Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (5 page)

“Is this what you do
all the time?” He pointed at all my books, my highlighters, my
laptop and stickie notes.

I huffed, annoyance
helping a good deal to fend off my physical reaction to him. “Unlike
you, I didn’t get into college based on my family’s name.”

“You think you’re
all that, don’t you?”

“I think I’ve
worked hard for what I have.”

“Unlike me?”

I shrugged.

“You think you’re
better than me.” He sat there so close I could smell him and I
hadn’t forgotten that scent, musky and masculine, making me so weak
in the knees I was glad I was sitting down. “You’re probably
right,” he whispered.

Frozen to the spot, I
couldn’t seem to make myself pull away when he reached over.
Tracing his fingers along the inside of my wrist, he murmured, “Your
pulse is racing.”

I licked my lips and
tried to think of something smart to say, or at least smartass. But
little Miss Wit that I was, my mind went blank. All I could think
about was the power of his hand wrapped around my wrist, the
roughness of his calloused fingertips along my smooth skin.

“Do you remember when
we met?” he asked in a low whisper.

“No! I mean, yes, but
I don’t…” I fidgeted, anxious and flustered under his
attentions. We couldn’t talk about what had happened when we met. I
thought that went without saying. It was the type of mistake best
never discussed, not now, not ever.

“I remember.” He
leaned in, his voice silky and dark. Close like that I could see the
lighter fleck in his brown eyes, the way they almost turned to amber
at the center around the pupil.

“You know what I
remember the most?” he asked, low and intimate. “The soft moans
you made when I touched you.” He kept stroking me, only along my
inner wrist, but I felt it all over.

“Don’t,” I
pleaded, but my voice had a breathy quality, one of those soft moans
he’d referred to threatening close to the surface.

“No?” he whispered
so close he could kiss me if he wanted. He trailed a finger lightly
down my neck and I could imagine his tongue there, his hot mouth
closing in to suck and lick like he had at the party. “You want me
to stop?” he asked, low and wicked, teasing.

I shivered, my eyes
half closed. “Please,” I whispered, my breath catching in my
throat.

He chuckled and pulled
away. My traitorous body instantly missed his touch.

“Dick,” I hissed,
trying to compose myself, masking my arousal as anger.

“Yeah, I’m cocky.”
He stood, drawing up to his full height. My eyes remained at the
level of his waist. And right below it. I drew in my breath. He was
huge, a massive bulge barely contained in his briefs, the thick
length of his cock pushing up to his waistband. I could almost see
the tip, could see it if I reached over and dipped in my fingers.

“Naughty, naughty,
sis.” He wagged his finger at me as if I’d done something wrong.
Then he turned and gave me a nice view of his perfect muscled ass as
he sauntered into the kitchen while I sat there fuming, breathless. I
hadn’t done anything wrong, it was him who crossed the lines, and
then he tried to make me feel like the guilty one. He was absolutely
infuriating.

§

Late Friday night, I
heard a noise out in the hallway. I’d been up anyway, having
trouble sleeping. I hated to admit it, but I was thinking about Tuck.
I didn’t know why he bothered me so much, how he was so good at
getting under my skin. Up until now I’d had no trouble staying far
away from guys like him. Dangerous bad boys who fucked their way
through countless women like it was their job? No thank you. It was
just shit luck that my mother had forced me into such close quarters
with one. And that I’d already felt his hot, wicked lips on my
mouth, my throat, licking and sucking like I was a rare delicacy.

I just had to make it
through this week, then I’d make sure I didn’t see him all
summer. With any luck, I’d get that eight-week internship at the
center in L.A. I’d be safe there. Tuck’s whole social scene
revolved around New York with his boarding school pals and frat
brothers. I was sure he’d spend the summer wherever they all
headed, probably partying his ass off every night in the Hamptons.

There was that noise
again. I got up to investigate. Pushing open my door, I saw them up
against the wall. Tuck had a woman with him and held her there,
pinning her wrists up over her head with one hand, the other cupping
her ass. Her long legs were wrapped around his hips as he thrust into
her, pumping into her against the wall.

“Ah!” she gasped as
he fucked her, long and strong and hard. He caught her lips with his,
silencing her with a kiss as he continued his relentless pounding.

I should have turned
away, should have backed into my room and hidden myself like a good
girl. But I couldn’t look away. He looked so huge and powerful, his
muscles flexing as he thrust into her like an animal. She made noises
deep in her throat, guttural, beyond reason. She wore a skimpy dress,
the bottom shoved up around her waist, the top ripped down.

Heat grew between my
legs, my pussy beginning to throb. His ass thrust again and again,
forcing her up against the wall and she loved it. Her eyes rolled
back in her head and she bucked against him, her breasts bouncing as
he pounded into her.

I’d never seen
anything like it. Never seen any porn, certainly never done anything
like it myself. What would it feel like to have a man do that to you?
To have Tuck do that to me? I could imagine my hands pinned up over
my head, his large, strong palm capturing me, trapping me there for
his pleasure. I could feel myself grow wet, knew if I reached a
finger down into my panties I’d find my folds glistening and slick.

“I’m coming!” she
gasped and he clasped a hand over her mouth. I could still tell she
screamed with pleasure as she shuddered and convulsed against him.

His perfect ass tensed.
He gave one last long, hard thrust and made a guttural grunt. My
pussy clenched in response. I wanted to feel his cock in me. I wanted
to be the one to take his come.

Almost as if he could
hear my thoughts, he turned his face in my direction and looked
straight at me. He didn’t seem surprised to see me and I wondered
how long he’d known I was there. My eyes widened in surprise and
embarrassment at being caught, but I couldn’t move. I was rooted to
the spot. Then he smiled at me, a wicked, carnal, knowing smile that
just about melted what was left of my panties.

I fled back into my
bedroom and locked my door just in case.

But I couldn’t stop
thinking about what I’d seen, his animal fucking, all power, all
male. And that sexy beast of a smile he gave me, letting me know, ‘I
caught you. I know you watched. And now I know what you want.’

Tuck

She’d watched me
fucking and I’d caught her. I couldn’t get it out of my head.
She’d watched and she’d liked it. I’d seen her the second she’d
opened her door, but I hadn’t looked over. I hadn’t wanted her to
leave. I wanted her to stay and watch.

Looking at her out of
the corner of my eye as she’d stood transfixed in her doorway,
she’d turned me on way more than the girl I was balls-deep in.
Jewel standing with slightly parted lips, her fascination and arousal
building as I went at it like an animal. I was imagining it was her
up against the wall, her ass I sank my fingers into, her wrists I
pinned mercilessly to the wall above her head. She didn’t seem able
to move away so I had to wonder if she was picturing the exact same
thing.

Usually after a good
fuck I’d sleep like a baby. That night I lay awake looking at the
ceiling, thinking about Jewel next door. Had she ever let loose? I
bet not. I bet all she’d done was fantasize, think about it late at
night. Maybe she was doing that right now, touching herself, guilty
and embarrassed but unable to resist.

I’d never been with a
girl like her. I’d always gone for the one and done, the types who
didn’t expect more. It made things easier. But I couldn’t stop
thinking about Jewel. Jewel in her baggy sweat shirts and glasses, no
make up, hair up in a messy bun. She did nothing to try to attract
me. But I could sense it, so much fire down below the ice. Inside
that prim and proper exterior was a wildcat needing to be let out of
its cage.

I’d avoided her all
week. Sleeping all day, I’d gone out and partied all night, every
night. It wasn’t like my old man was staying home and playing
Scrabble, wanting to spend quality time with me anyway. He and trophy
wife number three were out attending gallery openings and cozy dinner
parties for 50.

That week I’d partied
so hard I didn’t even remember half of it. Photos kept showing up
on my phone and I had to admit, I didn’t like not knowing. Who were
those chicks with their arms thrown around me? What had I been doing
smoking stogies? My body felt like a junkyard and I had only myself
to blame. I knew if I wanted to get serious about MMA fighting, I had
to give up all that shit. You couldn’t suck down a bottle of
Jamison, pump smoke into your lungs and then expect to be king of the
mountain.

Partying. Womanizing.
Working the system. I was just like my old man. I hated seeing our
similarities. He loved it. He’d give me shit about it, but it
wasn’t the same as with the fighting. Fighting, he hated. He
thought it was uncivilized, that I was acting like an animal, and he
was right about that. But the real problem he had with MMA was that
he’d never done it himself. All the rest of my bad behavior, I knew
he kind of liked. He almost sounded nostalgic when he referred to my
“tom-catting” and “gallivanting” around town.

Meanwhile
goody-two-shoes was lighting it up academically at some all-girls
private college in Massachusetts. My dad loved to bait me with it,
use her as the symbol of everything I wasn’t.

“I was too easy on
you,” he loved to say. “You’re soft.”

It did me good. He
worked up a rage in me that I kept real quiet when I was with him. No
sense giving him the satisfaction of blowing my top. But at the gym,
I’d fucking pound it out. I’d started amateur fighting and so far
I’d won a lot more than I’d lost. Only six fights, but still, I
liked my stats.

This break he was
pissed as all hell. I’d nearly gotten myself kicked out of school,
and believe me, when your father donated as much money as mine that
took some doing. I was pretty creative, though.

The way I saw it, I was
doing them a favor. Those college boys needed an underground fight
club. Most of them couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag. I
was doing a favor to society, stemming the tide of over-educated
wimps. The university didn’t see it that way. Neither did one of
the members of the governing board, whose son happened to split his
nose open in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town during a
fight. Great fight, by the way.

But Daddy had flown in
and smoothed things over. I wondered how big a check he’d had to
write this time. Spineless shit that I was, I let him do it. I let
him bail me out.

So I owed him. When he
told me I had to spend spring break in New York with my new family, I
knew I’d better show up and be on my best damn behavior. No
dilly-dallying or hornswaggling or whatever the fuck 1930s words he
liked to throw around. He was such a pretentious dick. I figured any
day now he’d start wearing a monocle and carrying a cane, maybe
start saying “old chap” and “bloody good.”

Every night in New
York, Jewel stayed home. Near as I could tell, she knew no one in the
city. The girl gave new meaning to the word “recluse”.

The thing with Jewel
was, she didn’t seem to care. Everything about her seemed above it
all. She’d sit there on the couch, curled up with some light
reading like
War and Peace
or
The Encyclopedia of
Everything You Wanted to Know about Anything
and barely
looked up when any of us headed out the door. She was completely
engrossed, like she had everything she needed right where she sat.
She didn’t constantly check her phone like me and everyone else I
knew. She wasn’t posting/tweeting/snapchatting. She sat, still and
calm, completely absorbed in her own world.

It drove me crazy. My
game didn’t work if I didn’t have an audience. She’d been so
hot for me back at that party, I’d figured I’d have a lot more
traction with her. But in New York, she barely looked at me. She kept
her distance, hardly said hello. If she saw me in the kitchen, she’d
immediately turn back into her bedroom and close the door. She shut
me down.

I couldn’t figure her
out and I didn’t like that feeling. I was usually pretty good at
sizing up people. I’d been right about her mother, she put the gold
in gold-digger. But Jewel? I wasn’t so sure any more.

We were like mismatched
magnets. The more I felt drawn to her, the more she seemed repelled
by me. The nearer I drew, the faster she flung herself away.

Saturday, she avoided
me, as she always did, skittish and tense in my presence. I left her
alone. But I was starting to not want to. I hung out in my room
watching a boring movie, so that turned into watching porn. What can
I say? I never claimed to be a great guy. I was a 21-year-old man
pumped up with testosterone and as much as I’d fucked my way
through the city the night before—and photos lighting up my phone
seemed to suggest I’d done just that—I couldn’t stop thinking
about the girl two doors down in the big sweatshirt. Jewel.

She’d been in her
usual spot, tucked into the couch, when I’d last seen her. She
hadn’t even looked up when I walked through the room. It was like
she didn’t even notice me. But I’d caught her watching last
night. I wanted to draw her out again, see that look in her eyes,
heated, needy.