Foster Brother's Arms (2 page)

Raine

Now…

The worst part of it all is that she doesn’t even remember me.

I know I’ve changed in ten years. 

Some of those changes can be seen with the eyes, but most of them—the biggest ones—go far deeper. But after all we shared…

I feel a sick twist in my gut that she doesn’t even care enough to remember me. 

For this, I will punish her. A slow, sensual torture that will fuel my fantasies for years to come.

But first, I need to take off the edge so I can maintain control and take my time with her.  This is going to take all night. 

I sit down in the leather wing-back chair beside the floor-to-ceiling window spanning the length of the wall.  We’re too high up for anyone to see us, but I can look down at the city lights while she services me.

I lean back in the chair boredly, putting my hands behind my head. “Take my cock out of my pants and suck me. There’s a lot to take, but be a good girl and pull me as deep into your mouth as you possibly can.  And when I’m coming, I want you to suck the come out of my cock. Understand?”

I wonder if my graphic words shock her, and it irks me that I even care how she feels.  But like a good sub, she simply nods and scurries over to fulfill my command.

“Kneel,” I instruct as she situates herself myself between my knees and begins to unfasten my pants. 

Yes, this is going to take all night.

Lana

Then….

Escape.

That’s what I think of as I study for my chemistry test.  Every good grade brings me closer to college, where I’ll finally be on my own.  Away from foster families and creepy foster fathers with their leering eyes and wandering hands. 
Free.

I need good grades to get a scholarship, so I study hard and even do extracurricular activities to build up my college application.  I’m on the yearbook committee for Christsakes, as if I care about some ridiculous high school yearbook.  But every lame after-school meeting brings me a step closer to getting the hell out of here finally being independent.

I yawn and chug cold black coffee from the mug on my desk, trying to commit the latest chapter of my textbook to memory.

My attention is drawn to a rattle at the window.  It gets louder, and I stand up to see what’s causing it.  Just as I’m parting the curtains to look outside, the glass pane slides up and a boy is framed in the open space.

I’m about to scream when he reaches out and clamps a hand over my mouth.

“Lana, it’s okay—it’s me, Raine.”

My eyes grow wide and I say his name, though it’s muffled by his hand. He slowly lowers his palm from my mouth and I spring forward, enveloping him in a giant bear hug.

“Holy shit!” I yell. “I can’t believe you’re here! How did you find me?”

After that last horrible night in our foster home, the system thought it would be healthier to separate us and let us start entirely new lives on our own.  After placing us in new homes, they denied us any information about one another. 

I hadn’t seen Raine in four years, and I’d even begun to accept that I might never see him again.

“I have smart friends who hacked into the child services website and found you,” he says. “I’ve been looking for you for years.”

I wrap my arms around him and squeal.  In all the homes I’ve lived in, Raine was the one true friend I ever had.  We’d been through hell together and survived.  Now here he is, in the living, breathing flesh.

“You have to tell me everything!” I say.  “Where you do you live and what’s your new family like? Do you have any foster brothers or sisters? What school do you go to? Do you even live in this state?” I lead him by the hand to the bed and we sit face to face. I can’t stop touching his arm, his hand, his chest, just to make sure he’s real.

He looks just as happy to see me, a broad smile on his face and warmth lighting up his dark eyes.

He lives just a few towns over, he explains, with a stuffy rich family that doesn’t spend time together or have anything in common.  They had a previously adopted son who turned out to be a failure, and none of them spoke anymore.  So to replace him, they adopted Raine and enrolled him in a fancy prep school so he could someday take over their family business.

“I’ve been with the same foster parents since they split us up,” he explains. “And they officially adopted me last year.  We’re not close though.  We don’t talk or do things like a normal family.  My father is always working and Missy, I mean mom, is always at the country club or some tropical resort. But there are no beatings, no drugs, plenty of food, and the house is a fucking mansion, Lana.  You should see it. It’s incredible. I’m a rich kid.  I won the fucking lottery.”

“It sounds amazing,” I says. “So they have a big, fancy company, and some day it’ll be yours?”

I shrug. “That’s what they plan for me. It’s their whole reason for taking me in, actually.  They have no kids and that company is like my father’s baby.  They’re an older couple, and they have no one to leave it to when he dies.”

“So you get to live like a rich kid and then inherit a bunch of money someday? Do you know how lucky you are? That’s amazing, Raine!”

“What about you?” he says. “This isn’t a mansion, but it seems like a perfectly nice house.  What’s your family like?”

“My stepmom’s okay.  She has some mental health issues, but she doesn’t take them out on me, which is cool.”

“What about the guy?”

I hesitate for a moment, and immediately I know I’ve made a mistake.  I should have been more guarded.  Raine knows me too well.  Even though we’ve been separated, he knows my heart, and by the look of concern in his eyes, I realize I’ve already set off alarm bells.

“He’s fine,” I say quickly. “They’re a very loving family.”

“Lana?” he says, his voice full of concern. “Has he hurt you?”

An image from the past springs to mind in vivid, horrifying detail. I’m lying in bed while Raine stands over a lifeless body.  The room is dark except for the bars of light that come in through the window blinds and fall across Raine’s chest.  I’m grateful that he stopped what was happening, what our foster father was doing to me, but I’m horrified by all the blood. By what I’ve just witnessed.  By the deafening silence in the room.

Another series of images come to mind unbidden. The police arrive and take us to separate rooms at the police station, and then ask me again and again what happened.  And again and again I tell them everything, while they look at me with soft, sympathetic eyes.

Raine and I pass each other on our way to separate interrogation rooms at the police station. He reaches a hand out and holds mine for a moment before we’re pulled apart and shuffled into different rooms again. That’s the last time I ever see him.

Until today.

“No really, my foster parents are both great,” I say. “They’re not perfect, but it’s a safe home and I have my schoolwork and my friends.” I put my hand on his shoulder and meet his eyes. “Really Raine, I’m fine. I promise.”

I only hope he believes my lies.

Raine comes over the next night too, and we both climb down the tree next to my bedroom window.  His motorcycle is parked a little further down the block, and he’d promised me a ride tonight.

He hands me his spare helmet and gets on the bike, then I get on behind him.  He takes my hands in his and guides my arms around his waist, instructing me to hold on tight. 

The bike growls to life, and then we’re speeding down the road.  There’s nothing between us and the wind, and as the road unfurls beneath us like an endless ribbon, I feel like we’re flying.
Woooo! 
I scream into the night, and Raine speeds up even faster. 

Every night we do this.  He shows up at my window and I escape with him for a few hours. And every night we ride the lonely road that connects his town to mine.

We usually end up parking along a deserted stretch of beach close to his family’s mansion, which I can see across the water.  It’s magnificent—an enormous, sprawling white beach house that’s four stories high and that, according to Raine, even has an elevator. I never knew such a thing existed—a house with an actual elevator inside.

No one is ever out on this quiet little patch of beach but the two of us, where we lay on a blanket looking up at the stars.  We talk about whatever comes to mind, catching up on all we’ve seen and done in the past four years.

“So after I left the Mackenzie’s, I moved into the Barker house,” I tell him.  “I was there for about a year with ten other foster kids before living where I do now.”

“It’s a shame you’ve been shuffled around so much,” Raine says.  He’s been with the Everly family since we were split up.  After all the police interviews and an investigation by child services, it was determined that we were both victims of severe abuse, so Raine wasn’t shipped off to juvenile detention for what he did to our foster father that night.  Instead, he was placed in a new foster home and required to see a psychologist specializing in severe child abuse and neglect.

Not that Raine ever opened up to the doctor.  He told me he didn’t trust adults, so he told the therapist whatever he wanted to hear.  Raine wanted to prove he was making quick progress in order to get out of treatment as quickly as possible, even if everything he said was a lie.

“It was awful, wasn’t it?” I say as we lay shoulder to shoulder on the beach blanket, looking up at the full moon.  “Living with that horrible man, in that awful house. I still have nightmares about it. You always got it the worst, Raine.  And I know it was my fault. Whenever he’d come after me, you’d do something bad to get him to come after you instead.  You always protected me like that.” I turn to face him, and I admire his profile as he stares up at the sky.  “Thank you.”

“It’s over now so I try not to think about it,” he says. “I don’t want to get angry or sad about it…I don’t want him to have that power over me.  I don’t want to think of him at all.”

“Do you still have scars?” I ask timidly. “From the beatings?”

He cuts his eyes over to me. “On my back, yeah.  But they’re fading. They’re not as bad as they used to be.”

“Can I see?” I ask.

He shrugs and sits up, then grabs his expensive polo shirt by the collar and tugs it up over his head.  “I’m not sure you can see them in the dark,” he says as he turns and angles his body so his back is facing me.

I sit up beside him and lean in closer to get a better look.  My heart breaks as I see the unmistakable lash-like scars across his back in the moonlight. Our foster father had a special leather belt that I swore hurt worse that a whip ever could.  One night the beating was so bad, it took most of the skin off Raine’s back.  The belt got so drenched in blood it was useless after that.  The only good to come out of that horrible night was the destruction of that God-awful belt.

“I remember when you got these,” I said.  “I’d snuck into the fridge and had eaten some bread, and he noticed it was missing.  He struck me across the face and you yelled at him to stop, then cursed him out.  I thought he was going to kill you, I really did.” I trace a fingertip over the damaged skin on his back, relieved those dark days are over.  But reliving them makes me sad somehow.  For the childhood we both lost. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He leans over and wipes my cheek, and it’s only then I realize that I’m crying.

I try to stop because I’m embarrassed of how childish I’m behaving, but the more I try to hold back my tears, the more they come.

Raine reaches out and holds me, and I wrap my arms around his strong, scarred back.  I bury my head in his neck and cry while he rubs my shoulders and just holds me like that.

When I start to regain my composure, I pull away and look up at him.  He leans down and kisses the tears on my cheek.  Kisses the tears at the corners of my eyes.  Kisses the tears on my lips.

I twine my arms around his neck and meet his lips, reveling in the comfort and the strength of him.  We were just children when we first met, but now, as I savor the way his body presses against me, the way his lips move over mine, gentle but insistent, I know we aren’t children anymore. 

Tonight there’s no denying that Raine is a man now.  The strength and power in his body are proof of that, the evidence of his desire pressing against my side as we kiss is proof of that.  And for the first time in my life, I no longer feel like a girl.  I feel like I was born to be this man’s woman. 

Raine

Now…

“Suck,” I command as she unzips my pants and frees me from their confines.  She holds me in her hand for a moment, staring at me as if surprised by all I have to offer, before she takes me in her mouth.

I tip my head back against the chair and close my eyes, savoring the warm ministrations of her mouth on my throbbing, hungry cock.

Occasionally I offer her direction:
Suck harder. Grip the base. Cup my balls. Tongue the tip. That’s a good girl.

But as delightful as her mouth feels on me, I’m unable to come. 

And I know why. Because ever since I saw her beautiful pussy, I won’t be satisfied with anything less than being buried to the hilt inside her.  But first I want to taste her.  Feel her against my lips and tongue, and taste her release. 

But it’s not just the sensation of her pussy that I want. It’s knowing that I’m bringing her pleasure that will truly get me off.  Her utter helplessness against the primal needs and automatic responses of her own body.  And I’ll be the one setting them off. 

I smooth my hand over her hair, admiring its silky texture. “You may release me now. I’m going to take you into the bedroom.”

My cock emerges from her mouth and she looks up at me with confusion in her sapphire eyes.

“You’re doing a good job, baby. I just can’t come. I’m in my head too much. I’d like to focus on you for a while, shall we do that?”

She nods in assent, but there’s a war between anxiety and desire in her eyes. She’s always been ridiculously easy to read like that.  Her eyes are so damn expressive.

Looking into them now, I feel something come to life that I thought was long dead. It has nothing to do with sex, though I wish it did. It’s the yearning to protect this woman, to give her all that I am. To bring her happiness each day of her life. To bring a smile to those beautiful eyes.

And I despise myself for feeling this way.

She was the one who destroyed
me
all those years ago.  Those days, I would have done anything for her. Traveled to the ends of the earth just to bring her some small measure of joy.  She was the one thing I had ever loved.  And yet when I tried to give her that love, she threw it back in my face as if it meant nothing at all.

If anything, I should want revenge for what she did to me. For shattering me all those years ago.

For what it caused me to become. 

Having her appear at my door tonight was a gift. And yet all I can think about is driving her mad with pleasure.  Of making her come again and again, then soothing her gently while she comes down in my arms.

No, this won’t do.  This won’t do at all.