Chapter 13
13
SHILOH
For maybe a few seconds, I’m lost in the daring brush of Dom’s lips, the scrape of his stubble over my skin.
Then, all at once the truth of what’s happening crashes into me with the force of a semi truck. I shove against his chest with a yelp, leaping up from the couch and stumbling back several paces.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, my voice shaking far more than I’d like.
Dom’s eyes seem to glint dangerously as he leans back, sprawling in the armchair like it’s his throne. His lips curl up in that mocking smirk that somehow makes me feel ashamed.
“Come on, Shy Girl. We both know you wanted that as much as I did,” he drawls, his voice taking on a husky tone that tells me exactly where his mind is at. “It was written all over your face.”
I shake my head violently enough to bruise my own brain, desperately willing away the flush I can feel creeping up my neck.
“That’s insane! I wasn’t–I don’t…You’re my brother , for fuck’s sake!”
A low chuckle rumbles from Dom’s chest as he slowly stands, like a predator unfurling its muscles before it launches into an attack. “Stepbrother,” he corrects, taking a deliberate step in my direction. “And barely that. Don’t lie to me, Shiloh, I’d bet good money those pretty panties of yours are drenched right now.”
“You’re sick,” I spit, but even to my own ears, the words lack conviction. My face is burning hotter with each passing second, betraying me. I take another hesitant step back, until I feel my spine hit the wall. Trapped.
Dom’s dark eyes rake over me like he has all the time in the world to devour his prey. It’s like he’s removing each piece of my clothing one by one, without even lifting a finger. I squeeze my thighs together, desperately trying to ignore the traitorous heat that’s pooling between them.
“You will never touch me,” I seethe, summoning every ounce of venom I can muster. “We’re siblings. This is so wrong. On every level!”
His answering grin is pure black magic. “Have it your way.”
His gaze never leaves mine as he reaches over to where he draped his coat on the back of the couch. I watch in horror as he pulls on each of his leather gloves, the soft creaking of the buttery fabric almost deafening in the silence between us.
“I don’t have to touch you to make you scream.”
He advances on me again. I should run. I should scream. I should do anything other than stand here, pinned by his heated stare like a butterfly on a corkboard. But my muscles won’t listen to me, my voice locked away in some safe I can’t crack open.
This is Dom, my stepbrother. The same insufferable monster who used to taunt me mercilessly, and made my life a living hell any chance he got. So why does my body thrum at the promise of him claiming me? Why does some treacherous part of my soul hunger for him to pin me down like he did so many times when we were younger?
As if the last eleven years never happened, I’m right back to drowning in confusion. Desire warring with disgust in a violent battle where nobody wins. Dom towers over me now, close enough that I can feel his breath warm my already burning skin.
He raises one gloved hand slowly, as if trying not to spook me, and grasps my jaw between his fingers and thumb.
“Stop fighting yourself, Shy Girl. You don’t want to fight anymore, remember? Kiss me,” Dom commands.
At some point, between the closeness of his lips and the strong grip he has on my face, I stop thinking altogether. My body seems to move of its own volition, my hands fisting in his shirt and wrenching him towards me.
His deep groan tangles with my helpless whimper as our lips meet for the second time. He wastes no time plunging his tongue in my mouth, asserting his dominance in a way that’s so utterly him. But rather than fight against it like I tried to do for so many years, I let it overpower me. My knees start to shake until it’s possible only his hold on my jaw is keeping me upright.
He tastes like red wine and forbidden fruit, and I drink him in greedily over and over again.
Dom’s other hand slides up to cup my breast over my shirt. Even through layers of fabric, the heat of his touch brands me in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to erase. I immediately arch into his palm, shamelessly desperate for more.
How long has it been since a man touched me like this? Since I felt this wanted, this fiercely desired? In this moment I can’t recall ever being touched at all. Dom kneads my flesh roughly, until I’m squirming and panting in his gloved hands.
I should be disgusted. I should push him away again. But God help me, I can’t bring myself to end this.
My own hands are still fisted in Dom’s shirt, trapped between our bodies where I can feel the press of his solid chest. Clearly hungry for us to be closer still, he shoves his thigh between my legs, and I don’t even have to command the movement before I’m wantonly grinding against it, chasing some friction to soothe the fire blazing in my underwear.
Dom’s lips finally leave mine, he trails them along my jaw before grazing his teeth down my earlobe.
“That’s it, Shy Girl,” he growls. “Show me how bad you want this. You need it.”
All I can do is whimper again while he nips at my neck, his deft fingers somehow finding my puckered nipples, still confined within the fabric of my bra.
“Dom,” I pant, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought. “We shouldn’t…”
But even as the half-hearted protest leaves my lips, my hips continue to rock against him. Dom’s dark chuckle hums against the sensitive skin below my ear. “Your body disagrees,” he murmurs there.
He suddenly withdraws both his hands, only to reach out again to catch me as I almost crumple to the floor at his feet. His grip on my waist is strong, possessive almost, as his fingers sink into the soft flesh at my waist. I almost lose my balance again as he spins me, pulling me away from where he had me caged against the wall.
“Turn around.”
I blink up at him, in such a daze I can’t quite compute the order. Dom’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, but the effect is terrifying all the same.
“Now, Shiloh.”
My body obeys before my mind can catch up. Dom’s solid warmth is now pressed against my back, his hands reclaiming their possessive grip on my hips.
“Bend over,” he orders, another husky rumble in my ear. “Hold on to the back of the couch.”
I don’t know who I’ve become in the last few minutes, but I comply without hesitation, my fingers gripping the threadbare fabric of my second-hand sofa. Dom’s leatherbound fingers skate up the backs of my thighs, hoisting my skirt up to my hips and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I squeeze my eyes shut, grateful for the small mercy that I don’t have to look at him while he touches me in all the ways he shouldn’t. If I can’t see his face, maybe I can pretend it isn’t him, and this is just a vivid fantasy I’ve conjured after too many hours alone. This isn’t my stepbrother about to… to…
The thought trails off completely as Dom hooks his fingers into my underwear, dragging the fabric down at a torturously slow pace. I bite my lips to stifle an ungodly moan as the cool leather of his gloves slides against my exposed flesh. I had no idea fucking gloves would be such a turn on.
“Look at you,” Dom almost purrs, his hands coming back up to roughly squeeze my ass, pulling the cheeks apart. “So wet for me. I should have placed that bet after all. But still, I intend to cash in.”
I don’t respond, can’t respond. My whole universe has narrowed to the points where Dom is touching me, to the ache that’s grown to an almost painful roar between my thighs. I arch my back, silently begging him not to stop.
A single gloved finger traces a path straight down my slit, gliding through the slickness there. If I were thinking straight right now, I might marvel at how turned on I am, and that it’s my own stepbrother who’s reduced me to a mere puddle.
But I’m not thinking at all. Even less so when he plunges two fingers inside me without warning. I cry out, my pussy instinctively clenching against the intrusion. It’s been so long, the stretch burns in the most addictive way. Dom sets a punishing pace, curling his fingers to hit that spot that has my eyes rolling back in my head.
I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself drooling over the couch cushions. I’m lost to sensation, reduced to a panting, moaning wreck as he fucks me with his fingers. The leather adds a delicious friction I hadn’t ever imagined in my fantasies.
Just please don’t stop.
I barely notice when I start rocking my hips, meeting each thrust of his fingers with pure lusty greed.
“That’s it. Take what you need,” Dom praises me. “Show me how much you love my fingers in this sweet little cunt.” His crude commands should shock me, and snap me out of this desperate haze.
Instead, they only stoke the raging inferno burning in my core. I’m so close, teetering on the precipice. Just a little more…
I let out a strangled whimper when Dom suddenly withdraws his fingers. It chokes off completely when I hear the telltale sound of a zipper being dragged down. I catch my breath, and brace.
I don’t need to see what’s happening to know that it’s the head of Dom’s cock that I feel brushing through my dripping pussy, hot and insistent. A weak voice in the back of my mind screams at me that this is the point of no return, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of blood in my ears and the throbbing need between my legs.
Of course, Dom doesn’t ask for permission. He shoves himself inside me with one powerful thrust, stretching me to my limits. I yelp, the heady mix of pain and pleasure quickly turning it into a feral groan. He doesn’t give me time to adjust to his substantial fucking size, immediately setting a brutal pace that has my couch creaking beneath me.
“Fuck, Shiloh,” Dom grunts, his hips–still clad in the slacks he hasn’t bothered to remove–snapping against my ass. “You’re so fucking tight. Even better than I imagined.”
His words stir something in me, a fresh wave of heat licking up my spine.
He’s imagined this? Fantasized about how it might feel to be inside me?
The thought is intoxicating. I find myself pushing back to meet him again, thrust for thrust, chasing the impossible fullness like it’s the last time I’ll ever be fucked.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Take it all.”
Dom’s cock hits places inside of me I didn’t even know existed. It’s so wrong, but now that he’s there, I don’t want it to stop.
When he snakes a gloved hand around my hip, expert fingers seeking out my clit, and I see stars. The first brush of leather against the throbbing bundle of nerves has me almost sobbing into the crook of my elbow, my arms long since given up on keeping me upright.
“You gonna come for me, Shy Girl?” Dom’s voice is getting strained, his rhythm faltering slightly as I’m sure he’s sprinting towards his own release. “Is your little cunt gonna come all over your big brother’s cock?”
His filthy words push me straight over the cliff. My orgasm barrels through me like a freight train, my vision whiting out as my body convulses over and over.
With a guttural groan Dom follows right after, my clenching pussy milking him for all he’s worth. I moan breathlessly as he fills me, his own heavy breaths ringing in my ears as his relentless pounding finally slows.
I get maybe five glorious seconds of post-orgasmic haze before the harsh wave of reality crashes over me. I’m overcome with a revulsion so noxious it nearly leaves me gagging.
“Get off!” I shriek, shoving myself upright with a desperation to get him out of me. “Get out. Get out of my house, and leave me alone!”
I shove back against him and whirl around, almost tipping myself straight over the back of the couch in the process. Yanking my skirt back down, I feel the warm trickle of his cum seep down my thigh. The urge to retch only intensifies.
Dom’s expression remains infuriatingly smug as he tucks himself back into his slacks. “Come on, Shiloh,” he drawls. “You already trying to convince yourself you didn’t love every fucking second of what we just did?”
“ Out ,” I scream, grabbing the nearest book and hurling it at his head. “Don’t ever fucking come back!”
His smirk morphs into a deep scowl as he smoothly dodges the book flying right at his face. But without argument, he grabs his coat and storms straight for the door. He slams it behind himself so forcefully I worry the entire frame will crumble into splinters.
The second he’s gone, I bolt upstairs and throw myself straight into the bathroom, tearing off my clothes as I go. I need to be rid of his fucking scent. I turn the shower on full blast, not even waiting for the water to heat up before stepping under the spray. The stab of icy needles against my skin is a welcome punishment for what I just let happen.
I furiously scrub at my skin, as if I can wash away the memory of Dom’s touch along with the physical evidence he left behind. Soap suds swirl down the drain, but I still feel every bit as filthy as when I started.
How could I let things go so far? What the fuck came over me?
I have a newfound understanding of the term ‘temporary insanity’, and I’ll plead that case until I’m blue in the face.
It has to be stress, I tell myself. All this pressure trying to plan the Ball with Melanie breathing down my neck, this possible stalker situation that’s had me tossing and turning at night–it’s all just getting to me.
That’s the only possible explanation. There’s no way I would have let Dom touch me if I were in my right mind.
But even as I try to rationalize such a twisted turn of events, I know every bit of it is a lie. Truth is, I’ve wanted Dom to overpower me like that since the first time he ever commanded me to run from him, like I’m nothing more than his plaything. And now that it’s happened, I’m terrified by how good it felt.
I stay in the shower long after the hot water runs out, praying the violent shivering will shake some sense into me.
It was all just a dark fantasy when we were teenagers. Nothing more than a sick craving I only confessed to the pages of my diary. It was never supposed to come true.
I’m an adult now. I’m supposed to have better self-control. I’m supposed to pay my fucking taxes and not fuck my fucking stepbrother.
When I finally step out of the shower, I catch sight of myself in the foggy mirror and grimace. Sodden hair plastered to my skull, eyes wide and haunted, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
“It was a mistake,” I mutter to myself. “It won’t happen again.” Even if he is a deranged psychopath, I don’t have to be a part of his twisted games.
I only wish I could believe it.