Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (14 page)

I stopped going into
the kitchen. I grabbed breakfast, lunch and dinner out. I used a back
staircase to get up to my bedroom. I hadn’t showered. That was
going to have to change at some point. But I couldn’t stop
picturing what would happen if I ran into Tuck in the hallway with
just a towel. He was such a beast, undressing me with his eyes every
time I saw him, he’d surely make quick work of a mere towel. He’d
have me naked and up against the wall, his hard, muscled chest
burning against me, skin against skin.

See, that was why I had
to avoid him. Because I was getting worse and worse at avoiding him.

When we’d played
poker, sitting that close, he was such a potent aphrodisiac, his
musky masculine smell, his sheer size and bulk, the abrasions above
his eye and along his cheekbone testament to his prowess. He
literally proved his might in hand-to-hand combat. Nerdy little
academic that I was, I never would have guessed it, but it had melted
my panties right off me to see him do it.

He was right. He was a
caveman. And he made me want to be his conquest. I had to avoid
seeing him before I did something so wrong I’d regret it for the
rest of my life.

At 6 a.m. Wednesday
morning I practically set a world record for getting out early for
work. Had I encountered a five-foot obstacle I was sure I could have
hurdled over it in a single bound.

But Tuck must have had
the same idea. He usually didn’t wake up until six, didn’t head
out for his run until six fifteen. But at six o’clock that morning
he was already returning from his run, coming back through the
garage. Shirtless and dripping with sweat. It should repulse me. I
should think “Ick! Gross! Sweaty!” Instead, it made my knees week
and my body start to tremble.

He didn’t say
anything, just stood there holding his water bottle in one hand,
watching me, panting.

“Good morning!” I
chirped out, like a peppy nanny arriving early on the job. I was
losing my mind. He stepped closer. Somehow he always made me feel
stalked, the prey in his crosshairs. Worse than that, though, was the
way I liked it, feeling trapped, helpless, hunted.

Why didn’t he wear
shirts? That V down at his waistband, it should be illegal. I
couldn’t not look there, follow the lines, like an arrow pointing
down exactly where I shouldn’t look. Fuck!

As he approached, I
backed up until I hit the wall. He stood close, almost a foot taller
than me.

“You’re not wearing
sweatpants today,” he observed, low and intense, staring down at my
body.

He was right. After
that night when he’d pointed out that I dressed like a nun, I’d
looked through my things. I did dress like a nun. I’d never been
fully conscious of how much I hid, how many of my shirts were
extra-large when really I fit into a small.

Today I’d put on
shorts and a t-shirt. The difference was they fit me. I did have a
few things that fit, buried deep down in the back of my closet. They
weren’t slutty by a long shot, but I still didn’t wear them much.
I’d felt too exposed. But I’d put them on today, feeling defiant.
I was sick of hiding.

But I still needed to
hide from Tuck. He pressed a palm against the wall at the side of my
head and leaned his head down. I had nowhere to hide.

“Your legs look good
in those shorts, Jewel.” He brought a hand down to the button on my
waistband. He didn’t pop it open. He just toyed with it, lightly.
Even at that, I started getting wet.

“I like the way this
shirt clings to your curves.” He reached his palm up, hot, searing
my skin though the cotton as he touched my shoulder. “You look good
enough to eat.” His tongue flicked against his lip.

“Tuck, please,” I
pleaded.

“I liked hearing you
say that,” he whispered down into my ear. A soft whimper escaped my
lips. “Tuck, please,” he repeated, his hand traveling lower, just
barely grazing the swell of my breast.

“No, Tuck, this is
wrong!” I don’t know how I did it, but I slid down and away from
him, breaking free of his spell.

I couldn’t even turn
around. I couldn’t trust myself if I did. I just put the key into
the lock of my old tin can of a car, climbed into the driver’s seat
and drove away as fast as I could.

§

The next night I
couldn’t sleep. It was a hot night, one of the last in June. I knew
the heat came from within me as much as it did from without. I
twisted and turned in my bed, thinking of him, but trying not to.
Starting to read a book, I’d find myself thinking of him, instead.

I’d been fine before
Tuck, a self-contained unit. I’d been able to focus. Now I felt
that slipping away more and more each day.

Frustrated, I decided
I’d tiptoe down to the kitchen for a bite to eat. I’d skipped
dinner that night, so distracted I’d driven straight home instead
of stopping at a restaurant for some takeout. Then I’d scurried
straight up into my bedroom like a frightened little mouse.

It was 2 a.m. so I
figured I was safe. Tuck seemed to be keeping regular hours, devoting
himself entirely to his training. No more partying for the party boy,
at least from what I could see. It was harder to dismiss him as I had
before. The Tuck I saw now barely resembled the drunken playboy I’d
seen over spring break. I’d been convinced Tuck was just like his
father, sleazy, all about money, riding on his looks. I’d been
attracted but not impressed.

But this Tuck worked
hard. He ran every morning and worked out all day, every day as far
as I could tell. He was training with a team and a coach and pushing
himself to become a great fighter. Every night he ate a solitary
dinner. He’d grill some meat and eat it with a pile of vegetables.
I’d never guessed he could be so disciplined, so driven.

I knew I was being
childish avoiding him. It made perfect sense to join him, have dinner
together, make conversation. But I told myself that this was just a
phase, people didn’t change that quick and easy. Tuck was a player.
I knew that, I’d seen him in action. I couldn’t let him play me.

Sneaking out of my door
like a thief in the middle of the night, I padded down the hallway.
The quickest way to the nearest stairwell went right past his room.
Surely I could manage to walk past his closed door in the middle of
the night. It wasn’t like I was going to open it and climb into bed
with him.

I wondered if he slept
naked. A big animal of a man like him, I bet he did. And on a hot
night like this, I bed he’d kicked his sheets off. He was probably
lying there, sprawled across his bed, not a stitch on, his entire
body as rock hard as a granite statue but so much more warm to the
touch.

His door wasn’t
closed. I noticed too late. I was already there standing outside. His
door was ajar.

And he wasn’t asleep.
The blue light of a screen filtered out from his room. He must be up,
unable to sleep like me, watching something in the middle of the
night.

I shouldn’t look, I
knew that. I should head back straight the way I’d come. I’d been
quiet. I doubted he’d heard me. I could escape unnoticed.

But I was in too deep.
Caution, usually my middle name, wasn’t even a concept I recognized
anymore. I craved risk, wanted to seek it out, wanted to see what it
felt like up close.

I took a step toward
his door. No creaks in these wooden floor planks. I guessed
billionaires didn’t tolerate that sort of thing. I stepped closer
still until I was right at the threshold, able to look straight into
his bedroom.

Tuck sat there in bed
propped up against some pillows, his massive sculpted chest bare. His
eyes were fixed on the screen of his laptop, resting on the bed by
his side. His hand was on his huge, erect cock as he jacked himself
off.

I would have gasped but
I couldn’t breathe, not at all. I stood there, frozen, all the air
out of my lungs, fixated on him in the dark blue light. He was so
big. He wore nothing, just like I’d imagined, his broad, thick
thighs stretched out. His big hand wrapped around his shaft, pumping,
working his hard length as he watched the screen.

The unmistakable sound
of a woman’s pleasure came from the laptop, a low, throaty moan.
The screen was at enough of an angle that I could see what he was
watching. A naked woman was giving a man head. Tuck was up at 2 a.m.
jerking off and watching porn.

Oh my God. I needed to
turn around. The image on the screen was so nasty. The man was
sitting on a chair. He still had his shirt on, but his jeans were
pulled down and his huge dick sprang free. He had a hand at the back
of the woman’s head and was pushing her down onto his giant cock,
making her take all of him in, deep down her throat. Her hands were
handcuffed behind her back. She was his helpless servant.

“That’s right,
baby, suck it,” he growled at her. She moaned again with abandon,
like a needy animal. I’d never seen any porn before. I knew they
were actors. Probably the scene had been shot at studios not so far
from where we were right at that moment. What I hadn’t known was
how hot I’d find it.

The way she knelt
between his legs, taking him in her mouth, working to pleasure him.
The way he dominated her, his hand at her head, forcing her down. He
brought his fingers down to her breasts and pinched her nipples hard.
She moaned again, her hands bound behind her back, her nipples peaked
and vulnerable for him to twist.

Tuck locked on the
video, working himself, his pumps growing faster, harder. He looked
so male, so feral, a beast giving himself pleasure.

Between my legs, I
burned. The heat built within me and I knew I was wet, knew if I
brought my hand down inside my panties I’d find myself slick and
begging to be stroked.

Stepping slightly to
the side, my body mostly hidden behind the wall, I kept my eyes fixed
on Tuck. But I slipped my hands down my panties.

I bit back a whimper as
I touched myself, so drenched and hot, soaking for him. As he worked
his huge cock, the crown thick, the tip so wide, I stroked my pussy,
dripping for him, dying to feel him inside of me. On the laptop, the
man grew more forceful.

“That’s it. All the
way down your throat.” He pushed her head down on his prick,
fisting her hair in his hand. I wanted Tuck to do that to me. I’d
never done that to a man, had to admit up until now I’d thought it
sounded disgusting, demeaning to women.

Now I wanted Tuck to
tie my hands behind my back and force me down on my knees between his
legs. I wanted his hand fisted in my hair, fucking my mouth with his
huge cock. I could see him breathing heavy, could see his muscles
coiled and taut. I quivered with need, a bead of my juice dripping
down my inner thigh, my clit swollen and aching as I stroked it.

Tuck. I wanted him to
come. I wanted him to come in me.

The man on the screen
snarled at the woman sucking him off. “I’m going to come. All
over you.”

He drew her head back
and spurted out hot, thick come all over her huge, aroused tits and
her exposed throat, marking her as she screamed in pleasure. Tuck
groaned, low and deep, a guttural sound torn from within, and he
began to come too, the pearly, gleaming jettison covering his hand.

Shuddering, tense, one
hand against the wall, I couldn’t stop my own release, the crashing
waves of pleasure pounding over me as I bucked against my own hand,
coming on my own fingers.

I’d almost managed to
not get caught. Almost managed to get away with it. Except for at the
very peak, the apex of my orgasm, when I shook and felt unsteady on
my feet. Watching Tuck on the bed coming with his cock in his hand,
imagining it was my hand, my mouth on him, I moaned. A high-pitched,
desperate cry as I came, quaking and quivering and completely out of
control.

Hand still on his hard
shaft, Tuck looked up. His heavy eyes locked directly on my own. He
saw me. He caught me. He knew.

It didn’t matter that
I picked up and ran. It didn’t matter that I made it all the way
back to my bedroom and locked my door. It made no difference that he
didn’t follow me, leaving me alone the rest of the night to stew in
my own guilt and embarrassment, feeling dirty and wrong and bad.

We still had over six
weeks together left in the summer sharing the same house. He might
leave me alone this night. But now he knew. He knew, without a shadow
of a doubt, how much I desperately wanted him. There was no turning
back now.

Tuck

The next day our
parents arrived home, right on cue in my fucked-up life. Cooing like
lovebirds, flirting like teenagers, they descended upon us. Perfect,
just fucking perfect.

Here I’d been ready
to cut loose, finally break down the barriers with Jewel. I couldn’t
believe it when I’d seen her there standing in the entry to my
bedroom in the middle of the night, her face flushed, her hand down
her panties with her fingers working her pussy. I’d never forget
the sight of her, head tilted back, lips parted, nipples hard and
pressed against her shirt as she cried out and came. After seeing
that, nothing was going to stop me from having her. Not when I knew
she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Fuck convention, it wasn’t
as if we were really related. We both knew our parents weren’t
exactly in it to win it. They’d probably be divorced by the end of
the year. It was time to stop pretending and start fucking.

Instead, Friday
afternoon I’d come home from the gym to the sight of my father
enjoying drinks poolside with his newest trophy wife. Jewel’s mom.
Fuck.

That night, instead of
finally diving balls-deep into Jewel, I sat through a family dinner.
My dad and Candice had insisted.

I could count the
number of family dinners I’d had in my entire life. My real mom had
a liquid dinner every night, vodka and tonic her beverage of choice.
Wife number two, a good fifteen years younger, had a deep aversion to
anything domestic or maternal. I think she broke out in a rash if she
came near the kitchen. Or me. My father thought it was cute. For a
while, at least.