A Very Dirty Wedding (40 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Delaney

I'm standing here in my room, staring at the closed door like an idiot.  As if none of that just happened.  As if the throbbing between my legs is nothing.

Gaige is next door, with his hand on his cock, thinking about you.

Gaige's bedroom door closes, and I hear him moving around his room.  These walls are paper-thin.  I can't believe Gaige had the balls to move from the guesthouse to the main house – and not just the main house, but the room next door – just to mess with me.  There are twelve bedrooms in this house, and Gaige picked the one next to mine.

He definitely wants to mess with you.

I'm not sure whether I'm more turned on or irritated.  After his trip to Vegas with Chelsea and God knows how many other girls – I can only imagine the number – Gaige has the balls to stand here, pressed up against me, telling me what he wants to do to me.

The really filthy things he wants to do to me.

He has absolutely zero shame.

You're the one who put condoms in his room.
  The thought flashes in my head, and I quickly try to push it aside.

I wonder if he's actually jerking off in his bedroom.  He sure didn't fake the erection that was pressed up against me when he pulled me close to him.

And there's definitely no faking the wetness between my legs.  If Gaige would have made good on his threat to slide his fingers between my thighs, he would have realized it immediately.  And I'm not sure I would have protested.

I cross the bedroom to lock the door – who knows if Gaige will return – and shed my office clothes piece by piece, unable to get Gaige out of my thoughts.  I make a valiant effort at trying to distract myself by running through all kinds of other things in my head – work stuff, my to-do list, the fucking state capitols in alphabetical order.

Anything other than thinking about Gaige next door.  Gaige with his hand on his cock.  Gaige fantasizing about me.  Gaige on the other side of the wall, running his hand along his length like he said he would.

The throbbing between my legs becomes more insistent, and I grab a novel I've been reading, flopping onto the bed and flipping open the book, my eyes landing right on…a sex scene.  I slam the book closed.  Choosing a romance novel to distract myself is entirely unhelpful.

I can't stop visualizing Gaige, naked, his hand on his cock.  And there are a million damn reasons why I shouldn't be thinking about Gaige naked.  I make a mental checklist in my head:  Manwhore – check.  Past history with him – check.  Professional relationship – check.  Stepbrother – double fucking check.

Next door, Gaige is silent.  I wonder if he really jerked off.  I wonder if he thought about me.  I wonder if he finished already.  I wonder what he looks like when he comes.

Damn it, Delaney.  You have to stop.

Focus on something else.

Like the fact that my nipples are basically as hard as rocks against the fabric of my bra.  And that my panties are damp.

I slide my finger down the front of my panties, thinking about what Gaige said.

How you'd feel as I touched my fingers to your pussy lips, the expression on your face…

I slide my finger lower, between my lips, slick with wetness, the wetness Gaige is responsible for creating.

How slick you'd be as I slid my fingers inside you…

I picture Gaige naked above me, giving me that knowing grin as he reaches between my legs, spreading my lips with his fingers and plunging them inside me.  I stroke myself slowly, the way I imagine Gaige would touch me, bringing myself higher and higher.

The thought creeps into my head –
this is wrong
.  But I push it away. 
Your stepbrother is right next door.

I picture Gaige next door, stroking himself, thinking about me as he comes.  It's when I'm picturing him that I glance up at the closet door.  Behind that door is Gaige's cock, the dildo he made.  I'd stuffed it back in that box and hid it in the closet. 
Do I dare?

It's not like anyone would ever know.  It's probably not even Gaige's anyway.  I'm a thousand percent positive it's something he bought at an adult store, so why shouldn't I use it?

I slide my hand from between my legs and go to the closet before I can change my mind, rummaging through the assorted odds and ends until I find the box. 
Gaige's cock.

I strip off my panties and bra and slide into the bed naked, the sheets cool against my skin.  I take a long look at the dildo.  I'm about to lie in bed and fuck myself with a dildo made from a mold of my stepbrother's cock, while he's right next door, jerking off while he fantasizes about me.

My life sounds like a fucking porno.

Except it isn't.  I haven't gotten laid in six months.  And I can't even think straight.  I might be losing my mind.  But I don't care, not right now, anyway.

I lay back again, pressing the head of the cock against my entrance, coating it in my wetness.  I'm going to go insane if I don't come.

I stroke my clit in slow circles with my finger, sending pulses of pleasure through my body, and press my stepbrother's cock slowly inside my entrance, my muscles stretching to accommodate its girth.

I imagine Gaige in the room next to me, thinking about me while he strokes his dick, his hand moving up and down his length, over and over.  Back when we were eighteen, I tried to touch him once, slid my hand down to reach between his legs, and he grabbed my wrist to stop me.  "No," he growled at me.  "Not now.  We'll do this right."

I never found out what
doing it right
meant.

But now, I picture it in my mind's eye.  I imagine Gaige thrusting his cock inside me, slowly at first as he stretches me, then picking up speed, his movements a regular rhythm that matches my hips as I arch up to meet him.  Each thrust brings him deeper and deeper inside me, aided by my wetness, until I'm completely filled with him.  I mimic our movements, thrusting the dildo further inside me.

"Come for me, Delaney." I picture his mouth close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.  "I want to feel you come on me."

I'm so close to the edge, the pent up frustration making me even more ready, filled to the hilt with the replica of Gaige's cock inside me.  I imagine Gaige with his hand on his cock, his warm cum spilling from his dick and over his hand.

The thought pushes me over the edge, and I come hard, my whole body jerking as my muscles tighten around the dildo.  I don't realize that I've made any noise until I hear knocking, and I startle, thinking it's someone at the door.

But of course it isn't.  It's Gaige.

When I cross to the other side of the room, I can hear him chuckling through the wall.

Damn it.  He totally knows.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Delaney

"It's strange that the guesthouse needed fumigated," Anja says.  "And so suddenly, too."

I look up at Gaige, and he winks at me, but my father and stepmother fail to notice.  Anja seems to be cutting microscopic-sized slices off the edge of her chicken breast and my father is similarly focused on his meal.  There's obvious tension between them; I wonder how long they've been having problems.

"Termites," Gaige says, and I glare at him through narrowed eyes.  The liar.  "It's a good thing I noticed."

"We should probably have the main house checked for them, too," my father says, and I give Gaige a look.  I can't believe he's faking termites just to get himself into the room next to me.  He's obviously a crazy person.

"I already had the guy do it," Gaige says.  "There are no problems with the main house."

"Well, thank you, Gaige.  You're really on top of things."

Anja laughs, the sound bitter.  "On top of a termite issue," she says, her voice sharp.  "Useless in every other way."

I swallow hard.  I don't remember her being so...mean...to Gaige before.

"Anja, that's uncalled for," my father says, his tone warning.

"It's okay," Gaige says.  "Not all of us have the luxury of attending luncheons instead of working."

I clear my throat, trying to cut through the tension in the room.  But I don't have anything to say.  Luckily, my father saves me, quickly changing the subject.

"Vegas," he says.  "Was it productive?"

Great.  He saves me by asking the worst question ever.  I definitely don't want to hear about Gaige's Vegas exploits.

Anja snorts.  "Speaking of not working," she says.  "I don't know when partying at a Vegas nightclub started to count as work."

"I feel the same way about being a human clothes hanger," Gaige says.

Anja sniffs.  "Modeling involves skill," she says.  She sips clear liquid from a crystal tumbler that's obviously not water, and I'm pretty sure she's half in the bag already.

"Fortunately, being a washed up model involves no skill at all," Gaige says.

"Gaige," my father warns.  He doesn't look at Anja.  He's unhappy; I can see the dark circles under his eyes, and the lines that crease his face, deeper than a few years ago.  He's aged, and I wonder why I didn't notice it before.

"That's right.  Take his side," Anja says, standing.  She places a hand on the table to steady herself when she wobbles, but picks up her glass, bringing it to her mouth and taking a sip.  Her eyes are unfocused, but she narrows them when she looks at Gaige.  "He's your investment, after all.  Always protecting your investments, even the ones who are as useless as Gaige."

I inhale sharply, looking at Gaige, whose face is ashen.  My father stands quickly, puts his hand on Anja's arm.  "Anja," he says.  "Perhaps you'd like to lie down."

She jerks her arm from his grasp.  "Don't talk to me like a child," she says.  She turns toward me and I hold my breath.  "I see the way he looks at you, you know."

"Why don't you go dry out, Mother," Gaige's voice is hard, and he doesn't look at me, but I can see his fist clenched, his knuckles white.

But she continues, turning toward me, her voice slurring.  "Don't think you can fool anyone," she says.  "I see you looking at Gaige, too.  He'll go through you like --"

My eyes are wide as my father cuts her off, his face red.  "That's enough, Anja," he says, taking her arm.  She jerks away from him, glass in hand and stumbles out of the doorway.  My father turns toward us, shaking his head.  "I apologize for her behavior."

He follows behind her, and Gaige and I sit in silence for a minute before we hear their voices, echoing through the other end of the house, before the door slams closed.

"Well."  After that, I don't really know what to say.  Other than that this is really fucking awkward.  Gaige doesn't even look at me.  He just stares at his plate.  What she said about us -- about the way Gaige looks at me, the way I look at him -- runs through my head, but I put it aside, more concerned about Gaige.  Anja might have been critical before, but now she's just awful.  "What she said about --"

"Don't worry, Delaney," he says, his voice bitter.  "She's drunk.  Obviously you and I aren't looking at each other like that."

"Gaige, that's not what I -"

But Gaige stands up, pushes his chair back from the table, and walks out of the room, without even a second glance at me.

Damn it.
  That's not what I was going to say.  I was going to say that what Anja said about him being useless wasn't true.

I sit in the dining room by myself, staring at my plate, until the cook, Deborah, enters the room.  "Is everything okay?"

"Huh?"  I ask.  "Oh.  Yes.  Everything's fine."

"With the food?  It's okay?"

"Yes."  I nod.  "I don't think any of us are very hungry tonight."

Upstairs in my room, I open my book again, then play with my phone, but the whole time I'm wondering what Gaige is doing next door.  It's silent.  Maybe he went out somewhere; I didn't hear the front door, but this place is so big, he could have left and I wouldn't have known.

I tap my finger absently on the screen of my phone, until I just can't take it anymore.  I can't just sit here and pretend like nothing just happened.  If I were Gaige, I'd be pissed off.  And hurt.

I grab a piece of paper and a pen.  I hesitate for a moment before I put the pen on the paper, then just do it. 
Pool?
  I write.  Then I walk over to Gaige's room and slide it under his door and sit back down in my room with my novel.

It's a few minutes before the piece of paper floats under the door, and I bend down to pick it up before opening the door.  Gaige stands there, that cocky grin on his face, and I look down at the paper.

I knew you wanted me.

I roll my eyes.  I should have known Gaige would take my note that way.  We made out that summer by the pool.  But it was also the place we talked.  "Oh my God, I was feeling bad about what happened," I say.  "I should have known nothing gets you down."

Gaige shrugs.  He's still smiling, but his eyes aren't.  "No big deal."

"What do you mean, no big deal?"  I ask.  "What Anja said was completely uncalled for."

"So this swim," he says, ignoring me.  "Will it be naked?"

I groan.  "Seriously, is that all you can think about?"

"It's a simple question, Delaney," he says. "Clothed or non-clothed?"

"Never mind.  You can go sit in your room by yourself."

Gaige exhales heavily.  "Whatever.  Let's go."

Outside, we sit with a six-pack of beer, just like we used to do, leaning against the grotto by the pool.  It all feels familiar, like we're stepping right back into the place we were four years ago, as if no time has passed at all.  And yet, there's part of me that feels like we're strangers, that so much has happened in the past few years there's no way I could possibly know Gaige anymore.

We sit in silence for a long time before I speak.  "What your mom said about you wasn't true, you know."

Gaige shrugs.  "I've been pretty worthless the past few months, with this fucking injury anyway."

"What happened?"

"I was screwing around, doing stunts on the bike," he says.

"So how's that any different from normal?"  I ask.  "You were always doing that stuff."

He shrugs again and takes a sip of his beer.  "Nothing," he says.  "Just lost control of the back wheel and spun out.  It happens.  Your father was fucking pissed off, though.  It was right before this big race, and I busted my leg, so I was out.  He read me the riot act."

"I can see that."  My father is a businessman, and I can tell that he considers Gaige a colleague as well as a son.  He'd see any extra-curricular shit Gaige pulled as being a bad business decision, even if it's this kind of stuff that makes Gaige popular.  Stupid stunts, bar fights, dating B-grade celebrities.  Basically, acting like a rock star.

"Yeah, well," he says.  "Your father knew what he was getting when he bought the team."

"Yes," I laugh, shaking my head.  "That much is definitely true."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means my father knows what to expect," I say.  "He can't really get pissed off at you for doing shit that's part of who you are.  He signed onto the brand."

"Fuck, that's what I said."

"I agree with you," I say.

Gaige is silent for a minute, then he looks at me, his face thoughtful.  "Your father was smart, putting you on me."

"What do you mean?"

"You're handling me," he says.

"I'm not handling you."

"Yeah you are," he says, giving me this look that tells me he can see straight through my bullshit.  "It's okay, though.  I don't mind it from you.  I never did, you know."

"I don't think anyone could ever handle you, Gaige."

Gaige takes a long pull on his beer, studying me carefully.  I feel naked under his gaze and I look away.  "You had a way of doing it, you know."

I change the subject. "When do you get to take the boot off?"

"Next week.  Before we leave for Japan, thank God.  Traveling with this thing would be no fun at all."

"So I'll have to wait to skinny dip with you until after next week," I joke. 
Oh my God, I don't know why I just said that.
  After I was the one getting on him for making everything an innuendo.

"Are you kidding?" he asks.  "I'd rip this boot off in a fucking heartbeat, break my own damn leg again myself if it meant I got to see you naked."

I laugh.  "Very funny."

"You don't think I'm serious?" he asks, shaking his head.

I take another sip of my beer.  "That's the problem," I say.  "That does sound exactly like something you'd do."

We sit in awkward silence again, all of the unspoken stuff hanging between us.  It's one thing to joke around and flirt with Gaige, but another thing entirely to be sitting here the same way we used to.  He hands me another beer.

"Your mom didn't used to be like this, did she?" I ask.

"You mean, a drunk?" he says.  "You didn't notice before?"

I shake my head.  "Am I blind or something?  She never seemed like it."

Gaige takes a long pull off his beer.  "Nope," he says.  "Pretty par for the course.  That summer we were here she was in a better mood, since her and Beau had gotten married."

"I feel..." My voice trails off.  I don't know quite how I feel, actually.  About anything.  But about Gaige most of all.

"Bad for your dad?" Gaige asks.

"He doesn't look happy."

"Nope," Gaige says.  "Would you be happy, if you were him?"

"I'm so sorry, Gaige."  But I find myself tongue-tied, unable to say what I'm sorry for.  I'm sorry for the way your mom treats you.  I'm sorry for the way I left things between us.

"It is what it is, darlin'," he says, finally turning to look at me.  The lights, dim around the pool, make the golden flecks in his eyes stand out even more.  He looks at me for a long minute, then drains the rest of his beer and starts undoing his boot.  "Fuck it," he says.

"What are you doing?"  I ask, swallowing hard as he pulls his shirt over his head.  Once he's shirtless, his bare tattoo-covered chest covered right in front of my face, I can't help but look at it.

Gaige catches me obviously staring, and grins.  "Come on, darlin'," he says.  "Jump in."

"Put your clothes back on," I hiss.  "Someone's going to see you."

Gaige shrugs.  "So what?" he asks, unbuttoning his pants.  I avert my eyes, focusing straight ahead.  It seems somehow indecent to just stare at him, to watch him undress like he's some kind of stripper.  "You think our parents are up and around in the house?  This isn't the first time something like this has happened.  My mother gets drunk, makes a scene.  They go to their room and argue or whatever, who knows.  Have makeup sex."

"Eew, Gaige, gross."  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.  He's standing there in his boxer briefs. 
I'm not going to look at him,
I tell myself.  I'm not going to look at
it
.  This is not what I had in mind when I asked him to come out to the pool.  I was just going to talk to him, that's all.

"That's what every guy wants to hear when he's standing in front of a girl naked," he says.

"I was referring to our parents having sex.  Wait.  You're naked?"  I look up, and he's still wearing his briefs.

He grins widely.  "Made you look."

"Asshole."

"Cocktease," he says, and walks slowly over to the pool.

"Why am I a cocktease?"  I yell after him, but he ignores me, so I stand up and follow him over to the pool.

"Water's nice," he says.  His feet are in the water, and at least he's still got his boxers on.  That's something.  If he stripped off everything and got buck naked...