Hard: A Step-Brother Romance Page 2

Somehow, I knew I’d learn one hell of a lesson from this mistake.

  A very hard lesson.

  Jesus fuck.

  Her blouse unbuttoned.

  Jesus fuck.

  She kicked off a shoe.

  Jesus fuck.

  Her stockings were thigh-highs. The thin lace caressed her caramel legs, dark and luxurious and stretching to her goddamned chin.

  The door crashed behind me. Behind us. Hell if I knew or cared.

  Fuck this was a mistake.

  My apartment had more alcohol unpacked than clothes. Or furniture. Or anything. I wasn’t planning on staying long.

  And I wasn’t planning on fucking the most beautiful woman I had ever seen on an unmade bed. She deserved better than a ratty comforter and wet bath towel thrown over the footboard.

  She didn’t care.

  Christ, this woman.

  I tangled my fingers in thick, jet-black waves of absolute elegance. Her lips—full and puffy and abso-fucking-lutely perfect to suck my cock—devoured me. She kissed like she hadn’t been kissed in years.

  Who in their right mind wouldn’t kiss this woman?

  And what asshole would proposition her to his apartment knowing who she was, what she was dealing with?

  This asshole.

  I pretended that I was a guy who saw what he wanted. Tasted what tempted him in the nibbling pulse of her lips. I needed more than just a couple kisses goodnight and a tug in the shower to relieve the beast such a beauty awakened. In reality, this mistake would fuck me over quicker than I could say on your knees.

  I had two choices.

  Be a gentleman…which I wasn’t. Tell her to pull that silky strip of cloth back over the most beautiful and softest pussy I had ever seen. Button my pants. Shake her hand and walk to her car.

  Or.

  I could do what came naturally.

  Fucking her was the easier decision. It was also the wrong decision, but it wasn’t like I followed anyone’s orders anymore. I was my own man.

  And this man wanted a woman.

  I pushed her on my bed, spread her lovely midnight legs apart, and I feasted on a pussy so wet and hot I considered grabbing my dive gear and sinking in as deep as I possibly could.

  Volcanic.

  That’s what Shay was.

  A goddamned volcano all molten and ready to blow. A goddess slickening to be taken. A demand waiting to be filled.

  This woman deserved candlelight and champagne and some sort of twinkly-ass music to serenade her while I licked every inch of her delicious slit from top to bottom and back again.

  Jesus Christ, what was I doing?

  And why did it get me so goddamned hard?

  “Zach, oh God.”

  And now her arms were up. She stretched out completely on the bed, spread her legs, and fucking surrendered to my lapping tongue. Her breasts puffed—perfectly round and delicious and desperate to be sucked. She wasn’t a super thin woman, but that got me harder. Curves. Hips. Tits. And god, that ass.

  The things I could do to that ass.

  Blood pounded in my ears. I was damn surprised any of it got away from my cock. I gripped myself, shamelessly tugging at the thickening length as I savored every bit of her honeyed wetness offered from a perfect slit.

  I had to take it.

  I had to feel it.

  My tongue wasn’t enough to properly sate a woman who begged—cried out my name and begged—for more attention. With aching and deliberate care, I licked my hand, teased her slit, and pushed a single finger within a heat more delicious and unreal than any pussy I ever had the pleasure to claim for my own.

  “More!” Shay gasped.

  Who was I to argue with the lady?

  Then again…

  She would hate me for this.

  Fucking hell, Shay was going to skin me alive.

  It wasn’t fair. This woman redefined passion and lust. She had a pussy tight enough to cut off the blood flow to my finger. I never wanted anyone more than her, and she was the worst possible woman for me to fuck. Christ, I couldn’t catch a break.

  It didn’t stop me from jerking my cock harder.

  Once she realized who I was, this woman would kill me in two ways.

  First she’d squeeze my cock off in her perfect, velvet vice.

  Then, when she was spent and sweaty from my pounding and I could properly introduce myself, she’d rip my head off. That wouldn’t feel as nice as her tightness.

  I should have stopped. I knew better. But how often would a man get the opportunity to fuck a goddess? I’d be an idiot to miss out, even if it ended with a black eye. Hell, I lived every day like it was my last before my accident. Now that I survived death and flicked off the reaper with two proud middle fingers, I wasn’t letting anything stop me from enjoying life—certainly not this crisis of conscience.

  Besides, the lady was in obvious agony. It’d be cruel to pull away from her when she needed me the most. Her lips trembled my name, her delicate little slit wetted over my hand, and, damn if she hadn’t wound tighter than a parachute waiting to be deployed.

  I could either retreat or dive in headfirst.

  I chose the latter.

  My finger inched in deeper. She bucked up to meet it. Her beautiful body tensed, waiting in shivering bliss for that moment when I’d let her shudder around me. I took pride in my piloting. No one crashed under my command.

  Except me.

  But I was ignoring that headache while the sexiest woman in existence writhed beneath my body.

  I teased her, twisting my fingers and testing a tightness so perfect it was a sin. She dug into the mattress and moaned. Her coo was a beautiful sound. After months of closed blinds and soundproof headphones, I’d listen to Shay repeat my name with breathless excitement for an entire night.

  And I planned to do just that.

  My shirt was already off. Shay said nothing about the scars, but I knew she got off on them. The injury fucked up a tattoo that cost five grand, but at least the stitches were out and the medics shoved everything in me that belonged inside me. I leaned over Shay, capturing her perfect lips in another kiss.

  She went right for the scars.

  Gentle touches. Strokes. Always the same. It wasn’t just my muscles. She didn’t care how many knots I could tie underwater with a single breath of air or how many missions I led. It was the scars.

  The fucking scars.

  I hated the jagged purple streaks.

  Women couldn’t get enough of them.

  It didn’t make me tough. It made me worthless. I shoved her hands away and bound them over her head in my grip. She liked that too.

  Only got my cock harder.

  “Zach…I don’t normally do this with strangers,” Shay whispered. “Actually…I never do this.”

  She wore a pencil skirt and librarian glasses. Shay looked every bit the part of a repressed schoolgirl and Christ if her tight little slit didn’t prove my gut instinct about her.

  But I wasn’t about to admit that I did these sorts of things with women less deserving than her. I grinned.

  “Are you being a bad girl?”

  Her almond eyes flashed with a cocoa darkness. “What? You aren’t a bad boy?”

  “Baby, I’m the worst.”

  “Prove it.”

  This woman. This goddamned woman.

  I reached over the nightstand and shuffled through the drawer, pulling my fingers from her greedy little pussy. She groaned in my absence.

  “I got something better for you,” I promised.

  Her quirked smile teased me. “Something hard?”

  For her? I was about ready to split my damn skin. I peeled the rubber over my cock and positioned her legs around me. She arched as I sucked against her breast, tasting the offering, as rich as chocolate and as soft as silk.

  She might have hated me tomorrow.

  But damn it, she would love me tonight.

  With one fluid motion, I sunk my cock into the hottest, wettest, ti
ghtest pussy I ever had the privilege of taking. A full stroke. A single, punishing thrust that stole her breath and pinched her eyes shut against the invasion of her lifetime.

  She moaned and welcomed me deeper. If I had it my way, I’d never fucking pull out of her again.

  Shay tensed, offering more of that sweet, perfect temptation between her legs. I happily obliged, withdrawing only to tease myself with her mind-numbing tightness. Shay’s wanting pussy clenched and tormented my cock. I bottomed out in her with an inch to spare. No way was I denying me or her that pleasure. I’d cram that last bit in her even if I had to spun her around and bury myself in her sweetness all night.

  Not a bad thought.

  She agreed.

  I rested over her, tangling my hands in her hair, tasting her kiss, watching as every fucking thrust pushed her body into the bed. Her breasts slammed against her. I’d rut her until they hit her damn chin. But Shay grabbed them instead. Held them.

  Offered them.

  I bit her nipple just as her pussy clamped against me.

  And the world imploded.

  Her cries fueled me. Her twisting, aching, heating body. Again and again, wave after wave of her heat gripping me, pumping me, testing the very limits of my willpower.

  Christ, I was only human. I had no idea what kind of blessed angel this woman was, but it didn’t matter. I was going to lose myself inside her six ways from Sunday and never regret a moment of the biggest mistake of my life.

  I gripped her hips, pulling her even closer. Everything in me tingled, tightened, and for a single, blissful second, the headache faded.

  Shay bucked.

  I might have died there. I’d survived conditioning, combat diving, land warfare training, and two tours of the most dangerous places in the Middle East, and now my heart would give out while fucking the most beautiful woman in the goddamned world.

  I grunted. Shay gripped me. Her voice purred my name.

  I emptied in her, tensing in utter delight.

  Three hard thrusts, a mew of delirious pleasure from her, and I rolled away before our heat caught me on fire.

  I peeled off the condom and threw it to the floor. Shay panted beside me.

  She tossed an arm over her face. It hid her eyes but not her smile.

  “Guess I know why they call you Hard,” she said.

  My cock jerked at the sound of her purr. She was a damn siren. I’d explode if she just whispered something dirty in my ear.

  “Ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.”

  “SEALs do have endurance, don’t they?”

  That we did. I reached back into the nightstand and ripped another wrapper with my teeth.

  “You want some more?” I asked.

  Shay pushed herself up, looking me over with a quirked eyebrow, bitten lip, and exposed, slickening pussy. She shoved me onto the bed and jerked my cock before grabbing the rubber.

  Then she straddled me, rubbing my cock along the dark petals that teased me with her promise. She bobbed only on the head, groaning as I stretched her with the first few inches of my length.

  “I want you to fuck me until I forget my name,” she whispered.

  I did too, but not for the same reason. I grabbed her hips and shoved her down my entire shaft. She moaned for me.

  She’d be hoarse by the end of the night. I grinned.

  “Let me show you how I earned this nickname.”

  Who served shrimp puffs at a funeral?

  The Franklin family.

  White linens in a reception hall? A lowered disco ball that played the Funky Chicken during the invocation?

  The Franklin family.

  The DJ pumping mad hymns while the choir two-stepped?

  Yep. Franklins.

  Or what was left of us.

  The last few members of my family now included two cantankerous great aunts, a couple distant cousins who let their kids play tag around the coffin, and my sketchy uncle who liked to give people hugs for a few seconds too long.

  At least they were distant relatives. Ever since Momma died, I survived on my own, without gossiping cousins or the wrath of Great Aunt Ruth’s cane. I managed so far alone, and I handled myself perfectly fine. The only tough time was Christmas, but it wasn’t like Dad had been around anyway. The gift delivered by his secretary didn’t count, not while he was off enjoying his new family.

  To make it easier, we split the unused reception materials between the funerals. Dad’s bride-to-be, a woman I never had the chance to meet, was laid out the day before him. Her sisters arranged everything, including first dibs on the wedding supplies. She got the flowers and coffee. Even worse. They swiped all the cutlery too.

  We, of course, had the wedding soup.

  So, after an hour of slurping through mugs of reheated broth and meatballs, the funeral director ran to Walmart, found spoons, and we cut the wedding-turned-wake cake.

  Which was weird.

  We removed the little figurine toppers at least. And, in someone’s foresight, they tugged the fondant off and scribbled condolences on the top layer in the darkest aqua-marine icing gel they could find.

  Sorry For Your Lots Loss

  It worked for our purposes.

  Champagne wasn’t appropriate, but neither was the extended family dropping wedding gifts by the casket like Dad was some sort of Egyptian Homeware Pharaoh taking toasters and expresso machines to the afterlife. Just another headache to send back with ridiculously involved explanations. Yes, we’re having a funeral…I guess you can bring your +1 if you really want.

  About the only thing that kept me level-headed and calm during the whole ordeal was the one completely wild and unpredictable night I had earlier in the week.

  Zach Harden.

  Oh, sweet merciful Jesus, he was a beautiful mistake.

  I knew he would be a perfect blending of pride and shame. I realized it as soon as he flashed that bad boy grin. I felt it in my core when our hands brushed. The mistake seared forever into my memory the instant our lips touched in that bar.

  We crossed six blocks to his apartment in record time, collapsed on the bed, and our instincts took over. Our night was one animalistic, wild experience so crazy I didn’t recognize half of the things I demanded of him. Kiss me here. Touch me there. Fuck me where?

  When I was little, Gran used to swoon and beseech Jesus’s mercy when she came across something that offended her sensibilities. I wished I had the luxury of fainting to avoid thinking of the contorted and sinful acts we committed.

  Instead, I had to look myself in the mirror and admit—yes, I did love every minute of it, even if I could never tell another soul what a freak I was.

  At least my first and last one-night stand was the best night of my life. And thank God it’d be the last time I saw him.

  I didn’t get his number. I could never face him again. Not after what we did. How he took me. How I reacted…multiple times, hoarding orgasms like I stockpiled canned goods for an apocalypse.

  I exhaled. I didn’t have time to worry about my wild indiscretions…of which there were many. The wake concluded, and my relatives claimed their centerpieces—won from a very morbid game of who has the birthday closest to the funeral. My feet ached, but I had one last errand before I could plunk them down in a bubble bath.

  I buzzed over my apartment, grabbing a respectable skirt, sensible pantyhose, and a modest blouse. They cloaked me like a schoolmarm but the outfit did not reveal that I was a wide-eyed harlot who let a stranger have his way with her.

  Three times. Or was it four?

  Well, one of those ways couldn’t be classified like the others.

  But people couldn’t tell that a nice young lady did those sorts of things.

  …Could they?

  It wasn’t like I was wearing a sign that read Ask me where I put a stranger’s penis. No one ever had to know. Still, I styled my hair in a low ponytail to manage the curls that took too much influence from my newfound free-spirit. Then I changed into a pair less-rac
y panties. Once I felt innocent enough, I head to the last place I wanted to go so soon after the funeral.

  The family lawyer’s office.

  I was only twenty-one. Sometimes I forgot it, especially after taking care of Momma when she was too traumatized by her and Dad’s separation to function. I loved her to bits, but I’d never let a man rip out my heart like Dad did to her.

  All his money and gifts didn’t help heal me or Momma. I saw how it ruined a good wife, and I experienced how it hurt a daughter. I wanted nothing to do with Dad after he left us, and where did I end up?

  Front row and center to his will, earning a posthumous apology from a cold letter. Too little too late. My family wasn’t just broken. We voided the warranty.

  “Come on in, Shay.” My father’s accountant shook my hand. William was an older man with a waistline that grew as quickly as the hair in his eyebrows. He sported a gold Rolex on his wrist. No doubt one of Dad’s gifts. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. The sooner we get this settled, the better.”

  “Of course.” I agreed even though I didn’t have a clue what to expect. After Momma died, the only things of hers I settled was finally throwing out her creepy little salt and pepper shakers in the shape of demonic-looking children. I never dealt with wills or trusts or money. “Let’s get started.”

  “Can I get you coffee?”

  “No thanks,” I said. “I think we’ll be in and out pretty quickly.”

  At least I knew how to bluff, even when I was supremely uncomfortable. I didn’t want any of this. My goal in life was to make it through college, find a nice teaching job, and be a force of stability for the kids I taught. I’d be that someone who would listen to them, help them, and comfort them, especially if they didn’t have it at home.

  Instead? I faced the attorney instrumental in my parents’ divorce. Still, I smiled as I stared at the listing of assets Dad hid to avoid alimony.

  To my surprise, most of Dad’s fortune was in a trust for me. I never asked how much I was set to inherit if only because it sent Momma into a spiral, calling on the Lord to cast the devil of greed out of me. But I knew I’d be more than comfortable, especially since Dad was good with his money and investments.

  “Shay,” William took my hand, though the southern gentleman was just consoling himself. “Let me tell you, I am so sorry for your loss.”