Sadness.
Sadness that something beautiful is right there, so close, yet so far out of reach. I roll over onto my side, facing the wall, and rub my hand down my shaft again. I curl my fingers around my cock and squeeze firmly as it pulses in my palm.
“Luke.”
He still doesn’t answer, but he opens his drawer roughly. More roughly than usual. I tell myself it’s because he’s trying to make sure I can hear him.
“Don’t touch your dick, okay? Not yet.” I’m not sure if he’s obeying me, but I can’t hear any movement so he might be. “Lube up your fingers. Your forefinger and your middle finger. Make them nice and slick. You’ll need it for where they’re going.”
No movement. No sound. The silence from his side of the wall is deafening. My breathing is coming in great, uneven gulps. Along with the rapid beat of my heart, it’s all I can hear. I lie there in limbo, hating myself and hating my parents for divorcing and hating the whole world for good measure. I lie there until I can’t take it for another second. I swing my legs off the bed and start for the door before I’m consciously aware I’ve made the decision to do it.
His bedroom door is ajar. I push it open gently, unsure if I don’t want to startle him or if some idiotic part of me is still hoping he might not see me. He does. He’s expecting me. His bedside light is on and is casting a soft glow in the room. His eyes are lazily watching the door. He’s lying on his back with one hand under the back of his head. He’s stark naked. His legs are crossed at the ankles and his free hand rests on his chest. The bottle of lube lies on the bed beside him. My eyes travel downward, even though I can feel him looking at me. They land between his legs. His dick is rock hard, thick, veiny meat beneath taut skin. So beautiful I’m instantly rendered breathless. Speechless. His eyes meet mine, but aside from that he remains completely still.
“Don’t you want to play?” I speak softly, hoping to disguise the quiver in my voice.
“I do want to play,” he sounds a lot more certain than I do, “but I haven’t done that before.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’ve been waiting for you.”
His words cause a flurry of excitement in my belly that flows down lower. I move tentatively toward the bed. As I sit down, he bends the leg closest to me at the knee, digging his foot into the mattress. I sit in the space he’s made for me. Once I’m seated, it occurs to me that I have less than no idea what to do now. My stepbrother is lying naked on his bed and I’m sitting between his legs. He bends his other leg too and then sways that knee a little, so it brushes against my back. The second our bodies make contact something inside me ignites. Something dark. The very thing I don’t want him to get tangled up in. I take one of his knees in each hand, looking into his eyes until I find the sweetness that lives inside him, then I force his legs open roughly. His eyes fly open. I fully expect to see fright, but I don’t, instead I see an unmissable flare of arousal. That’s all the encouragement I need to run my hands down his inner thighs. I move slowly. Lightly. Feeling his hair ghosting my palms. I don’t stop and he doesn’t recoil or try to press his knees together. He lets them fall further apart. I stay still for a moment feeling the silky warmth of the smooth skin where his thighs meet his groin.
My mind has been taken over by an inferno. It rips through me, destroying everything in its path. What it leaves behind glows orange and amber and is far from clever. I have his body laid out in front of me, yet all I can think of is what we’ve been doing. I’m so goddamn brainless right now, the only thing I can conceive of us doing are the things I’ve been telling him to do through the wall.
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
He does as I say, applying some lube and reaching down to take himself in hand. He has big, masculine hands, but his fist doesn’t come close to dwarfing his boner. He slides his hand up and down his shaft slowly, squeezing gently just before he gets to the tip. I watch for a while, mesmerized, until I see he’s getting close.
“Stop,” I say.
His neck arches, pushing his head back into the pillow in frustration, but he doesn’t complain. He takes his hand off his dick and waits for my instruction. The way he’s looking at me unnerves me. There’s an open honesty, a vulnerability, I can hardly stand. I don’t give him another instruction. Instead, I wrap my own hand around him. He hisses through his teeth as he sucks a sharp breath in. He feels thick and hot. Hard like I was expecting. Familiar and new at the same time. I move my hand the way he moved his. His mouth drops open and his eyes go vacant. He makes a soft sound on the down stroke and starts rocking his hips in time with my hand. I use my free hand too, adding it to the mix for no purpose other than to lubricate my fingers. I’m still not thinking all that clearly so I’m kind of impressed with myself for remembering to do that.
The only thing my compromised mind knows is that I came into this room to make sure there were two fingers wedged in Luke Bennet’s ass. Logic dictates that since he’s not using his fingers, I’ll have to use mine. Once they’re slick, I trail my thumb down his ball seam and stroke his taint until I reach his hole. I press a finger in as soon as I find the point of least resistance. He gives way but I’m shocked by how tight he is. He sucks me in and squeezes my finger rhythmically, clenching his ring as he moves his hips. It’s smooth and warm inside him. So smooth and so warm. God, it feels good. I love it. I love the feeling and I want more of it. As soon as I’m sure he’s ready, I add a second finger. I move both hands together, penetrating him on the downstroke, beckoning with the fingers inside him. The action is a little harder to coordinate than I thought it would be. It takes me a minute to find my rhythm, but I do. His toes curl and I can tell he’s close. He’s frantic. The sounds he’s making aren’t soft anymore. They’re low and desperate. He tenses and falls silent for a second and then he erupts. He thrusts jerkily into my hand and his ass clamps down on my fingers so tightly it would push me out if I let it.
I release him as soon as he relaxes, clambering to my knees and shoving my pants down. I’m so frenzied I don’t think to add lube. I use what little is left on the hand I jerked him with, which isn’t much. I don’t care, I’d jack it bone dry right now and you wouldn’t hear a word of complaint from me. I don’t take my time, I don’t edge or let my pleasure build. There’s no time for that. My balls are screaming for release. I don’t let them scream for long. I jerk hard and come so fast, my head spins from the shock. White spots dance in my field of vision and I forget how to breathe in. I collapse forward, pressing a heavy hand against his chest and grunting loudly as I shoot the biggest load of my life all over his belly and chest.
The second it’s over, I feel shaky and awkward. His eyes haven’t left mine since I walked into the room. He’s still looking at me like that. Honest and open. Vulnerable. It scares the shit out of me. I lean back to sit on my heels and struggle to pull my pants up.
He smiles at me with a strange mix of contentment, satisfaction and something else.
Wait, is that smugness?
I get off the bed quickly, instantly annoyed with him and annoyed with myself.
“Sorry about the mess,” I hiss.
I head to the door as fast as I can but as I swing it open, I can’t resist the urge to look back at him. He hasn’t moved. He’s still flat on his back, one hand behind his head. He’s trailing a finger through the pool of semen on his chest. When I make eye contact with him, he raises his finger to his lips, tilting his head as if he’s looking at a goddamn breakfast food, and leans in to lick it.
12
Luke
Ihardlysleptlastnight, and when I did, I dreamed of Jessie. It’s the first time I’ve ever dreamed about real events like that. Like a movie my brain was playing back to me. It was amazing. It felt like it was happening all over again. It was a relief to see him at my door last night. He looked strange; reluctant and determined in equal measure. He rested his long, lean body against the doorframe for so long, I thought for sure he’d chicken out and never come in. The agonizing anticipation when he sat on my bed without touching me. I’ve never felt naked like that before. Bare to my bones. Bare to my soul. It felt electric when he touched me. It felt kind of like I was expecting it to feel but it also felt more real. Harder to take. It almost felt like pain, the waiting, the look in his eye; uncertain, a little angry. The orgasm was unbelievable. Definitely not in the same league as any O I’ve ever given myself. When I think about it now, I get a surge of arousal that’s so strong it almost makes me feel nauseous. A wave of heat flows up and down me at the same time and makes me feel lightheaded.
I’m on the sofa waiting for him. It’s almost eleven and he still hasn’t come out of his room. It’s making me twitchy because I know how he is. I’m feeling anxious by the time he finally comes out. He’s fully dressed. Ripped gray jeans and a Pink Floyd T that’s so worn it looks like it could have been bought in the seventies. His dark hair shows matted signs of sleep. He drags a hand through it, scrubbing it roughly and pushing it back out of his face. I jump to my feet and blurt out “Are you okay?” even though I’ve spent the last couple of hours promising myself I’d play it cool.
His eyes harden then soften just as quickly.
