by Nicole Snow
“Evie, it's okay.” Bruce puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. She brushes him off like she's shaking off swamp water.
“No! It's not okay. He's going to wind up just like his bum of a father, too hooked on adrenaline to know what's good for him.” She buries her face in sugar daddy's chest and squeezes out a few tears before she looks back at me, her face wild and red. “Don't come crying to us when something awful happens overseas. I tried to help, tried to do everything for you. Why is it so fucking hard for you to just open up your heart and realize we care? All of us!”
My hand burns, just like it does when I'm flying up a flight of stairs in some terrorist asshole's luxury bunker, tearing open doors, ready to pop the first thing that moves with a sneer on his face and a weapon in his hands. I'm tempted to rip my glass off the table and hurl it over their heads, smash it against the mantle of that fancy fucking fireplace in the corner.
But I'm not giving her what she wants. Mom wants a raging, crazy outburst. That was the old Chris – mad, lost, undisciplined.
“I've barely met you,” I say, directing it to Delia. “I don't know what the hell any of you really think, nor do I care. I want to believe this is just mom, but for all I know, everything since I got back into town's been a damned setup meant to twist me into place. This rich, fucked up family time's a joke, and I'm not gonna pretend I belong. I'm out.”
Mom screams after me, but I don't turn back. The last thing I see before I turn my shoulder for good is pain flashing in Delia's eyes.
No, I don't want to believe last night was some weird conspiracy to soften me up. But I can't put anything past Evie, master manipulator, especially when the mask comes off.
And the rich asshole she married? He'll do anything to make sure I'm not an embarrassment, maybe even give his own daughter permission to flirt and tease before I find out she's off limits.
I'm stomping toward the big entryway, but the beer was bigger than I realized. I've been laying off the booze for weeks after the last mission fucked me over.
Shit. I'm too damned buzzed to drive, and there's no way they'll think I did anything except storm out.
I find the nearest servant and shake him, asking for a bottle of whiskey. He promptly brings me a glass and a nice bottle while I wait by the tall staircases. Then, I take the nearest one up and head into my room, kick the door shut, and flop down on the bed.
I'm supposed to be getting some R and R, and I'm not giving up.
If I can't deal with the bullshit here, I'll sure as hell drink 'til I'm too dumb to be pissed, 'til I can't think about the shit she said about my dead dad. Much less the twisted, dark haired little succubus next to me all night.
She still wanted my hand between her legs when I clasped her thigh. I couldn't mistake it.
I know a woman's body better than I know SEAL Team drills, and I'm so fucking good at those I work the new recruits.
There's a lot I already know about tonight. I know mom hasn't changed a damned bit, and her new hubby's exactly the weak, snob pissant I expected.
Delia's the only mystery left. She acted like she really didn't know who I was, and her body still can't believe it. Thinking about how close my fingers were to the hot little clit I brushed to convulsions last night makes my dick throb, even while I'm slinging fiery whiskey down my throat in quick, steady shots.
I can't seriously fuck her. Can I?
I don't know, but my cock doesn't give a shit. The flesh knows what it wants. It doesn't understand boundaries or taboos or complications. Only mad, hawkish desire.
She can't slip away. Sure, I'm too disciplined to ever do something stupid, too hardened to ever see her as anything but a rich girl with a killer body.
But I can't ignore her. Can't pretend she doesn't make me burn. Fuck it.
I decide then and there I'm having some fun with her one way or another. If it doesn't end with us tangled up in the sheets, listening as she begs for my come, then I can sure as hell tease her 'til she cries.
The longest summer of my life just started, and Delia's gonna help me blow off some steam.
I have to know her. I have to unravel her. And if I don't end up between her legs again, giving it to her harder and better than anyone else ever can, then I'll sure as fuck tease her like nobody ever has.
3
Truth or Dare (Delia)
It's late. I'm laying in bed, flipping tensely at my phone, playing stupid games and texting a few friends.
I can't do anything serious after that disaster of a dinner. Poor dad dragged Evie straight to bed after Chris exploded and left, leaving my jaw hanging on the floor for about the third time today.
I don't know how I let him touch me without flipping out. The hug in front of our parents was bad enough, his hand gliding down my back and the not-so-subtle bump in his hips.
My stepbrother. My arrogant, demanding, sinfully sexy stepbrother.
What are the odds? What had I done to piss the universe off so badly?
His greeting hurt as much as it set me on fire. It was nothing but a reminder of what we'd lost by fate screwing us over like this.
Of course, the way he carried on, it's like he doesn't even know how badly screwed we are.
I think about his hand underneath the table, riding up my skirt, clenching my thigh. His touch was so rough, so rude, so tempting.
He paralyzed me. I'm still not sure what was worse – my urge to jam a fork in his face, or let his fingers go higher.
Jesus. I can't do this. I'm the only one who knows he's still in the house too. An hour ago, I heard him banging around behind my wall, throwing something heavy into a metal trashcan in his room.
Why Evie decided to set his room up next to mine, I'll never know. This house has at least six more empty guest rooms, and any one of them could've been ours, nice and private.
My fingers keep rolling across the screen, returning to his number. It hurts to see it now, like the entire world keeps razzing me in his digits, telling me I'm an idiot to let a stranger into my pants last night.
I should've been texting him around this time to tell him to pick me up. In some alternate universe where dad hadn't gotten hitched to his mom, maybe I was.
In this one, all I can do is stare sadly at the screen, fighting the savage urge to send him a text anyway.
But I can't. There's nothing to say, logically. It's not hard to imagine how it would sound.
Oh, hi, Chris, sorry about dinner. Sorry your mom's a big bitch and my dad hangs on her every word. Sorry that I'll never be able to feel your lips on mine again.
Sorry I didn't slap you across the face when you put your hands where they don't belong.
Ugh. I want to hurl my phone against the wall, slam it into the matching metal trashcan I've got in my room, right next to my dresser.
Night sounds keep filtering through my cracked door. When I hear the whoosh, I think it's just a sudden breeze, but it's odd how it doesn't blow the clothes hanging out in my closet, where I've left the door open.
When I feel the rough hand tugging at my shoulder, my first instinct is to scream. Chris flips me over, throwing his other hand against my mouth, preventing the shock from ever leaving me.
“Don't. I didn't mean to sneak up on you, babe, but we gotta talk. Roll over.”
He doesn't ask me again. He keeps his hand tight across my mouth as he crashes into bed next to me, pulling me tight to his chest. His palm doesn't leave my lips until he feels my mouth completely shut.
As soon as he lets me go, I rip myself away and jump out of bed, staring at him in disbelief. The door's wide open now, and so is the screen.
“What the hell are you doing!?” It's a struggle to keep my voice low.
I watch him put a stern finger over his lips, and that infuriates me even more.
I want to scream bloody murder. Instead, I stomp over to the door he's just slipped through, and take a quick look out before shutting the screen.
“Seriously, what d
id you do? Climb a tree? Jump to my balcony from yours? Jesus, we're like twenty or thirty feet off the ground!”
He gives me a blank look and shrugs. “I had to talk to you after what happened down there tonight. Come sit, sis.”
His big hand pats the empty spot next to him. Snorting, I shake my head, feeling a strange rush of heat as the last word echoes in my ear. I'm not sure if sis is supposed to piss me off with its sarcasm, or remind me there's something broken in my head.
Crap. We really are brother and sister now, but it's not like it stops me from wanting to climb into his lap, spread my hands on his chest, and find out how tight he'll stretch me once he sinks between my legs.
The fire surging through my veins isn't just anger, even though it should be. It's what we had last night, the strange, contradictory need to feel this asshole's lips on mine.
This isn't me. I'm supposed to be the good girl, the level headed one, the magna cum laude career woman in the making. I never thought I'd be sweet talked by hard muscles, tattoos, and confidence bordering on insanity, but here I am.
Here he is, laying in my bed, doing – what, exactly?
I push away from him. I have to get his hands off me, clear my head.
“What do we have to talk about?” I sigh angrily. “Neither of us can change this. We screwed up last night, and now things are going to be awkward. If only I'd known you were that Christopher. My new stepbrother Christopher, instead of just a beach bum sharing the same name.”
“Ah, fuck.” He sits up, smiling and shaking his head. “It's Chris. Mom just uses the long form bullshit to make me sound like I fit in her world. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't. No way in hell. I'm just here as a courtesy because I can't stop thinking about how sweet your little clit burned on my thumb.”
Holy shit. His green eyes shine when he says it, and I have to look away before my panties start on fire.
I can't let him win. I can't give in. This is crazy!
“Well, we certainly don't fit together, Chris. I can't help you there. Are you seriously staying here for awhile, or are you driving back to your base once you've sobered up?” I can smell the whiskey dripping off his breath.
It's amazing he didn't fall on the concrete below and kill himself when he made the jump. Maybe he has some secret SEAL gear I don't know about. Either way, I'm glad he smells drunk. It helps bury the intoxicating masculine scent I breathed last night, dreamed about, wanted so fucking badly to smell again.
“Bullshit. You're so coy, Delia. You still want me,” he says, bowing out his chest as he pushes his arm against my mattress and pops up. “Hell yeah, you do. I'd know that look on a woman anywhere. You really didn't know last night, did you?”
What?
My lip trembles as he walks toward me, and there's nowhere to run before his arms are around me again. “I don't know what you're talking about. Of course I didn't know about you last night! Do you think I'm some kind of psycho who really wants to fuck her own stepbrother?”
He chuckles, rich and smoky, vibrating through my body. “You tell me. Are you?”
His hands press against my spine, shooting down, smoothing the wrinkles in my dress. He captures my ass and squeezes it, so hard and swift I gasp, inadvertently throwing my hips into his.
“Goddamn, baby. You don't know what you've got in the trunk, do you? This is an ass men jerkoff to through a whole damned tour. This ass makes boys fight twice as hard in the field, whatever it takes to get home safe and tap it again.”
Hellfire shrieks in my veins. For the next few seconds, I'm a twisting, writhing mess in his hands, resisting the urge to grind into him like we did last night.
My clit remembers what he did. It can't forget. Neither can my skin, my nipples, even the tips of my fingertips. They all remember the buzz that flowed through them as we touched, kissed, and stroked ourselves to bliss.
God, it's undeniable. My entire body wants another taste. I don't want to stop, and my hands involuntarily wrap around my neck.
His lips press to mine, crushing and hot and forbidden. I can't believe I'm kissing my stepbrother – my own fucking stepbrother!
That does it.
I jerk back, wiping his taste off, pretending I'm ten times more disgusted than I really am. His rough hands finally let go and he steps away with a growl.
“You gotta be shitting me. I really disgust you that much?”
My heart sinks. I didn't mean it like that. It was just a reaction, a reflex to get him off me, before we toppled into bed together and made the greatest mistake of our lives.
“Sorry. No, Chris, it's not like that. It's just...this is too much,” I say softly, voice cracking. “You know we can't do this. It's wrong. If only we could've been at their stupid wedding and objected when they took their vows, maybe this would all be different. But it's too late for that. We need to learn to live together without all this teasing, this fighting, this urge to...”
I can't say it. My cheeks go bright red. Adrenaline shocks my body, raw desire that knows exactly what's on the tip of my tongue.
“What – to fuck? Because that's what I want to do every goddamned minute I'm standing here with you. I can't keep my hands off you, babe. I'm dangerous.”
He sounds so cold. Jesus, is this what he's like when he's upset? I talk toward him cautiously, reaching for his shoulder, trying to soothe him. He's a total bastard, but maybe I hurt him more than I realized, struck something evil stirred up inside him by Evie's antics earlier tonight.
“It's going to be okay, Chris. This doesn't have to be weird or awkward. We can learn to deal, right? We made a big mistake last night, but it was an innocent one! Nobody knows. Nobody but you and me ever have to.”
Snarling, he shoves my arm away. It's so fast and sudden it scares me. I'm surprised it doesn't hurt. He rips the heavy balcony door open, stopping its momentum like it's nothing in his strong hand, before it crashes against the wall.
“I don't need your damned pity, and I sure as shit don't need your advice. You're right, it doesn't have to be like this. I'm getting the fuck back to base tomorrow so I don't have to stare at a chick all summer who's too afraid to fuck me. I've never had a problem getting pussy between tours. I want yours, but don't you ever think I need it.”
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Every sentence bruising my ears stabs deep like hateful arrows. I can't think of anything else to say before he lets himself out.
Oh, shit. Not again! He's going to...
I rush forward, afraid he's going to slip and break his legs catapulting between our balconies. I push through the screen and call after him, but it's too late.
He's already jumped, hit the other side, and he hoists himself up. I watch his enormous body jump up over the stone banister like it's nothing. He lands safe like an Olympic gymnast, and he doesn't look back before he disappears inside his own room, completely ignoring me.
I retreat back to my bed and flop down, only after latching the balcony door this time. I want to beat the shit out of my pillow, but I don't. The noise would probably slip through our shared wall, and I can't stand the thought of the smug, broody bastard smiling at how bad he's pissed me off.
I hope to god he follows through on his threat to go back to his base. Evie setting up our summer rooms was a big fucking mistake.
After about an hour, I'm somewhere between rage and sleep, emotionally exhausted from the last twenty-four hours. My brain won't stop running through everything he's ever said to me.
The horny threats, the arrogance, the teasing, the attraction. Even the mundane details flash through my mind, everything I know about him, tiny bits and pieces. I feel like I still know nothing.
I've sworn to give Evie a chance for dad's sake, but I know she's bad news. I wonder what it was like growing up with her.
Are all his asshole, sexaholic tendencies just symptoms of the poison she's left him with?
I shake my head, trying to fit the pieces together. I shouldn't try. The best thing
that can happen to us is distance – cold, clean space.
But it isn't so easy. Something about watching him go, leaving like this, shocks my heart worse than anything that's happened.
I'm worried for Chris. Worried for myself. Worried for dad.
If Evie turned him into the man he is, an ego-filled jackass who thinks he's got the world on his shoulders because he's in the SEALs, what will she do to my dad before this train wreck of a marriage withers?
Hell, how am I supposed to get anything done on my summer thesis now? Professor Thosser won't stop breathing down my neck. He's going to expect at least an outline in another two weeks, and I'm gobsmacked for ideas, good ideas that could make or break my whole future.
Something about the last thing Chris said echoes in my head. I've never had a problem getting pussy between tours.
Just what was he doing overseas before coming home? Had he killed people, blown things up, watched as his own men died?
He's a rare breed. A modern day warrior living a life I can't imagine. I'm not sure why I want to, but I do.
Then it hits me. I bolt up out of bed, walk over to my desk where I've got my laptop, and open it. I search through articles, and it doesn't take long to find it.
The big raid in Kirkuk. It was all over the news in May, and we talked about it in my international politics class before the final.
US special forces took out several brutal terrorists, but they'd also gotten in the middle of an Iranian operation sneaking across the Iraqi border on their way out. Iran and the United States exchanged fire for the first time in decades. When the dust settled, there were three servicemen killed – probably SEALs – and the wreckage of several high tech gliders was revealed to the world for the first time.
It almost caused a war. A SEAL Team was definitely involved in the raid, and the military held it close to their chest, deflecting the media's attention to the war threat, which diminished after the US and Iran came to terms.
I stared at the words and maps on my screen, pushing a lump down my throat. Chris couldn't have been involved...right?