Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (19 page)

He leaned toward me,
his arm along the back of the couch. My dress had ridden up my
thighs, exposing my skin to him and he rested a hand on my knee. A
safe distance from anything off limits, but still, hot and ready,
right there.

“I’ll tell you what
you’re going to do for me, Jewel.” I started breathing faster, my
lips parted. He sounded so commanding, so controlling. My heart
fluttered in my chest like a butterfly.

“Saturday night, I
heard you. In your bedroom.”

I gasped and tensed.
What did he mean? He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant.

He began to stroke my
knee, making slow circles on the inside with his fingers. Without
thinking, my legs parted a fraction of an inch, on instinct as his
fingers began to work their magic.

“I walked past your
bedroom on the way to mine. And I heard you moan.”

“No!” I protested,
ridiculously.

“Yes, Jewel.” His
fingers kept at their work, stroking, caressing, slow yet insistent
along my inner thigh. “I heard you touching yourself. I heard you
call out my name.”

“I—” I tried to
think of an excuse but it was impossible to form coherent thoughts
with his fingers along my thigh, massaging, rubbing, caressing.
“Tuck!” I spoke his name, but didn’t even know what I meant.

“Yes, like that,”
he continued, leaning in closer. I could feel his heat, the heat
building within me.

“What you’re going
to do right now for me, Jewel, is you’re going to show me. Show me
what you did last night. How you touch yourself.”

“What?!?” I pulled
away and stood up, brushing the skirt of my dress down over my legs.
Was the man crazy?

“You heard what I
said.” He sat there, confident, not seeming thrown by my protest in
the least.

“I’m not going to
do that!” My words came out sounding fussy and prissy, but I meant
it. Even the thought of doing that embarrassed the hell out of me.

He stood now, towering
over me, all 6’3” of him honed into powerful muscle. I edged
back, moving away until I felt my back up against the wall, breathing
hard. He approached, his eyes fixed on my face, his large, strong
hands by his sides. He didn’t need to touch me to make me tremble,
my entire body responded to just his nearness.

Then he brought a
finger up and stroked my jaw, traced a line down my throat, found the
strap of my sundress and toyed with it. I stayed there, caught,
unable to pull away from his touch it felt so good.

“You’re going to
show me how you touch yourself, Jewel. Bring your fingers down to
your pussy and show me exactly how you give yourself pleasure.” He
stepped closer, right in front of me now, then circled one hand
around my wrist and pinned it to the wall by my head. “Or I’m
going to touch you there myself.”

“No!” I cried,
feeling slightly panicked. He couldn’t touch me there. I couldn’t
let him. I’d break apart, come unglued. And I’d have no secrets
left. He’d find out instantly, the moment he reached down to stroke
me, how glistening and slick I already was for him. He’d never let
me go then, once he found out how much my body responded to him, how
much desire pooled in me before he’d even lifted a finger.

He brought his free
hand to my breast, slowly stroking my curve, lingering for a moment
at my pebbled nipple underneath my dress. He toyed with it between
his thumb and index finger and I sucked in my breath.

He chuckled, low in his
throat. “So responsive, my Jewel.” But then he continued his path
down my body, down my stomach, down to my hip where he began
gathering up the fabric of my dress in his hand. He was going to do
what he threatened, he was going to put his hand on my sex and feel
me, stroke me, caress me. I couldn’t let him.

“OK, OK,” I rushed
out, breathless. I brought my free hand between my legs.

“That’s it,” he
hissed, tense, his palm pressing into mine against the wall. “Show
me.”

My eyes fluttering
closed, I slipped my hand inside of my panties. Oh, I was so wet, my
fingers slid right in, welcoming, hot, slick folds awaiting me. He
bunched the fabric of my dress up in his hand, lifting it so he could
see everything.

“Pull your panties
down, Jewel, so I can watch.”

I knew I should stop,
push him away, tell him this was ridiculous, but I didn’t. I didn’t
want to anymore. I wanted to touch myself, finish what he’d made me
start. I wriggled my panties down my hips, down my thighs and then
returned my hand to my eager, glistening pussy.

Closing my eyes, I
worked my fingers in and out, tilting my hips slightly to apply more
pressure. As I thrust between my folds, I brushed up against my clit
and it felt so good.

“That’s it, Jewel.
I can smell you,” he whispered hot in my ear. “Touch yourself for
me, Jewel. The way I heard you.”

His words turned me on
so much, telling me what to do, reminding me he’d caught me. Next
to his musky heat, he felt so huge standing next to me, over me. I
felt trapped in all the right ways, forced to do what I so wanted but
wouldn’t let myself. Not unless he made me.

I worked my clit for
him, small noises coming from my throat, so filled with lust and
desire. When he stroked the swell of my breasts, I opened my eyes and
saw him watching me, intently focused on every detail.

“Like that,” he
coaxed me. “You’re so wet, Jewel. I can see your fingers
glistening.” His voice sounded thick with lust. He brought his hand
to my aching nipples and began to stroke and pull, tweaking and then
caressing my needy buds.

“What do you think
about, Jewel? When you shove your fingers into your wet pussy?”

I whimpered, shoving in
my fingers just like he said, brushing against my clit.

“Do you think about
me, Jewel? Do you think about what I want to do to you?”

“Yes!” The
confession ripped out of my throat, I couldn’t keep it in anymore.
I needed to tell him, needed to show him how much I wanted him.

“I heard you the
other night, Jewel. In your room. Being bad. I heard you moaning and
calling out my name.”

I moaned, mortified and
so turned on.

“Were you thinking
about me? Your stepbrother?” He pinched my nipple and I cried out.
It hurt and felt so good.

“Yes,” I admitted,
my fingers slick and sliding in and out. It felt so hot to tell him,
to have him force me to admit my dirty longings.

“Your pussy’s so
slick for me. I can smell you, Jewel. So sweet and hot. I want to
taste you.”

Whimpering at his
words, I wanted that so much. I could feel tension building inside of
me, my clit throbbing for release.

“You’d feel so good
on my cock, wouldn’t you?” Tuck continued, his deep voice fanning
my flames. “I’d slide right in and stretch you. You’d take me
in, all of my cock. Wouldn’t you, Jewel?”

“Yes! Oh, yes!” I
was close now, so close to feeling the pounding waves of ecstasy, the
shuddering release of orgasm on my fingers.

“If I fucked you hard
would you scream my name?” he demanded, gruff, pinning my wrist to
the wall.

“Yes!” I cried out.
“Yes!”

“Scream my name,
Jewel,” he commanded. “Scream it and come for me.”

“Tuck, Tuck!” I
screamed as I obeyed his command, coming hard all over my fingers.
“Tuck!” I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to, pleasure pouring
over me, out of me, creaming and slick, Tuck, all for Tuck.

“Yes, baby,” he
coaxed me, taking in every pulse, every shudder, drinking in every
last second of my overwhelming orgasm. I bucked against my own
fingers, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me.

Finally, sated, I
dropped my head back against the wall. He brought his arms around me,
supporting my weight. I felt like I was going to collapse, in more
ways than one.

He leaned down,
brushing his face against mine. “That’s my dirty girl. My dirty,
nasty girl.”

What had I done? Oh my
God. I wasn’t a dirty, nasty girl, I wasn’t. I was a good girl
and I didn’t want to be this person, masturbating in front of my
stepbrother, showing him how I made myself come. That was disgusting
and I was disgusting. Shame consumed me, made me want to wretch and
scream and run.

“What’s wrong?”
he asked as I pulled up my panties and pushed him away, pushed him
and started moving, blindly at first but then picking up steam as I
rushed through the kitchen.

“Jewel?” he called
after me.

I grabbed my keys and
ran into the car, driving out into the night before he could stop me.
I could see him as I pulled away, standing in the driveway looking
after me, confused, upset.

I couldn’t look back.
I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t become that girl, that crazy person
who’d just done something so wrong.

Tuck

Jewel didn’t come
home, not that night or the next. She stayed away from the house and
I did for the most part as well. I had a fight coming up in two
weeks. I needed to focus, train, keep my eyes on the prize. I had a
lot of pent-up energy, unreleased tension, and I let it all loose in
the gym.

Jewel had me all jacked
up. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her face as she’d stroked
herself, lips parted, skin glowing, pink. The sounds she made in her
throat, how she turned her head away, eyes closed in ecstasy. Even
the struggle was hot, the way she tried to fight her own desire. To
see her give in, submit to the heat. It made me hard just thinking
about it. I was hard all the time.

I could leave her
alone. She said she wanted me to.

But she didn’t want
that, not really. She was scared as hell. She was a virgin, for
fuck’s sake. She’d never done this before, any of it. It made my
blood pound, boil, seethe. It probably meant I should go gentle and
slow, hold her hand and give her boxes of chocolates and flowers. But
I needed to sink my teeth into her. I wanted to mark her, take her
across my knee and spank her hard. Hear her cry out with need as I
made her mine.

I was an animal, I knew
it, but deep down I knew she felt this primal need just like me. She
needed this time to flutter and fuss, kick up some dust and struggle.
She had a bunch of stuff she was sorting out, morality, convention,
her conception of herself as a good girl. I didn’t know exactly
what was going on in her head, but I could tell she had her own
private hell in there and was flogging herself good.

She should let me do it
to her instead. I’d have her panting and begging for it, juice
oozing out of her pussy and running down her thighs. The girl was a
born sub. She didn’t know it yet, but she needed a big man like me,
a dominant alpha who’d make her do all the nasty things she craved.
She didn’t feel comfortable with that yet, didn’t accept that’s
who she really was, probably felt frightened about it.

But I knew her. I could
sense it deep inside of her. She needed this as much as I did. She
was so tamped down, the release would be so intense, so explosive.
And it would happen, between us. It was only a matter of time.

Wednesday our parents
arrived back from Baja. Surprise! They were going to throw a Bastille
Day party that weekend. Of course, since neither of them were even
remotely French. Made perfect sense.

Jewel showed up that
night, not meeting my eye, all but camouflaging herself with the
furniture. I guessed her mother had called her to tell her about the
big celebration of French independence. Jewel had returned to be the
dutiful daughter.

Candice fluttered
around, in her element. She loved the planning, the arrangements, the
chaos of pulling it all off in 48 hours. Manic, I realized. She must
be fun when she swung the other way. I bet Jewel had had a real party
growing up with that one.

“I’m going to need
both of your help!” she declared to me and Jewel Friday night, her
eyes wide and sparkling. “We have a whole team of people descending
on us tomorrow. We’re going to all need to pitch in. And I’m
going to be at the salon until five.”

I saw Jewel roll her
eyes and I snorted down a laugh. Apparently “all” pitching in
didn’t mean her. Classic.

“Isn’t this a
riot?” Candice exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

“Do you even know
what Bastille Day is?” Jewel asked.

“Oh, little Miss
bookworm, I’m not going to let you spoil this for me.” Candice
poked Jewel on her nose.

Those two couldn’t be
more different. But I knew that was Jewel’s whole deal. She was
terrified of becoming her mother. That’s why she hid her
appearance, shunned men, stayed inside burying her nose in books. At
every fork in the road growing up she’d probably asked herself,
“What would my mother do?” And then she’d chosen the opposite.

Didn’t she realize
that she’d never be like her mother? Jewel had more substance in
her pinky fingernail than Candice had in that entire fluffy head of
hers. But I got it. People in glass houses couldn’t throw stones. I
knew about the all-consuming need to prove how different you were
from your parent. I had a thing or two to say on that topic.

Saturday morning,
Candice was in a state. I’d hit the gym early and came back at noon
to witness a full-blown fit.

“It’s not fair!”
she’d wailed out by the pool.

Jewel was standing next
to her, patiently rubbing her back. I had the impression she’d done
it before. “It’s going to be OK, Mom.”

“But how could they
do this to me?”

“Everything all
right?” I asked, stepping into the scene.

Candice wailed, “No!
Nothing’s all right!”

Jewel looked up at me
with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. “The florist has
cancelled.”

Candice moaned as if
she’d lost her entire family in an earthquake. Jewel and I met eyes
and we both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

“I’m sure it’ll
be fine, Candice,” I offered.