Chapter 5
Nate
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing holding Lila's slim form in my grasp. Her body molds perfectly to mine. All woman, as opposed to the kid I remember leaving behind to start my military career.
Instead of gangly limbs and awkward angles, her ass presses into me, round and inviting, soft and perfectly shaped, fitting against my cock like she was made for it.
Her chest heaves with each breath, causing the underside of her breasts to brush against my arm with each short, punctuated inhale.
Each illicit touch sends sparks straight to my groin.
When did this happen? When did she fill out like this?
My body burns as I hold on to her, my mind drifting where it shouldn't. What started out as a harmless prank quickly turns into something else entirely. This is wrong. Inappropriate. I'm her fucking stepbrother.
I shouldn't notice how she feels in my arms as if she's made for me.
I shouldn't notice how warm and inviting she feels.
How perfect. How I want nothing more than to bury my face in her neck and drink in her scent.
To bite down on that tender flesh and mark her, claim her, make her mine.
Or worse, go down much lower where her short pajama bottoms barely cover her.
Are they actually that short though? Or are they perfectly fine and I'm just the pervert who wants to slip them down and devour her, to drink in the scent wafting from her body, to spread her thighs wide and tongue-fuck her pussy until she's sobbing and begging.
God, what is wrong with me. What the actual fuck is wrong with me.
But then, it's not like I've seen her in several years. She's grown up without me, become a woman while I was away. If only she had stayed that odd kid, the one who followed me around and bothered me with insane, curious questions.
Unfortunately, that's not what happened. She's like a stranger to me, a woman I'd take back to my room and fuck if she weren't my stepsister. A woman I'd bend over the nearest surface and rut into until she screams. But she is my stepsister.
Forbidden.
Taboo.
Off-fucking-limits.
Then why can't I let go of her? Why do I continue to clutch her to me like I'm a drowning man and she's my life raft? With each passing moment, I become more aware of her body against mine.
She's stiff in my arms with a sharp hint of fear permeating the room.
Underneath that, however, the soft, honeyed scent of her arousal floods my nose until it's all I can think about.
Sweet and intoxicating, it makes my mouth water and my cock throb.
Each breath is laced with it. I'm consumed, ravenous, desperate.
God. I must be more jet-lagged than I thought for her to be having this much effect on me.
That, or I'm far more exhausted from travel than I realize.
It's not normal for my control to slip like this. What I need is a cold shower and a long nap. Between jet lag and driving from Aurora all the way to Grand Junction on just a few hours of sleep on the plane, it must all be catching up with me.
But what makes all of this worse is that I don't think she's aware of her body's reaction.
Does she even realize it? Does she understand how she's responding to me?
How wet she must be right now, slick probably soaking through those thin shorts.
It's an odd response to the sort of danger I pose.
But then again, who can rightfully say what the body does when it goes into survival mode?
With all my years working with EOD and chemical warfare, I've smelled my fair share of scents. There's been the acrid stench of fear, the mellow scent of despondency, the alluring scent of arousal, and the sharp spice of anger. All of them are different. All of them are valid.
It must just be her system's way of coping.
Taking a deep breath, I do my best to tamp it all down and ignore my own response to her scent.
Tragically, it's as if she's every delectable forbidden fruit I can imagine, all coated in rich, raw honey.
Even now, my mouth waters as my cock hardens behind her, nestled in the crack of her ass, thick and insistent, pressing right where I could slide inside if I just pulled those shorts down.
Does she feel it? Does she understand the effect she's having on me?
Does she know how hard I am, how badly I want to grind against her until I come in my pants like a fucking teenager?
Nothing in her body shifts as I continue to keep my arm loosely around her waist. Maybe she's still too innocent to understand.
Wrong fucking thing to think. My balls draw up nearly to the point of pain as I let her go and pull away. As she turns, I note the defiant quirk to her lips as she plants her hands on her hips and glares at me.
"You idiot," she seethes. "You fucking scared me. Do you want to wake up Dad and Linda?" Turning, she shakes her head and mumbles under her breath. "Hell. I just wanted a fucking cup of coffee in peace. Looks like that's not going to happen now."
I let out my breath in a hard whoosh. Based on her response, I guess it's safe to say she had no idea the danger she was truly in, or the battle that raged in my mind. Far more innocent than I imagined. That, or she's the shrewdest little charlatan I've ever had the displeasure of coming across.
Even now, she sways her hips as she leans over, practically thrusting her ass in my face.
The shorts ride up even more, digging into the crack of her ass, showing off every fucking bit of her curves.
It hugs her so tightly that I can see the outline of her pussy lips, puffy and swollen.
Am I crazy, or can I also see just a hint of coppery curls peeking out from the edge? Is she even wearing underwear?
Everything threatens to short circuit at that very thought.
Knowing how easy it would be to just yank everything down and take her with my hand, my cock, or my mouth, to shove my fingers inside her tight little pussy and feel how wet she is, how ready…
It's a temptation that has me clenching my fists and gritting my teeth so hard I'm shocked they don't crack.
I'm a bad man. A bad, depraved man. Turning, I force myself to purge my brain of the sight.
Even if it wasn't her curls, even if she was wearing underwear, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the sight of her pussy lips pressing against the thin fabric, perfectly outlined so I know almost intimately how she looks down there without even seeing her bare. It’s like I can perfectly imagine how it would look spread open, pink and glistening, begging to be filled.
"How do you want it?" she breathes, her tone soft and husky.
My mind can only think of one thing. How do I want her?
Well, at this moment, naked and strapped down to the nearest available surface so I can eat her out like a man starved.
My tongue buried deep in her pussy while she writhed and cried, unable to escape as I made her come over and over until she's a sobbing mess.
I want her arousal to coat my face, to drown me in that forbidden scent that continues to drift from her body in waves.
"Well?" Her tone is more strident as she snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Earth to Nate. How do you want your coffee? I haven't put the grounds in yet, so I can change it up if you want a different flavor than just regular."
Clearing my throat, I look over at the red container with its black lid off to the side, allowing the aromatic scent to drift from the ground beans. Coffee. Just focus on the fucking coffee.
"Black is fine. Any coffee is fine."
"Good."
She turns back around and tugs at her shorts, bringing them much lower before prepping the machine. Now, when she reaches over for things, it's far less scandalous. Yeah, they ride up a touch, but not enough to show off anything. As it should have fucking been in the first place.
As the scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the room, she looks back over at me and crosses her arms, just staring, looking me up and down as if doing a better job at inspecting me than my damn MTI in basic training. Mimicking her stance, I do the same and study every fucking inch of her.
Odd, boyish angles melted away into the soft, gentle curve of her cheeks. Her startling blue eyes stare into mine, looking like the clearest pools of water. Jet black hair, once a shoulder-length bob, now cascades down her back in soft waves.
Fuck, but those strands would look so perfect wrapped up in my fist, tangled around my fingers as I yank her head back and expose her throat, as I hold her in place while I fuck into her from behind.
I foolishly indulge myself as I let my gaze drift down her body.
Her breasts are certainly far more round and full, pressing against the fabric of her pajama top until the buttons nearly strain with each breath.
They’re perfect handfuls that would overflow my palms, nipples I could tease until she's whimpering. Temptation wrapped in holiday fabric.
The hourglass of her waist draws my eye as I follow it to wide hips.
They’re certainly made for gripping, for holding her steady while I pound into her.
Unfortunately, now that I'm there, all I can think about is how her pussy pressed against the fabric and I, once more, find myself ravenous.
Diverting my errant thoughts, I follow her legs down to her bare feet.
The polish gleams up at me in a festive white and red, and for the first time that I can remember, I long to run my lips across the delicate arch.
I've never been a foot man before, but apparently that means fuck all when it comes to Lila.