Page 120 of Rebellious

Tuesday, April 16th

Axel would probably charge Diesel a late fee to use his shower. He’d already waited up for Diesel. By now, he was probably asleep. Added to that late fee would probably be another one for disturbing ‘a man’. Diesel had given that brat enough of his money, so he gathered his toothbrush, shaving kit, and pajama bottoms, made his way to the third floor, and knocked on CJ’s door.

If CJ didn’t answer, he’d use the shower in the pool house, though he didn’t relish wasting that much time. Maybe he’d go without tonight. Rebel was waiting for him.

CJ swung his door open and yawned, his gaze zeroing in on what Diesel held. He stepped aside. “Axel closed his bathroom to you?”

“I took too long,” Diesel explained, walking into CJ’s room.

The space was a refuge, a place where CJ sought solace, especially during periods of family crisis.

In that sense, it wasn’t unlike Diesel’s bedroom, only larger, with the hallmarks of a teenage boy who loved Nintendo, football, and motorcycles. Diesel liked minimalist luxury for his private space in gray, black, and red, but CJ’s color scheme projected his warmth and kindness. Caramel wood floors, terracotta and moss-colored walls, mustard yellow and muted orange accents.

Sliding back into bed, CJ yawned again. “He would’ve gotten another five bands from you.”

Diesel didn’t miss his little brother’s sourness, even though fatigue curled through the statement. “It’s too late to argue that point.”

Or try to win it after that little motherfucker bamboozled a thousand dollars from him.

“Turn the lock on my knob on your way out, bro,” CJ said groggily, reminding Diesel of years past and all the times he found CJ deep in Orpheus’s embrace.

Rebel always demanded Diesel’s complete and utter attention. CJ was happy with electronic devices and intermittent check-ins.

Shaking his head, Diesel went to CJ’s bathroom, noting the differences in their styles here as well. While CJ’s shower wasn’t considered small, it wasn’t anywhere near the size of Diesel’s. CJ’s bathroom was more traditional with wood and marble with a sink set into a vanity with cabinets and drawers, while Diesel had chosen glass, marble, and floating sinks, and extra closet space to hold his toiletries, towels, and toilet paper.

Diesel began removing his clothes and noticed the time on his watch. 1:17a.m. He needed to get a move on. He brushed his teeth, then hurried through his shaving, counting it as a blessing that he didn’t nick himself.

The moment he stepped under the warm spray and closed his eyes, he saw Rebel on her bed. He snapped his eyes open again, telling himself he’d comforted her as his little sister. He’d stay up and text with her as his little sister.

She’d been so fragile, like a delicate little flower, and he…he…

Fuck it all.

Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes again, squeezing them tightly, trying to forget…no, wanting to remember…

Trying to forget her naked body but wanting to remember her importance to him. Aside from her naked body.

He swallowed, regret welling in him. But regret for the wrong fucking reason. It was the deep regret of missed opportunity. The insane kind that left him wishing he’d kissed her mouth. It drowned out his pride that he’d managed to hold onto his decency.

Diesel heaved in a breath, torn inside. Sick inside. Seeing the perfection of her naked body.

No, no, no. He was better than that. Growling, he popped his eyes open and grabbed CJ’s body wash. He poured a fair amount into his hands, then swiped his fingers over his face, his eyes, hissing at the burn, but not caring. He wanted to torture himself. He deserved to torture himself.

Tears stung his abused eyes, slid down his cheeks. Her image remained.

He punched the side of his head, so hard stars danced in front of him. She would not fucking go.

The memory of her taut nipples, her sweet pussy, and her gorgeous figure, left him hard and hurting. He’d planned to jerk off when he was in her room. Except it felt so fucking wrong. Illegal.

Filthy.

Somehow, the burning in his eyes had subsided and he hadn’t even realized it. He considered using more and would have if he thought it would help. It was only wasting time.

His breath coming in short pants, he wrapped his hand around his straining cock and squeezed, throwing his head back. The water beat down on his face. He opened his mouth, drinking, thinking, fisting his dick.

Imagining she was eighteen.

Sixteen.