Risk: A Military Stepbrother Bad Boy Romance (12 page)

SARAH

I don’t know how much time had passed since Mitch’s death—I think about two weeks. Damien had dutifully brought my homework to me every day—he went around to all of my teachers and collected it—and it was piling up in a corner, ignored, unread, undigested, unloved.

Not that I had ever loved it, but once upon a time, it had represented a respite. A place and time and activity that my father couldn’t torment me over, couldn’t hit me with. A thing that made me smart. Made me special.

And now, it just reminded me of how Mitch and I used to trade answers. Reminded me of his terrible, loopy, little boy handwriting and the stupid way he made his eights on his math homework, going back to grade school. I couldn’t believe he was gone.

“I’ve got a show tomorrow night,” Damien murmured to me softly one day, a late evening as he sat with his feet up on my desk, playing his guitar. We had barely touched one another at all since Mitch died—it was almost two weeks now, I think. No sex. No kissing. He hugged me sometimes, but mostly I slept. I had lost weight, which most guys would have celebrated.

Hell, Mitch would have even teased me about that. You’re welcome, he would have said. God, I missed him.

“A show?” I asked dreamily. Damien nodded.

“That’s right. A music show. With my band.”

God, how out of it was I? I had totally forgotten that Damien was in a band, that his strumming and practicing in my room each evening was linked to something else, something outside of my room, outside of my sorrow.

“What kind of music do you play?” I found myself asking, growing interested in spite of my grief. The clouds were starting to part.

“Like, indie and folk. It’s mostly acoustic. We’ve got a guy who plays an electric harmonica, but that’s as weird as it gets. And thank god, he mostly just plays a regular fucking harmonica instead of his weird little piece…”

I knew that was supposed to make me laugh, but it didn’t have any effect. Forgive me, Damien—it’s been a rough few weeks.

“But if you feel up to it,” he continued, still not looking at me, his fingers still dancing over the strings of the guitar. “It’d be cool if you came.”

“Is anyone else coming?”

“What do you mean? I hope so. I mean, I hope we have an audience.”

“I mean, anyone I know? Your mom?”

He grinned at me. My heart fluttered, if only a teeny, tiny bit.

“Sarah, I’m not six years old any more. My mom doesn’t come to my recitals and shit.”

“I know, but…”

“I still don’t know anyone here. Except for the guys in the band, their girlfriends—that’s it, you know. Harry’s not going to come. Dakota won’t come. My mom won’t come—she’s working, anyway, and even then, it’d be weird, because we swear and sing about sex and smoke and stuff. I don’t want her to see that. I’d get an earful later on.”

I smiled. He was right. He would. She would chew him out for anything she thought was inappropriate.

“So…”

“So, I think you should come,” he said, patting my leg firmly, but with a note of kindness, a note of tenderness in his touch. “If you feel up to it, I mean. No pressure. But it’s at a neat bar, and I bet I’ll be able to get the bartender to let you drink without checking your ID. So, there’s that.”

“I…” I started to say. Damien pressed a finger to my lips.

“Hey, don’t worry about deciding right now. You do you.”

I found myself giggling, in spite of everything that had happened. You do you. That wasn’t exactly what I would expect to hear out of Damien’s mouth, but it, somehow, made me feel better. If only slightly.

He wore a tight wife-beater, one that showed his muscled arms, covered in tattoos, with the occasional scar showing. I found myself watching his arms as he played, watching the muscles and tendons in his forearm make the instrument sing.

Just as he had made me sing. He could do it so easily, so deftly. It had been as if he knew my body inside and out, in ways that I didn’t even know it…

Part of me wanted it. Part of me wanted to throw off the covers, pull him into my bed, pull him into me, feel his length throbbing in my womanhood, feel his seed spill into my tightness, just as it had a few weeks ago… I had gone and gotten something from the pharmacy, to make sure we wouldn’t have any surprises afterwards, but I could just do that again—so I could feel him reach his peak inside of me, feel him fill me up… Feel full like I had never felt before…

I felt my body growing warm. A warmth I hadn’t felt for days. Weeks, even. It was a warmth that only Damien could give me, a warmth I had felt only for him. It felt like him. Made me think of him, in spite of myself. In spite of Mitch’s death. In spite of everything that had happened and this terrible, backwards town we were stuck in.

But I hadn’t showered in a few days. There was no way I could be sexy right now. My hair was a mess. I was still wearing a baggy t-shirt and pajama pants. I hadn’t shaved in two weeks. I was gross.

I reached out and took Damien’s hand again, away from his guitar. I held it tight, pressed it to my lips. He smiled.

“How ya’ doing, kiddo?” he whispered, wrapping me up in his strong arms, his warm arms.

“Not great. I must smell terrible. I haven’t showered in like three days. Also, my best friend just killed himself.”

“Yeah, I think your personal hygiene is the least of your concerns right now,” Damien’s voice purred. He pressed his lips to mine and I recoiled for a second, but only because of how gross I felt.

“Give me a second,” I whispered, leaping out of bed. I padded as quickly as I could in my stocking feet down to the bathroom at the end of the hall. I brushed my teeth, gargled a cup of mouthwash, and then came racing back. Damien gave me a wry grin.

“Now, where were we?” he asked as he set aside his guitar. I flung myself into his arms, sitting on his lap and wrapping my legs around him, feeling my sex press against his belly—really, his hard abs pressed against my sex, tensing as he held me, as his hands slid under my t-shirt to find my naked back. I gasped, feeling his strong hands on my bare naked skin for the first time in weeks.

“Oh, god, Damien… Bro…” I murmured, pressing myself into him, pressing my lips against his, our mouths melding together, tongues dueling. “God, Damien… I’ve needed this…”

“You only had to ask…” he grunted in between our kisses as his hands slid down to my lower back. His nails dragged along my skin, leaving shallow scratches in my pale flesh. I gasped in pleasurable pain, arching my back and pressing myself harder and harder into him.

Now, his powerful hands were on my lower back. Now, they held me tight, held my hips and pulled me against him hard. I murmured, groaning as my most tender parts were crushed against the muscles barely contained by his shirt.

“Damien…” I murmured again, his name like wine on my lips. I hooked my fingers underneath his wife beater and dragged it over his head, mussing up his hair in the process and leaving him shirtless—his well-muscled chest practically gleaming in the late evening sunshine streaming in through my window, casting shadows along his muscles, lighting up his tattoos, his nipples hard against his well-formed pecs.

I leaned down and caught one of his nipples in my mouth and bit him. He gasped and I liked that.

“Jesus, Sarah… Gentle…”

“You’re never gentle with me,” I teased back, biting him again and trailing my tongue around the hard flesh of his nipple. “Why should I be gentle with you?”

He didn’t reply. He just grabbed my ass hard through my pajama pants and then forced my own shirt over my head, revealing my naked chest. I giggled as I pressed my breasts against his chest, feeling my nipples crush against his, gasping as he picked me up by my hips, my legs still wrapped around him, and carried me over to my bed.

He laid me down on the bed, and began to slide my pajama pants down my legs. I reached out half-heartedly, as if to stop him.

“Wait, I’m gross. I haven’t shaved in such a long time.”

“Do I look like I care?” he asked, rolling his eyes with a smile. I bit my lip.

“You’re still beautiful, dummy,” he whispered as he finished working them down my legs. “You’re still the same person, even if you haven’t shaved. Don’t forget that.”

“God, I know you’re right…” I whimpered as he drew his finger tips up over my legs. I gasped in delight as his fingers found their way behind my knees, tickling the soft, sensitive flesh. I writhed beneath him, totally naked, knowing that it was only a matter of time before he attacked me, before his sex was inside of mine, inside of my body, as I held onto his cock tightly with my insides…

But his finger tips for now were so intoxicating, there was nothing I could do to resist them. I gasped, writhing for him as he scratched me, as he dragged his fingers over my body, as he tortured me, as he made me his—all without fucking me.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted his cock.

I sat up, my fingers flying to his belt buckle, starting to unbuckle him as fast as I possibly could. He laughed as my fingers fumbled over the buckle.

“Wow, antsy much?”

“I haven’t gotten any in two weeks,” I murmured as I finally finished undoing his pants. “I’ve been craving this cock…”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I was too catatonic to know that’s what I needed,” I whispered as I unzipped his jeans, slid his underwear down, and wrapped my fingers around his thick, enormous shaft. “I was too sad to realize you were what I needed all along.”

His hand found its way to my cheek. We looked into one another’s ours, my blue eyes eating up his dark brown orbs and vice-versa.

“I’m here for you, babe,” he whispered. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I won’t,” I whispered. “I promise. I…”

I was about to say those three most dangerous of words but I stopped myself. I wasn’t about to ruin a good thing with… emotions. We already had enough of that and I didn’t want to scare him off. Not after everything that had happened.

I held his cock tight and pressed my lips to the tip, tasting his salty precum, tasting my meatiness of his flesh as I worked my tongue all around the tip, savoring it, washing it, lavishing attention on it and worshipping it. I worked my way down, as if scrubbing or polishing an ancient relic in a museum or a temple, my tongue dancing along the ridges of his cock, tracing his veins and finding the secret spots that made him gasp in delight.

“Oh, fuck, I’ve missed this…” Damien murmured. “You’re a natural, you know that?”

“I remember you saying something about that…” I whispered in between the tender licks and nibbles I lavished on his engorged member. I loved the way it throbbed beneath my tongue, the way his blood flowed in his flesh. I loved feeling him hard, and feeling him want me—and I loved the way he only seemed to harden the more I licked him, the more I sucked him, the more love and attention I gave his cock.

Now, I took him into my mouth, placing my hands on his hips. More accurately, I slid my hands down the back of his pants, the back of my step-brother’s pants, and grabbed his ass cheeks, delighting in the firm flesh that my fingers found, ready for my to tease and squeeze as I eased his cock into my mouth.

“Oh, goddamn…” Damien gasped as I massaged his ass and as I engulfed his member with my wet, hungry mouth, leaning his head back and seemingly involuntarily pressing his hips forward, driving his cock into my waiting mouth. I gagged ever so slightly as it slid down my throat, but my skills, apparently, were intact as, I learned by the time Damien had embedded his length up to the hilt in my eager throat.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve only gotten better at this,” he whispered as I pulled off his cock slowly, dragging my lips agonizingly across his cock, my lips squeezing him, as if ready to milk his member.