of excitement in my belly that flows down lower.
I move tentatively toward the bed. As I sit down, he bends the leg closest to me at the knee, digging his foot into the mattress.
I sit in the space he’s made for me. Once I’m seated, it occurs to me that I have less than no idea what to do now.
My stepbrother is lying naked on his bed and I’m sitting between his legs.
He bends his other leg too and then sways that knee a little, so it brushes against my back.
The second our bodies make contact something inside me ignites.
Something dark. The very thing I don’t want him to get tangled up in.
I take one of his knees in each hand, looking into his eyes until I find the sweetness that lives inside him, then I force his legs open roughly.
His eyes fly open. I fully expect to see fright, but I don’t, instead I see an unmissable flare of arousal.
That’s all the encouragement I need to run my hands down his inner thighs.
I move slowly. Lightly. Feeling his hair ghosting my palms. I don’t stop and he doesn’t recoil or try to press his knees together.
He lets them fall further apart. I stay still for a moment feeling the silky warmth of the smooth skin where his thighs meet his groin.
My mind has been taken over by an inferno.
It rips through me, destroying everything in its path.
What it leaves behind glows orange and amber and is far from clever.
I have his body laid out in front of me, yet all I can think of is what we’ve been doing.
I’m so goddamn brainless right now, the only thing I can conceive of us doing are the things I’ve been telling him to do through the wall.
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
He does as I say, applying some lube and reaching down to take himself in hand.
He has big, masculine hands, but his fist doesn’t come close to dwarfing his boner.
He slides his hand up and down his shaft slowly, squeezing gently just before he gets to the tip.
I watch for a while, mesmerized, until I see he’s getting close.
“Stop,” I say.
His neck arches, pushing his head back into the pillow in frustration, but he doesn’t complain.
He takes his hand off his dick and waits for my instruction.
The way he’s looking at me unnerves me. There’s an open honesty, a vulnerability, I can hardly stand.
I don’t give him another instruction. Instead, I wrap my own hand around him.
He hisses through his teeth as he sucks a sharp breath in.
He feels thick and hot. Hard like I was expecting.
Familiar and new at the same time. I move my hand the way he moved his.
His mouth drops open and his eyes go vacant.
He makes a soft sound on the down stroke and starts rocking his hips in time with my hand.
I use my free hand too, adding it to the mix for no purpose other than to lubricate my fingers.
I’m still not thinking all that clearly so I’m kind of impressed with myself for remembering to do that.
The only thing my compromised mind knows is that I came into this room to make sure there were two fingers wedged in Luke Bennet’s ass.
Logic dictates that since he’s not using his fingers, I’ll have to use mine.
Once they’re slick, I trail my thumb down his ball seam and stroke his taint until I reach his hole.
I press a finger in as soon as I find the point of least resistance.
He gives way but I’m shocked by how tight he is.
He sucks me in and squeezes my finger rhythmically, clenching his ring as he moves his hips.
It’s smooth and warm inside him. So smooth and so warm.
God, it feels good. I love it. I love the feeling and I want more of it.
As soon as I’m sure he’s ready, I add a second finger.
I move both hands together, penetrating him on the downstroke, beckoning with the fingers inside him.
The action is a little harder to coordinate than I thought it would be.
It takes me a minute to find my rhythm, but I do.
His toes curl and I can tell he’s close.
He’s frantic. The sounds he’s making aren’t soft anymore.
They’re low and desperate. He tenses and falls silent for a second and then he erupts.
He thrusts jerkily into my hand and his ass clamps down on my fingers so tightly it would push me out if I let it.
I release him as soon as he relaxes, clambering to my knees and shoving my pants down.
I’m so frenzied I don’t think to add lube.
I use what little is left on the hand I jerked him with, which isn’t much.
I don’t care, I’d jack it bone dry right now and you wouldn’t hear a word of complaint from me.
I don’t take my time, I don’t edge or let my pleasure build.
There’s no time for that. My balls are screaming for release.
I don’t let them scream for long. I jerk hard and come so fast, my head spins from the shock.
White spots dance in my field of vision and I forget how to breathe in.
I collapse forward, pressing a heavy hand against his chest and grunting loudly as I shoot the biggest load of my life all over his belly and chest.
The second it’s over, I feel shaky and awkward. His eyes haven’t left mine since I walked into the room. He’s still looking at me like that. Honest and open. Vulnerable. It scares the shit out of me. I lean back to sit on my heels and struggle to pull my pants up.
He smiles at me with a strange mix of contentment, satisfaction and something else.
Wait, is that smugness?
I get off the bed quickly, instantly annoyed with him and annoyed with myself.
“Sorry about the mess,” I hiss.
I head to the door as fast as I can but as I swing it open, I can’t resist the urge to look back at him.
He hasn’t moved. He’s still flat on his back, one hand behind his head.
He’s trailing a finger through the pool of semen on his chest. When I make eye contact with him, he raises his finger to his lips, tilting his head as if he’s looking at a goddamn breakfast food, and leans in to lick it.