Chapter 12
My phone rings—Lewis. “Hello?”
“Hi! I know it’s short notice, but my meetings are all canceled for the rest of the day. I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch. I figured I could drive down.” No small talk, I guess—figures.
“Oh, uh.” I ponder, eyes darting around my room, looking for an excuse. But why do I need an excuse? “Sorry.” I cough. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, no. Well, how about I come over and bring you soup?”
There’s no way I could have expected his burst of thoughtfulness. “That’s okay. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Oh well…” There’s a long pause, as if he wants me to offer another solution of how we can be together today. I don’t budge. “Okay, I’ll see how you’re feeling at the end of the week.”
“Okay, thank you.”
We exchange our goodbyes, and I hang up, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Why did I lie to him? He annoyed me at dinner the other night, but it’s still Lewis, the man I imagined marrying such a short time ago.
He regrets breaking up with me, something I dreamed of while I cried alone in my stupid childhood bed.
I’m spending too much time in my head. I need to keep myself busy and ponder my strange feelings later.
The full laundry basket in the corner catches my eye, and I stand to retrieve it, exiting my bedroom with it in tow. A hand slaps against my forehead. “What the fuck!” I yell, dropping the basket to the floor.
Derek keeps his palm pressed to my skin, leaning against the hallway wall. “Hm, you feel normal to me.”
I push him away. “What are you talking about?”
He steps back as I lean over to retrieve my laundry, scrunching his lips. “I thought you were sick. You know, paper-thin walls and all.”
Shit. Derek is the last person I want to talk to about my confusing feelings, probably because he’s the cause.
He’s right. It wasn't too late when the Uber he ordered pulled into our parents’ driveway last night, so I don’t even have the excuse of exhaustion.
I’m not hungover. Chrishell must have ordered top-shelf, or the effect of my mind-blowing orgasm washed away the poison in my body.
The minute we exited the club, the spell broke, and we were back to our usual hating game, ignoring each other the whole way home; I planned to avoid him for the rest of the day—hell, the rest of my life.
Yet, here he is—shirtless, tattoos on full display, his gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low, calling me out on my lies.
“There are more illnesses besides those with a fever.” I turn away from him, charging down the wall, hoping that’s the end of our run-in and he’ll leave me alone.
“Hmm.” He whispers in my ear, so close he’s nearly pressed against me as I descend the steps. “You don’t look sick either.” He picks up the back of my skirt, inspecting it. “You look like you’re about to join a tennis match.”
I pull my hip back and glare at him. “Since when did you become a doctor?”
“Oh, you know, between working out and jerking off, I’ve had plenty of time. Wanna dress up as my nurse?”
I pause and gawk at him, my parents murmuring audibly from their bedroom at the other end of the house. “What’s wrong with you?” I whisper.
“Oh, a lot, clearly. But there seems to be nothing wrong with you. So why did you lie?”
I try to ignore him, but he’s like a puppy at my heels, following me as I turn down the hall and push open the laundry room door. He shuts the door behind him.
I bend down to shove my clothes in the washing machine.
“Why do you care so much about what’s going on in my life?
Don’t you have your own shit to worry about?
You recently got shot and are obviously hiding out from something, not to mention you're a bear.” Damn, saying it out loud makes me realize the ginormous anomaly that is my stepbrother.
I should be more intrigued by the mystery that is his hidden life than the way his dick looks in his slutty gray sweatpants.
But alas, I’m just a girl, a stupid, horny girl.
He’s silent, the absence of his annoying voice shocking.
Still hunched over in the opening of the machine, I look over my shoulder.
He’s staring at me. Well, staring at my ass.
He licks his lips, eyes wide and fidgets with his hands as if he’s about to pounce.
My face heats, and I stand, but he moves quickly, pressing against me and ramming me into the opening.
He pulls up my skirt, exposing my white, stretchy underwear.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell through a whisper, but still, I don’t fight much, just allow him to press his length between my almost bare asscheeks as he bucks against me slightly.
“Oh, come on. First, you lie to Lewis to stay home with me. Then you wear this slutty little skirt, and now you’re presenting your ass to me, practically begging for it.” He thrusts harder, sending a subtle echo against the metal box.
I glare at him over my shoulder, holding my top half up on the washing machine. “Shh! They’ll hear you.”
He swipes his fingers under my undies and through my already pooling heat.
I shudder, biting my lip to silence myself.
He runs a hand up my spine, pushing me so I’m pressed against the cool metal.
“Be a good girl, shut up, and let me fuck and knot you until you forget I’m your stepbrother.
” He drives a finger inside of me, thrusting with each pointed word.
My eyes roll to the back of my head, and a garbled moan escapes my lips. I’m angry at myself for yet again allowing him to turn my mind into a mushy stew. It hasn’t even been 24 hours for God-sake.
He snakes his arm around my leg so he’s able to plunge inside of me while circling my clit.
It’s so good—so quickly, how it always is with him.
We haven’t even locked the door. Our parents could walk in at any moment.
I’m so close to losing control, to screaming out from the overwhelming euphoria taking over. “Hurry up!”
He grunts, removing his hand, and I hate my angry words.
He rummages behind me for just a moment before pulling my panties to the side, nearly ripping them, and pressing his searing heat at my entrance.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” he growls before ramming into me, rough and without reserve.
I squeal, biting my hand as my heart pounds, nervous that I've alerted our parents.
To Derek’s credit, he’s quieter than me as he drives into me, going as quickly as I requested.
I assume that he’ll finish inside of me and that will be the end of it, but I’m surprised and ecstatic when he leans over, reaching around and applying rhythmic pressure to my sensitive bud.
I’m spiraling in a matter of minutes, my mind melting, every nerve in my body a blinding heat.
I barely registered the gurgled groans escaping me until Derek slaps his hand against my mouth.
“Shut up,” he seethes into my ear with accentuated thrusts, except instead of the prickle of his scruff, there’s soft fur.
Warmness coats my insides as he sputters inside.
Fangs tickle the lobe of my ear as he whispers, “Fuck, Isabella. So fucking good.” His knot expands, pain shifting to pleasure.
Ditto, but I don’t utter the word out loud. I don’t want him to know how good he makes me feel. No reason to make him any cockier.
My breath evens and the fog around me settles. Shit. This is bad. Again. Except now we’re at risk of getting caught, and we’re stuck together for God knows how long. Why does this keep happening?
“Okay, pull out.” I whisper.
“I can’t. I have to deflate.”
I turn to see remnants of his bear self, hair sucking back into his pores, revealing his tattooed and muscular arms. “Okay well hurry up.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” He scowls.
“How am I supposed to know how your bear self works?”
“Ask.”
There’s a lot I should ask him about, especially why the fuck he’s a bear and if it has anything to do with his healing wound, but I’m too annoyed and anxious to get away. I attempt to wiggle out from underneath him, but he comes along with me in my maneuver. “Ow, fucking stop.”
“Hurry up!”
He grunts, followed by a pop and a splash of liquid.
I dart from underneath, fixing my clothing, but not bothering to clean myself.
I shoot Derek one last look before disappearing down the hall, catching his wounded expression as he watches me go.
My heart melts a little at the sight, but I shut the door and run to my room, feeling even worse than I did before attempting to do my laundry.
I hide in my room for the rest of the day, trying to sleep so I don’t need to detangle my thoughts.
When I emerge several hours later, unable to hold my pee any longer, I nearly trip over the laundry basket in front of my door.
Inside sits a neat pile of my clothes. Mom could have washed, dried, and folded these for me, but I know that’s not the case.
Guilt riddles me senselessly, making me realize maybe Derek isn’t the brute I make him out to be, and perhaps I’m the true monster roaming these halls.