Risk: A Military Stepbrother Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

“Just think how good I’ll be with some practice,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire, and husky from having his length driven down my throat, hoarse in the best way possible. “I’ll have to wake you up before school with one of these.”

Fat chance. There was no way I could get up before Damien. I didn’t have that kind of discipline. Still. It was nice to pretend, if only for the sake of a fantasy that might distract me from reality for a little bit…

“Fuck yes, you will,” he growled, his fingers finding their way to the back of my head and running through my unwashed hair. I felt embarrassed by that, even as I slid my lips down his cock. I knew I shouldn’t—here I was sucking him off—why should he care what I looked like?

But I wanted to look good for him. I wanted to impress him. I wanted to be more than just a blowjob to him.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. Not because I didn’t want to think about them eventually, but because I knew that now was not the right time to worry about my relationship with my step-brother—the military badboy who I was now ravishing…

I began to bob my head faster and faster, Damien grunting and guiding the back of my head, bearing down on me and even thrusting his hips into my face. I gagged a little bit, but it wasn’t bad—mostly, I loved the feeling of him being in control, of doing these nasty things to my lips—things that people at school would never imagine that I would be doing, that I would like.

Not such a good girl now, huh?

Harder and harder, I sucked him, worked his cock, savoring the way it throbbed and pulsed beneath my lips, dragging my teeth over his throbbing, prominent vein and savoring the way he gasped and twitched in response. He was getting close, I could tell, and I stepped up my game, pulling practically the entire way off of him and then impaling my face on him once more, letting his cock hit the back of my throat, then slide down, before pulling off him once more, and then repeating the cycle over again, as my fingers drove my nails into his ass, practically drawing blood.

“Shit!” he growled. “Sarah, fucking shit…”

I felt his cock expand impossibly large in my throat and then, he cumming, filling my waiting mouth with his salty, delicious seed. I closed my eyes as I sucked down my brother’s cum, savoring the way it filled my cheeks and slid down my throat. Finally, he was done, and he sighed as he slid his limp cock out of my mouth.

It took me another moment to swallow the rest of his seed, but I did, not wasting a single drop. The entire time, I played with his limp, slick cock, jacking it slowly and eliciting soft, half-pained, half-pleasured moans from my step-brother’s lips.

“You don’t think you’re done, are you?” I whispered. “We need to get this thing hard again so you can fuck the shit out of me.”

“Well, you know what to do.”

And oh, boy. I did. My brother’s tattooed arms guided me to his cock once more and I took his flaccid member in my mouth, sucking on it hard, running my tongue around his limp dick. In moments, he was hardening, expanding in my mouth, getting bigger and bigger as it swelled to its previous size.

“Shit, sis…” Damien groaned as I worked on his expanding cock, teasing his balls with my finger tips as I licked and teased his newly-invigorated tool.

I lay back and spread my legs, holding them open wide and revealing to Damien my wet, pink parts. Without another word, he pressed his cock to my hole, rubbing the tip gently against my wetness. I gasped, his fingers finally on my pussy, finally touching me, the tip of his cock rubbing deliciously against my clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…” I whimpered as he rubbed himself against me, not once letting himself slide in, though several times he came close. I gasped with delight as my body tightened up in delicious anticipation of the meaty invasion that awaited me, his shaft all the while crushing itself into my throbbing clit and bringing me closer and closer with each moment…

Meanwhile, his hands crushed and squeezed my breasts, but my skin was on fire with desire and I loved it, pressing my chest forward, pressing my hard little nipples into his palms, my desire hot and hungry for him and loving the way he tweaked my nubs, the delicious lightning bolts of pleasure ricocheting through my nerves, forming a triangle of pleasure, capped off at the bottom by his slick cock, always on the verge of impaling me.

“Damien, please…” I moaned. “I’m going to cum…”

He kept up his slow, deep rubbing and in moments, I was arching my back, pressing my chest forward shamelessly into his hands, into my big brother’s hands, as his cock brought me to orgasm just by rubbing against me! I gasped and groaned and writhed beneath him, wiggling like a little hussy, my pussy vibrating, shaking, squeezing, my entire being shuddering in delightful release.

It was a cathartic moment—all of the grief, the anxiety, and pain of the last two weeks seemed to evacuate my body with that climax. It wasn’t that I was no longer sad about Mitch’s death, of course—I can say now that that wasn’t the issue. That’s not what happened. But Damien had shown me that there was still pleasure to be had. That there was still love to be shared.

And I think that’s what Mitch would have wanted. In fact, I’m positive he would be overjoyed to know that I had cum from my brother’s cock rubbing against my clit, my lips still moist with his cum. Mitch would be over the moon delighted. Well, this one was for you, Mitchell.

I was still shaking and vibrating in delight as Damien slid his hardness into my wetness, my body opening up easily for him. I was so wet and so sensitive that he slid it with no problem, my pussy practically sucking him in, while the mere sensation of his flesh on mine was enough to send me back into the stratospheres of pleasure all over again.

“Oh, god, Damien…” I gasped, pressing my hips forward desperately, in a gloriously depraved attempt to take more of my brother’s cock into me, driving to gobble his flesh all up. “Please, baby, please… Fuck me. Fuck your little sister.”

“You’re bad,” he growled, leaning over me and wrapping a hand around behind my head, taking hold of my hair and pulling hard. I gasped, arching my back, my body tightening around Damien’s cock, my flesh melding with his, demanding his, trying to devour his and force his seed out of his cock once more.

I was like an animal in heat beneath my brother’s skilled hands as he flicked my nipples, stroked my belly, and kissed my lips, our passion knowing no limits, no bounds as he pistoned his cock in and out of me, pumping me harder and harder, faster and faster, our hips colliding in a constant explosion of desire and passion as my pussy opened up for him and as he speared me over and over again—a wild animal, hunted and killed for dinner…

I wanted to be his dinner, and I wanted him to eat me all up. I wrapped my legs around him, shifting my hips and pulling him in deeper as I wrapped my arms around his broad, muscled shoulders, savoring the way he rode me, the way he fucked me, that way my body accepted his cock, sucked it in and consumed it. I loved the way his flesh embedded itself in mine, the way I wrapped around him and the way he stretched me.

“Harder, baby. Harder. Fuck your little sister harder,” I whispered, pulling his head close and biting his neck, his ears, biting him all over as I pressed my hips forward to collide with his, taking him deeper and deeper, fucking myself on his cock as I felt his throbbing, swollen flesh start to expand inside of me.

“Fuck,” Damien groaned. “Fucking hell…”

I knew what those moans meant. And I knew what I would be rewarded with in moments. I arched my back in delight, let out a long, low moan, and whimpered as I received my prize—my brother’s hot seed, filling my tightness, rushing into my womb and filling me up. I felt so warm, so happy, so satisfied with his seed inside of me—I loved the way it stuck to my walls, the way it filled every nook and cranny of my insides… The way it made me feel loved.

He collapsed on top of me, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He was still inside of me and I felt him start to grow soft, even as his seed flowed around his cock inside of me, even as his essence still escaped him, still leaked into me…

“God, Damien, that was incredible…” I found myself whispering quietly, absentmindedly. I ran my fingers through his hair, through his dark, sweaty hair, savoring the smell of his body on top of me, savoring his weight, everything about him that there was to savor, to desire and to appreciate—all of it, I wanted all of it, I wanted to conquer him, just as he had conquered me…

“Yeah, not too bad,” he said with a grin.

“Not too bad? C’mon, that was great. I was great,” I said, hitting him playfully. He warded off my gentle strikes and held my hands down, pinning my arms to the bed. I gasped, giggling in surprise and also in titillation, especially as his lips joined with mine again. I felt him grow hard inside of me once more and I groaned into the kiss, his cock coming to life in my sore pussy.

And then, he was moving in me again, holding me down, going slow and deep, each powerful thrust seeming to plumb my depths deeper than the last. This sex was agonizingly slow, even painful because he had already fucked me so hard, but I loved every second of it—loved the way he drove himself into me, loved the way my wet depths held onto him oh so tight, and I especially loved the way his lips never seemed to escape mine—not for one instant…

He finished inside of me once more after I don’t know how long. We were both drunk on pleasure, intoxicated with love, and there was nothing else to do, nothing else to say. We had lost track of time, lost track of ourselves—here we were, ourselves alone, lost in a dark pleasure, the moon coming out by the time we were done.

He pulled out of me finally, my body leaking his seed onto my bed. I’d have to clean that up later, I told myself, making a mental check list. It was time to reclaim my life.

It was time to return to the world of the living. That’s what Mitch would want me to do, I know. That’s what I had to do—not just for myself, but for Damien.

For Dakota, even—hell, she could have run away from home in the last few weeks and I wouldn’t even have noticed.

“Yeah, I’ll come to your show,” I whispered, as Damien was standing up, putting his pants back on, buckling his belt. I watched his gorgeous body move as he put his wife beater back on, watched his muscles dance beneath the tight fabric.

“Yeah? Good.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, a smirk on my lips. Lips that hadn’t smiled in weeks.

“Fine, thank you,” he said, kicking my naked foot playfully. “There’s a school dance that night too.”

“God, another one?”

“A fall formal? Fall fling? Something like that. I don’t know. Something with alliteration.”

“Are you going to go?”

“I thought you might want to go.”

I rolled onto my belly, arching my back and sticking my naked ass up in the air, stretching like a cat. I felt like a sex kitten, and I wondered if he would take the bait—would mount me like a wild animal all over again.

“What made you think that?” I asked, in mock innocent. He slapped my ass hard and I yelped before breaking out into giggles.

“Because you’re an eighteen-year-old girl and girls always want to do dumb stuff like that,” Damien replied.

“Fine. You’re right. We’ll go to your show and then we’ll go to the dance?”

“It’s a date.”

I found myself flushing, in spite of myself, at what he had just said. A date? Even though we had just had the most passionate, deepest sex I could possibly imagine—a date. Wow. That somehow felt… Like a new step.

A next step?

DAMIEN

Riley’s, a bar on the outskirts of town, was set to be the venue for the show. It’s clientele was as strange and diverse as the bar itself was: on any given night, you’d find a weird mix of college students, long haul truck drivers, local businessmen, off-duty cops, and bums sitting next to an equally eclectic mix of art and photography that Riley had collected over the years: from tobacco store Indian statues to tiki-inspied velvet paintings and kitschy Norman Rockwell prints, it was a bizarre place to settle down for an evening.

But he’d pay us fifty dollars each for the show, and we got to keep any tips dropped in our jar, so all of us figured it would be better than nothing. Besides, the beer was cheap, with PBR selling for two dollars a can, so who could resist?

I was in the process of tuning my guitar on the stage—really, just a raised part of the floor that usually held chairs and tables, all of which had been moved for the occasion of the concert. It wasn’t much of a stage, but then again, we weren’t much of a band.

I wasn’t sure what to wear to perform in, and so I wore a pair of tight black jeans that Sarah was particularly fond of, a tight white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. I looked like some sort of 1950’s greaser, with the exception of the fact that I had a modern hair cut, I supposed, plus Chucks. I had a suit in a bag hanging up in one of Riley’s closets to change into post-show for the dance. It really felt like something out of Happy Days, only I doubted Fonzie was ever deployed to Iraq.

“How you feeling tonight, marine?” Lance called over to me as he strode up from the bar, two cans of Pabst held triumphantly in his fists. He tossed me one and I caught it effortlessly, without taking my other hand off my guitar frets. I cracked it open and sucked it down in about twelve seconds flat.

“Someone was thirsty.”

“I needed this, man,” I said with a sigh. “It’s been a wild few weeks.”

“I heard about that kid who killed himself—he was a friend of yours? I’d seen you with him.”

“That’s right. He was one of Sarah’s best friends.”

“Shit, man.”

“And what’s more…” I lowered my voice here. “He was dating the son of the chief of police, in secret. But that was one of the bullies who drove him to kill himself.”

“Jesus Christ, man. Ollie Richards’ kid?”

“That’s right.”

“Man, don’t go fucking around with that family. They’re bad news. I know a guy who tried to fight a fucking parking ticket—you know, small time shit—but the next morning, he woke up to find his windshield smashed in and all his tail lights smashed too.”

“Goddamn,” I said, shaking my head. “Teddy—that’s Oliver’s kid—was telling me something that…”

I trailed off as I saw Sarah enter. Lance grinned.

“To be continued, am I right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, let me know if, you know—you need some help,” Lance murmured as he opened his own can. “I’ve got a .357 in my truck—you just say the word. I know a few other guys, marines—we’re all happy to go to war for one of our own.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that. But thanks.”

I had to end this conversation fast, because here was Sarah. And she was gorgeous.

She had gotten a new dress for the occasion. And my god—it was incredible. It hugged her body like a tight leather glove. And I hadn’t realized it, but she had lost weight over her two weeks—her body was like a model’s now. She had never been fat before, but now, her curves had been carefully maintained by her depression-induced starvation, and only heightened.

“I’m, uh, Lance,” Lance was saying, offering her his hand. She smiled, blushing. She looked suddenly like a little kid, a precocious child on the precipice of adulthood.

I fell in love with her all over again, right then and there.

All over again? Was I in love with her already?

“Hi, Damien,” she said shyly, looking up at me. I set the guitar aside and leaned down to look at her.

“Hey, kiddo. That’s a nice dress.”

“Do you like it?” she gushed, giggling, spinning and showing me: it was a blue-ish silver, with meandering lace flowers. “I ordered it from ModCloth. It was a bit expensive but I had some money saved up from my birthday. Maria helped me put it on.”

“Where’s your dress, Damien?” Lance butted in but I just ignored him.

“It looks… Great on you.”

She bit her lip.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want a beer?”
 

“I probably shouldn’t. I’m only eighteen.”

“Well, it’s only a problem if you say that out loud…” Lance muttered. “You’re taking away all the plausible deniability.”

“You didn’t hear anything, Lance. Why don’t you get the lady a beer?”

Lance stalked off, apparently dismayed that he wouldn’t get to monopolize my sister. That’s fine. She was all for me.

“I’m excited to hear you play. You know, for real. In a band,” Sarah said, taking a seat not far off the stage. “Do you think there’ll be a big turn out?”

“No. But that’s all right. We’re getting paid anyway.”

“I…” Sarah started to say but I saw her gaze wander away from me towards the door. I met her eyes, and then sought out whatever it was that had caught her attention.

A group of four people, three guys, one girl, had just entered the bar. They seemed about my age or a few years older. All wearing jeans, sweatshirts from the local college. They took a seat in the back of the bar and one of the guys went up and bought a pitcher for them.

The boys didn’t look familiar in the slightest but there was something about the girl that reminded me of someone. And I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something about the brown hair, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the guarded way she smiled.

“That’s my sister,” Sarah said finally.

“What?”

“Christina. My sister.”

Christ. I had forgotten about her. Of course, there was another Logan girl. Sarah was the middle child. That explained a lot, now that I thought about it.

“She doesn’t come around the house anymore, even though she’s at college in town. She won’t talk to dad at all.”

“I can’t blame her.”

“Yeah, I know. But she doesn’t really talk to us, either.”

I knew that “us” meant her and Dakota.

“Well, should we go over and talk to her?” I said after a moment of silence. But it was too late—Christina had already spied us and she was on her way over.

“You’re too young to be here, aren’t you?” she said as soon as she was within earshot.

“No, she’s not,” I cut in.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my underage sister in a bar?” Christina said fiercely turning on me.

“I’m your brother,” I drawled. I extended my hand. “Damien Calabruzzo. Good to meet you, sis.”

That threw Christina for a loop. She shook my hand dumbly, struggling, clearly, to find something to say. Fortunately, Sarah stepped in to explain.

“Damien’s home from Iraq, and he’s finishing up his GED.”

“Right. Right. That makes sense,” Christina murmured. “I’m sorry, I can be kind of a bitch, especially when my family’s concerned.”

I just smiled.

“I mean, I think you’ve got plenty of reason to be.”

“Thanks, I guess. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. She’s—“

“We’re just hanging out here before going to a dance at school. I’ll have one beer and then that’ll be it,” Sarah insisted gently. Christina’s face fell and she shrugged.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be more sober than Dakota at the end of the night…”

That comment had us all laughing bitterly.

“You’re applying to college now, aren’t you?” Christina asked, turning to Sarah. “I keep meaning to email you about it. You’re not applying to Laramie, are you?”

“Well… I hadn’t really thought of it…” Sarah started and then shook her head. “No. Fuck no. I’m getting out of here.”

“Thank god,” Christina said with a sigh. “That was my mistake. Harry twisted my arm and got me to go to Laramie, since I’ve got a full scholarship. Cheaper for him, and he thought he could keep an eye on me.”

“How’s that working out?” I asked.

“Well, the scholarship’s fine, and wouldn’t you know it—he tried to run my life for the first semester and then I threatened to get a restraining order and now we don’t talk.”

“That’s one way to do it,” I said with a shrug.

“Listen,” Christina said, turning on Sarah, jutting her shoulder in my way as if to block me out of the conversation. “We should talk, sometime. In private. I think I’ve figured something out.”

“What?”

“Something about mom.”

“Oh, god, Christina, this again…”

“Sarah, I’m serious. I think I know how to get proof.”

“No, god, Christina, please. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t think about it.”

I could see Sarah was on the verge of tears.

“This might not be a good time,” I cut in, gently turning Christina aside and re-entering the conversation. “Mitch killed himself the other week. It’s been kind of rough.”

Christina’s eyes widened.

“God, I’m so sorry. Sarah…” she murmured, taking her sister into her arms. They clearly didn’t agree on everything, or even much at all, but they were still sisters—and good ones at that, it seemed.

Christina re-joined her group. I turned to Sarah.

“What was she saying about your mom?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She has this theory… About the night she died.”

“What?”

I knew that their mother, Kayla Logan, had died in a car accident on the highway a few years before my mom married Harry. But I didn’t know anything more than that—none of the Logans ever talked about her. Sarah didn’t mention her, and Harry certainly didn’t.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. Christina’s just mad at dad. She thinks dad murdered our mom.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“What makes her think that?”

“I don’t know. Their relationship was pretty rough by the end. They just couldn’t get along. But also… Christina thinks that mom found out something she wasn’t supposed.”

“What kind of something?”

“I have no idea. Christina has no idea. She just remembers overhearing some late night conversations between the two of them. She said it was different than usual—they were quiet, because they didn’t want us kids to hear. Usually they just yelled at each other, but the weird thing was that they were quiet.”

“But she doesn’t know what it was about?”

“I guess not—“ Sarah began to say but Lance gestured at me from across the bar to start getting ready to play.

“Whatever, it’s probably nothing,” Sarah declared with a sigh. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, please? I need to have fun tonight. I need to…”

“Forget everything,” I said, finishing her sentence—as if the look in her eyes had told me exactly what she wanted to say.