Unleashed: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Part 4

But once I met Ca.s.sie... it was like all of that interest just drained out of me. I only wanted her.

Her eyes had wiped over me like I wasn't even something to be acknowledged, and then they had gone right back to her textbook. There might have been a mild look of disgust on her face, like she'd just tasted something foul.

It was perfect. A girl seemingly immune to me. It wasn't born out of insecurity, but out of contempt! G.o.d, that's s.e.xy.

I read the page header of her textbook as I walked to my customary seat at the back of the cla.s.s: A Brief History of Political Science.

I didn't even f.u.c.king know that our school had political science electives.

And now I'm walking with her along Sunset Way, and the sound of the surf is in my ears, and the smell of salt is on the air, and I'm waiting for her to tell me to go, because I will if she does.

I don't know why, exactly, but I will.

But she doesn't say it. And we just keep walking. She veers onto the beach, and I walk there with her, feeling the soft sand beneath my shoes.

I feel it inside me, as I pull another drag from my cigarette, this growing ball of energy. I feel like I've got a fireball inside my gut, and it's going to burst me at the seams.

She does things to me. f.u.c.k, she really does.

And... and I like it. I like it and I hate it. If this was any other chick I just wouldn't f.u.c.king care. But look at me, walking on the f.u.c.king beach in the late afternoon with her.

I never thought I'd be a cliche.

Jesus, if we were holding hands you could put us on a f.u.c.king advertis.e.m.e.nt!

"My father is a p.r.i.c.k," she says after a moment.

"Hey, it's like a checklist," I say. "Box one, daddy issues. Check." I tick it off with my finger.

She scowls at me.

I don't even know why I said it. It just came out of my mouth. I shrug. That's who I am, why the f.u.c.k should I apologize for it?

"If you think I've got daddy issues, then you've got oedipal issues." She flashes her eyes at me, challenging me. She thinks I don't know what she's talking about. It's cute.

"No I don't," I say. "And that s.h.i.+t's pretty much been debunked."

"You know, for a dumba.s.s jock, you have a surprising vocabulary."

"I'm not a jock," I say. "I don't give a f.u.c.k about all that."

"Right," she says, rolling her eyes. I just grin at her again. "You don't give a f.u.c.k. Tell me something new. But you were a school athlete. Wrestling champion, and you were quarterback of the football team? Seems pretty jockish to me."

"Hey, I take care of my body. I'm better than everyone else at every sport. It was easy credits. I had half the school watching me at practice."

"You're so full of yourself."

"So are you, just in a different way."

"I am not full of myself!" she shouts.

That got a rise out of her...

"Really?" I challenge, walking in front of her and turning around. I'm walking backwards now, and I see her eyes roam up and down my body. I can see she's trying not to meet my eyes. It's... it's hot. She's hot.

Now with the gown off, I can see the shape of her body. G.o.d, she's got some hips on her, and thighs I'd caress for hours.

And her a.s.s... she's got it there, alright. It's big, and it makes my hands feel empty.

She's no Barbie-doll or fas.h.i.+on model. She's got curves, and I love 'em. Just thinking about running my hands down her sides, over her hips, down the insides of her thighs... I'm straining to contain myself.

I don't know exactly what it is about her, but she's special, different. She's got me all wound-up and she doesn't even know it.

"Really," she sniffs, looking toward the sea. "I'm definitely not full of myself."

"Well, let me think. Today you've called me an idiot something like seven times, stupid maybe three times, and basically all your insults have been aimed at my intelligence. I'd say you're pretty up yourself in a very particular way."

"What, you a psychologist now?"

"See, you did it again. And I don't have to be. Any idiot could see it." I wink at her, and to my total surprise, I see just a flicker of a smile.

"You know, Chance, you're not as interesting as you think you are."

"I'm certainly more interesting than you thought I was," I say.

"Try again," she says, narrowing her eyes.

I take out a box of mints. I rattle it, but she just shakes her head, so I shrug, and pop two into my mouth.

She takes a deep breath, and I prepare myself for a lot of words.

"You think you're like this mystery to be unraveled. Some kind of enigma. You think that girls like you not because you're the quote-unquote bad boy on the outside... stop laughing."

But I can't help myself. She even did the finger air-quote gesture.

"You think you're all hard on the outside and that actually you're this interesting person on the inside and that everybody is just dying to puzzle you out, dying to unlock the true you."

"Now you sound like the psychologist."

"I've met your type before."

"No you haven't."

"Yes I have."

"Really?" I say, and I know I'm going to hate myself for letting the next words fly out of my mouth. But I do, because that's me.

"How many guys like me want to spend time talking to you?"

Chapter Five.

Every time I think he can't possibly get any worse, he somehow manages to top himself.

Every single time.

It doesn't even offend me. Well, that's a lie. It does, and it does hurt a little, but f.u.c.k him, I really don't care what he thinks, and I'm done with him.

"f.u.c.k you, Chance."

I walk off, quicker, pus.h.i.+ng him away as I pa.s.s by him. The feel of his hard chest on my palms lingers and tingles. It's like I can still feel his body heat in my hands.

A moment pa.s.ses, and I keep walking, but I feel like I'm walking the plank. I feel like I'm crossing a tightrope without a harness. I feel like I'm waiting for something...

"But they should want to," he calls from behind me.

I stop, wondering if I heard him correctly. I turn around slowly, and see him walking toward me. He's closing the distance between us in powerful strides, and I am just rooted to the floor, breathing quickly, my heart racing, wondering what's going to happen next.

And then he holds my face in his huge, strong hands, and he kisses me. It's not just any kiss. He crushes my lips against his. There's no tongue at first, he just kisses my lips, and before I know it, I've dropped my things, and I'm holding onto his broad back, and I'm kissing him back.

Not just any kiss. I'm crus.h.i.+ng my lips against his, and I'm moaning into his mouth, and I'm sending my tongue deep inside.

I can feel his hot breath on me, and then he's kissing down my neck, and I'm gripping onto his hair, and his hands are rounding my waist and on my a.s.s and he gives my cheeks a squeeze. Unconsciously, I push my hips into his, and I'm startled to feel his hardness through his jeans.

Our kiss breaks, and I look down, and I can see him, see his desire pus.h.i.+ng against denim. I can't believe I'm kissing him. I can't believe I'm doing this.

It's like I'm not myself.

I pull him down onto the sand, and he sits behind me, wraps his arms around me, and I push back against his body as he kisses the back of my neck.

His hot breath makes my hairs stand on end, and s.h.i.+vers run down my body from head to toe at his every touch. His fingers leave trails of fire all over me.

I crane my neck to the side, seek out his lips. This is my first time kissing a boy, and I barely know what I'm doing, but it's like he guides me, teaches me. I grin as I kiss him, feeling a surge in excitement, enjoyment. b.u.t.terflies rage in my belly, and there a yearning starts to grow as well.

"Slower," he whispers at me, breaking our kiss for just an instant. I follow his lead, and our rhythm aligns perfectly, and our tongues dance, and it's just one of the best feelings ever. His lips are surprisingly soft, and he's forceful, even a little rough, but it's good, it feels good.

His hands are hungry, groping, squeezing me, and I turn my head to the side and he takes my lips again, and while he's kissing me, while we're tonguing each other, while I'm practically hyperventilating into his mouth, he's running his hand slowly south, over my belly, and under my summer dress.

I want to stop him. I don't want to give in to him. But, oh G.o.d, I don't want him to stop. He begins to rub the inside of my thigh, squeeze it in his big and powerful hands, inching ever slightly upward, toward my molten center.

And I know I'm so turned on. I can feel it, the tightness in my belly, the fullness at the juncture of my thighs. I even become aware of the wetness in my underwear pressing back against me when he suddenly cups my s.e.x.

I gasp, feeling the heat of his palm radiate into my core, and then he's rubbing me through my underwear, and all I'm doing is pus.h.i.+ng my head back into him, arching my back, stretching out like a cat in the sun.

Somehow, I don't care that we're on a public beach in broad daylight, that anybody could walk by at any instant, and see us! It's a small town, everybody knows everybody, and I just don't care.

Somehow, I've been immunized to modesty. My body craves his touch, yearns for completion at his touch, and I'm powerless to prevent my physical urges from taking control of me, from dictating my every reaction.

And so I give in. I let him touch me in my most private place. I let him take from me what he wants because, right now, right at this very moment, it's what I want.

He takes my earlobe into his mouth and sucks on it, bites it. I hear him smell me, then feel the press of his lips against that bit of my neck that becomes my shoulder.

I s.h.i.+ver when I feel his warm tongue there, when I feel the bite of his teeth there. It's like he's marking me, claiming me, making me his.

My hands go unconsciously to his knees, and I'm gripping onto them, feeling hard muscle, and I'm somehow able to see the image of his thighs in my mind, naked, thrusting into me, tensing and flexing as he buries himself deep inside me.

I moan and I writhe and I undulate my body. I'm making noises I've never made before, and I'm doing something I've never done before.

His fingers are playing me like an instrument, plucking strings buried deep inside me, granting me these glimpses at such intense pleasure I know it will make the world melt away around me.

And then he finally stops teasing me. I feel his fingers slip beneath the elastic, and his hot flesh is on mine, right in my center.

There's this great swell of nervous antic.i.p.ation in me, and my heart is hammering in my chest, and the roar of racing blood in my ears drowns out the sounds of the sea and the birds.

It's just me and him, his breath on my neck, his fingers on my s.e.x, and my moans on the wind.

He pushes a finger inside me and I grip onto his legs even harder. He angles it upward, rubs the front of inside me, and I feel so, so good. He pushes a second finger into me, and I feel myself stretch around him, and he's still also somehow working my c.l.i.t, and it's just all too much.

I'm gripping onto his leg like it's for dear life, and he settles into a quick rhythm, and I feel myself climbing higher and higher, getting closer and closer to the edge.

I feel his tongue on the back of my neck again, feel his bite, hear him smell me.

"I've wanted you for so long," he says between bites. "Only you."

He's doing what he wants to me, making me gasp and groan and thrash and writhe. He's making me curl my toes in my shoes, grip his knees until my knuckles go white.

He's making me lose myself. This is not me!

It's like a big spring is inside me, coiling up, tightening and tightening, just waiting to be sprung. I can feel it in my belly, and I've never felt anything like this before. I can't help but smile as I writhe and as I moan, as he plucks strings of pleasure so deep within me, strings I never knew existed.

"s.h.i.+t," I gasp, inching closer and closer to my eventual crisis. "Don't stop!" I mewl. "Don't stop!"

I cross the line, I tighten up, my body flexes, and white-hot ecstasy crashes over me.

I suck in air, hold my breath, squeeze around his fingers. I feel pleasure explode inside me, radiate out of me, and I'm in heaven. I'm soaring, in orbit. It's all I can see... blinding.

I shake and I shudder, keep clenching around him, and he drives me through it, keeps it going. I'm pressing my whole body into his, loving every moment of this, loving that I'm in his arms, that he's making me feel so good.

And then I've pa.s.sed the peak, and I'm coming down the other side, and my whole body feels weak, and I've never felt so satisfied in my life.

I'm panting, hot, cheeks and neck reddened. I lift my arm up behind me, wrap my hands around his head, thread my fingers through his hair, and hold his head against me.