Trying not to stare at Tristan as he makes himself comfortable in my apartment is an impossible challenge. He’s so gloriously vibrant and strong and heroic. How quickly he’s become the man who saves me. Pulling me down into his arms from the tire swing. Rescuing me from that mean woman who seemed to loathe me on site. And he touches me.
Remembering the sensation of his solid arms holding me close, I clamp my lips together so I won’t moan out loud.
I haven’t been touched much in my life at all. Before my parents started fighting all the time and Mama left, she used to give me hugs. Back when I was in school, others students used to brush up against me in the hallway, but until Tristan hugged me in the glen, I didn’t realize how much I’ve been craving skin to skin contact.
Although I don’t have a lot of experience being touched, I know there is a difference in the way Mama hugs me and the way Tristan does it. There’s also a vast difference in the way my stepbrother’s touch makes me feel. Ticklish and tingly between my legs. Breathless. Like my heart could up and race right out of my body. I don’t know if that’s the right or wrong way to feel when my stepbrother holds me, but I don’t think it’s something that can be controlled.
He removes his suit jacket and loosens his tie, sauntering to the balcony door and staring out across the park while rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “I owe you an apology, too, Cate.” Brows drawn together, he looks back at me over his broad shoulder. “I should have been more careful about who I hired. Impeccable credentials don’t speak to a person’s character. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You don’t have to ’pologize.”
“Yes, I do. Your feelings being hurt is unacceptable.” He holds my gaze. “If anyone does it in the future, you’ll tell me immediately and I will handle it.”
This time he’s not even touching me and I feel tingly. Everywhere. In the tips of my breasts, my lips, my fingertips. “Okay,” I murmur. “I will.”
He turns, crosses his arms, looking so mighty and powerful, I have the urge to kneel. “How am I going to make it up to you?”
Kiss me.
I almost say it out loud, but manage to refrain. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe I am trash, wanting my stepbrother to plant his big body on top of mine. To rut on top of me, the way I once saw Daddy do with Mama. The way the animals do in the marsh. “I, um…” I swallow, looking around for a distraction, and my attention snags on the remote control. “Could you maybe show me how to work the television?”
Tristan stares for a moment, a line bunched in his cheek, then nods. “Of course.”
Slowly, we approach the couch from opposite ends, meeting in the middle. His gaze trails down my neck, lingering on my breasts, his lips parting slightly on a rocky exhale. Is it because he likes my breasts? Or am I wearing the wrong thing and he disapproves? The whole time the tutor was here, she frowned at my chest, like it offended her. Does it offend Tristan?
Not knowing what else to do, I sit down on the couch.
And I spy that hard part of my stepbrother, protruding thickly from his lap, straining the zipper of his black suit pants. I know the male appendage is there for reproduction. Learned that much from the books I used to sneak from the town library, right before closing so no one would see me. But I didn’t know it remained stiff all the time. Tristan’s has been hard since the first time I met him in the glen, the rough bulk of it pressing up between my thighs. It’s taken everything inside of me not to rub against it, instinct compelling me to do so.
Now, my curiosity gets the best of me and I lift a hand, trailing my fingers down the stiff ridge and Tristan curses vilely, grabbing my wrist. “Jesus Christ, Cate. What do you think you’re doing?”
Heat prickles my cheeks. Lord, can I go five minutes without embarrassing myself or causing trouble? “I…I’m sorry. I jus’ wondered why…”
“Why what?” Tristan snaps, adjusting the bulge so it’s not as prominent.
Oh my, the sight of his hand there makes me feel sweaty and achy in odd places. And my voice sounds unnatural when I speak again. “You’re…it’s just that, i-it’s always hard.”
“It’s not always hard. It’s…” He shoves a hand through his hair and sits beside me on the couch, leaving only the barest inch between the outsides of our thighs. “It’s complicated, Cate.”
“It is?”
He closes his eyes for long moments, as if attempting to control his breathing. “How much do you know about men and women?” His throat bobs. “About sex?”
“Not too much. I know it’s how people make babies.” Talking about such intimate things with my stepbrother makes me feel shameful and excited all at once, my fingertips curling into the couch cushions. “And I accidentally walked in while my parents were, um…bein’ together once. So I know how b-bodies fit together.”
Tristan’s eyes trace up my thighs.
He wets his lips.
“A man gets hard when his body decides it wants to be inside of a certain woman,” he rasps, tearing his eyes from my lap with seeming effort. “Sometimes…a man’s body doesn’t have the ability to discriminate whether it’s right or wrong. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” I breathe, caught off guard by the warm pooling of moisture between my legs. The urge to squeeze my thighs together tightly. “Your body…likes mine? And it shouldn’t?”
“That’s it exactly.” Tristan swipes at the perspiration forming on his upper lip and I can’t help it, I can’t help but devour the sight of that huge ridge behind his fly. He’s just admitted it’s stiff like that because of me and again, shame and excitement clash like swords inside of me. “You have a very beautiful body, Cate. It’s so tender and ripe. And Jesus…” He shakes his head, curses. “I shouldn’t be saying these things to you.”
“I don’t mind,” I rush to say.
“You should,” he says harshly, his nostrils flaring. “I’m just trying to make you understand…it’s difficult for me to be around you. I’m going to do my best to stay away.”
Panic surges. “But not yet, right? You’re not leaving yet.” I rest a hand on his leg and he hisses a breath. “You’re goin’ to stay for a little while. Aren’t ya?”
He exhales shakily. “Long enough to teach you how to use the television. And then I have to go. I have to. Please try and understand. Hurting your feelings is the last thing I want to do, sweetheart. God, you have to believe that. But I can’t act on what my body wants.”
Because I’m his stepsister. Obviously.
It’s proof that I’m not from this world, this proper society, that I’m so eager to break that rule, my body not much caring that we’re related by marriage. But I don’t push for my stepbrother to break the rule, because Tristan doesn’t think I’m trash. I don’t want him to change his mind. I don’t want him to look at me in disgust, the way that tutor did.
“I understand,” I say, forcing a weak smile, scooting an appropriate distance away on the couch.
He watches me go with a hard swallow, looking for all the world like he wants to drag me back. “There are two buttons at the top of the remote,” he says hoarsely. “One turns on the cable box, the other turns on the actual television.” He shows me the buttons as he refers to them. “This is the guide. You use the arrows to scroll through. When you find something you want to watch, highlight it and press enter.”
Biting my lip and nodding, I do my best to commit everything to memory.
“Here.” He hands me the remote, electricity sparking when our fingers brush together. “Test it out. I’ll make sure you’ve got it, before…before I go.”
My heart sinks, but I try not to let the disappointment show on my face, holding the remote in front of me and pressing the top two buttons, one after the other.
The television blinks on and I smile, a rush of laughter tumbling out. I got it on.
Feeling Tristan’s eyes on me, I move on to the guide button, pressing it and looking at the words on the screen, all crowded up in their little boxes. Just like I am in this apartment. There’s a show called General Hospital playing right now and it sounds like as good a show as any, so I highlight and hit enter.
And suddenly there are a man and a woman kissing on the screen.
Passionately.
The man’s hand drags up the woman’s thigh slowly, clutching at the hem of her skirt, twisting the garment in his hold, the sounds of their mating tongues reaching out and filling the space between me and Tristan. I’m riveted by the motions of their mouths, the anxious, unrepressed hunger on display. The way the man presses his body so tightly to the woman’s. Does he have a hard shaft, like Tristan? Does he want to be inside the woman?
I don’t realize my breathing has turned to shallow pants until Tristan takes the remote from my hand and flips off the television, leaving the screen black. And the sound of our labored breathing fills the room.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, pressing trembling fingers to my lips. “I didn’t know what it was.”
“It’s okay,” he says sharply.
“He…he had his tongue in her mouth. Is that normal?”
“For the love of—we can’t talk about this, Cate.” His head falls into his hands, his perfect hair ruined by frustrated fingers. “Yes, it’s normal,” he rasps, after a tense pause.
“Is it nice?”
“Cate.”
My eyes close and I try to imagine the texture of an open-mouthed kiss. It must be divine to connect with another person in such a way. To know one another’s taste. “I hope someone kisses me real good and proper like that someday,” I whisper.
When I sense Tristan go still beside me on the couch, I open my eyes and look over—and find him regarding me with a warning in his eyes. “That’s a dangerous game, sweetheart. Talking about kissing other men while I’m sitting here with a hard-on for you.”
“It doesn’t have to be other men.” What am I doing? Am I trying to convince my stepbrother to put his mouth on mine? Yes, I think I am. Even though he told me any touching between us couldn’t happen. That warning hasn’t saved me from being starved for the feel of his body, starved for connection with him. I have been since he held me, told me he would take good care of me. His words, his arms around me, the safety he offered…I want all of that on a higher level. An intimate level. “My first kiss could be with you.”
“I’ve told you it cannot,” he fairly heaves.
But he’s looking at my mouth.
I try not to be obvious about scooting closer.
“Cate, our parents are married. I’m twelve goddamn years older than you. Everything I’ve worked for, everything my staff has worked for, would be gone in a blink if I pursued this…thing between us and we were found out. These affairs never stay hidden. Not in politics. And worse than my own downfall…” He’s still staring at my mouth, the black of his pupils bleeding into the forest green of his eyes. “Much worse, you would be dragged through the mud. You’d be labeled as something you’re not. And I wouldn’t be able to stand that.”
“I don’t much care what other people think of me.” I swallow hard, disappointed in myself from trying to tempt him into something that could ruin his life. “But I don’t want to hurt your career, Tristan. I would never want that.”
I stand up from the couch, my intention to show him out, but when I try to walk past my stepbrother, his hand shoots out, gripping my waist. Stopping me in my tracks.
Conflict wages a war on his face.
I don’t breathe. Don’t move.
I should walk away, but his big hand sears my hip in the most delicious way. And up close like this, I can smell his expensive cologne, I can see the shadowy growth of his beard, hear his rasping inhales, exhales.
Slowly, he corrals me closer, into the V of his thighs, so I’m close. Facing him. My breasts become indecent things when they’re this close to his face and he’s baring his teeth at them. As if they’re offensive and beautiful and dangerous to behold. Both of us struggle to breathe.
Tristan leans close and presses his open mouth to my right breast, squeezing his eyes closed, and I feel his fingertips dragging up the curve of my calf. Those fingers move as if they have a mind of their own, passing the back crease of my knee and traveling up my inner thigh.
“You…and this body…” Tristan sais thickly. “Completely rob me of common sense.” His fingertips are moving closer and closer to my private flesh, slowing but not stopping their progress. “You were designed to torment my cock. Each and every part of you. That sweetheart voice coming from that perfect pink mouth, these little round tits…” His fingertips brush my sex and I whimper, my hands flying to his shoulder for balance. “Don’t get me started on this virgin cunt. It has my goddamn name stamped all over it. All of you does. So we’re not going to speak about kissing other men ever again. Ever. Again. Are we clear, Cate?”
His demand is galling, since he’s refused to kiss me himself. But that doesn’t stop my legs from threatening to give out. Doesn’t stop the thrill sparking inside of me. “Yes.”
My stepbrother’s middle and ring finger tease my dampening slit, moving back and forth. Back and forth. “One kiss and then you’ll behave?”
I nod—too fast—eagerness exploding inside of me. “P-please.”
My agreement has barely been given when Tristan pulls me down on the couch.
And his body rolls on top of mine, strong and heavy, his elegant suit rasping against my cheap, threadbare dress. I cry out his name, my nerve endings coming alive at the sensation of being pressed down, pinned, held captive beneath this man, his erection flush against my naked sex. Above me, Tristan groans, his jaw loosening with the sound, his left hand scraping up the outside of my thigh, his palm testing the flesh of my backside roughly.
“Oh fuck, little girl.” He rolls his hips, moaning. “You fit me so well.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but my hands are suddenly so bold. They mold to the contours of his pectoral muscles and drag down his drum tight abdomen. They unhook his belt buckle, some deep, natural part of my womanhood understanding what happens next. What is inevitable when an aroused man is on top of a woman. I want him to rut me, the way I saw Daddy do to Mama. I want to make him grunt and sweat, just like I remember from that night. Except I’d be the object of that hunger, that frustration.
I’ve almost got the zipper of Tristan’s pants lowered when he reaches down and snags my wrist, pinning it above my head on the couch cushion. “No, Cate. Bad girl.” With the opposite hand, he roughly yanks down the top of my dress, exposing my breasts. “Might be a virgin, but she’s hot for dick. Aren’t you? Look at those horny little nipples.”
“C-can you go inside me, Tristan?” I arch my back, reveling in the way he ogles my breasts. “Please. Please.”
“One kiss.” He seems to be reminding himself, instead of me. “I said one fucking kiss.”
I start to whine, needing something, anything—
And his mouth cuts off the sound.
My stepbrother’s lips are on mine.
A shared tremor passes through the both of us. For heavy moments, we remain unmoving, held immobile in the powerful grip of the attraction, the forbidden pull between us.
His lips part over mine, slanting slightly, his tongue pressing into my mouth.
He grinds that bulge against my sex at the same time.
Like a match lighting, we become frantic. Enflamed in an instant.
“Mmmm. Baby. Baby. Tastes so good.” Tristan gives me his tongue rhythmically and I curl my fingers in the waistband of his pants, tugging him hard in that same, sensual tempo, urging him to thrust against me, my thighs open like a trollop. “Little fuck-hungry girl,” he pants, in between explorations of my mouth. “Christ. I never understood it before. Men throwing it all away for sex. But hell if I don’t want to trade ten years of work for ten pumps in this pussy.”
His words wash over me like stroking silk.
I like being his temptation.
I love it.
I’m also afraid I could do harm. To his life, career, future.
But right now, I’m unable to stop.
Can’t stop purring around his tongue and tempting him with writhes of my hips, sending him promises of hedonism with my eyes. Hedonism is something I don’t even understand yet, but I would. I would if he planted that big thing inside of me and rode me hard.
“Please,” I whimper, pausing my pleas to twine our tongues together. “Please.”
Tristan growls against my lips. “Yeah. Fine. You want to fuck?” He lets go of my pinned right wrist, reaching down to lower his zipper. “Let’s fuck.”
At first when I hear the knocking on the door, I think it’s coming from next door. Or maybe the television. But no, the television is off. And then I hear my mother’s voice, calling from the hallway. “Cate, are you home?”
Tristan and I still immediately.
“If you’re done with your lessons, I thought we could talk about your new wardrobe!”
Tristan’s forehead drops to mine and he curses vilely.
Several beats of tense silence tick by.
When he climbs off me, I clap and hand over my mouth to trap a sob of frustration.
He moves jerkily, buckling his belt and adjusting the stiffness behind his fly. “This…this was my fault. Okay, sweetheart? You did nothing wrong. But…” He notices my breasts are still exposed, the hem of my dress barely covering my femininity, and he turns away with a groan. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Sweet.”
“I can tell her to come back later,” I whisper, shaken by his praise.
A ripple travels along his shoulder blades. “No. This can’t happen again.”
With that, he’s grabbing his suit jacket and striding for the entrance.
He stops with his hand on the door, an unspoken chance for me to compose myself—and I do, fixing my dress and standing. Crossing my arms over my hard nipples.
And then he’s gone, skirting past my mother with a terse greeting, explaining that he came to check on the progress of my lessons. My body is bereft without Tristan’s weight on top of me, without his mouth on mine, but I try and disguise it with a smile.
“Hi, Mama,” I breathe.
“Er…hi.” She sweeps me with a glance, but her expression doesn’t change. “So how do you feel about dramatic colors? I think they would be incredible with your skin tone! Can you imagine a bold red or metallic green against your tan? I’m thinking for your hair, we’ll…”
I nod along with all of her suggestions, but my mind is still fixated on my stepbrother.
Did I act too bold and drive him away?
When is the next time I’ll see him?
Will I really never kiss him again?
I have no way of knowing. Nothing seems to be within my control.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I do have the control to complete my lessons. To transform from a backwoods swamp child into a polished woman. And maybe…maybe if I do those things, I can win my stepbrother. I can become someone he’s proud to call his.
With that hope beating in my chest, I tune back in to what my mother is saying.
Starting now, I’ll take this chance seriously…and hope it pays off.
