Somehow, this feels even wilder than her lips on my cock. I sigh and turn my head down to her, my lips hovering above hers. We breath against one another for a beat, and then I close the distance, pressing my mouth to Josie’s and kissing her, licking at her lips, darting my tongue against hers.

  She responds in kind, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling up against me and opening her mouth to let my tongue in. She moans, the sound reduced to vibrations against my throat. I pull away and let her fall onto the bed. She scrambles back on the mattress, laughing breathlessly.

  I pull my shirt off; the way she looks at my bare chest sends ripples of pleasure through my body. The idea that she’s waited for this as long as I have sends a more powerful series of ripples on their way.

  Josie is still dressed, her panty-less pussy hidden by the hem of her skirt. She grabs hold of the edge of her shirt like she plans to pull it off, but I shake my head at her.

  “I’ve waited years to see you naked, Josie. Let me appreciate it,” I say, and she flushes. I lower myself to the bed, kneeling and facing her, then take hold of the hem of her shirt. She lifts her arms up and I carefully, slowly pull it off, enjoying each second that another inch of her bare stomach is exposed. When her breasts come into view, I swallow hard at how high and round they are, hidden behind a bright pink bra.

  I toss the shirt aside and study her for a long moment, until she looks down, shyly. Her hesitation turns me on; I lift my hands to her breasts and cup them lightly, brushing my hands across the front of the bra, feeling the light lift of her nipples underneath.

  Josie whimpers, then arches her back forward so I can better access the bra clasp in the back. It unhooks easily, and her bra slides off her shoulders, revealing her perfect breasts, nipples the same color as her lips, hard and pointing at me.

  “Damn, Josie,” I say, voice rough. “Your body…”

  “You’re the one who’s been working out for the last three years,” she says, flushing in a way that sends redness down her collarbones and dancing across the tops of those perfect breasts.

  “Only to distract myself from you,” I say, and it’s true. Hours and hours in the gym, trying to think about anything but how badly I wanted to find her, to see her like this, to lay her out and feel her body.

  I reach forward and pinch lightly at her left nipple until she cries out in pleasure. She reaches a hand up and takes her other nipple between her own fingers, and the sight of her touching herself hardens my cock more— impossibly more.

  No, slow down, slow down. Appreciate this, I remind myself. I’ll never get another first time with her— hell, what if I never get another time with her at all? She’s such a good girl; even if she thought about my cock, like she says she did, the odds of her deciding this is all a big mistake seem worrisomely high.

  “Josie,” I whisper to her. Her eyes— which had drifted shut— open, and she looks at me hazily. “Lay down.”

  She obeys so swiftly, so eagerly, that I have to grit my teeth against the need to slide my bare cock into her pussy right then. How far will she go for me? I wonder.

  “Spread your legs for me,” I try, and she does, then with a secretive, naughty smile, pulls up the hem of her skirt so her pussy is exposed again.

  “Oh, that pussy,” I moan, shaking my head at the sight of it. She’s so small; her pussy is so small. My cock is very big, I’m well aware of that. What if I hurt her? I can’t do that. I need to make sure she’s ready, first.

  “Touch yourself,” I say. “Go on.”

  She immediately lowers a hand to her pussy and begins to stroke herself lightly, running her fingers back and forth across her clit.

  I can’t bear not to touch her; I reach down and slide a finger inside her, and then, when she bites her lip with pleasure, add a second. She rocks her hips against me, still stroking her clit, fucking my hand.

  “You’re a little dirty girl, aren’t you?” I muse. “I didn’t know.”

  “You never asked,” she pants in response, then tilts her hips to give me a better angle. I groan— I need to fuck her. I need to feel my cock finally, finally sliding into her pussy, feel her clutch me, feel how tight she is. I remove my fingers and line myself up with her entrance—

  “Wait—“ she says, the words choked. I stop and look into her eyes. She looks like a wild thing, hair messy, eyes sparkling, lips parted and flushed.

  “What is it?” I ask hoarsely, fighting the urge to barrel forward. “Should I grab a condom?”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m on birth control. It’s…I’m a virgin,” she says, her cheeks flushing brighter still. “I’ve done— I’ve done plenty, but I’ve never had—”

  My brows lift, my jaw nearly drops. A virgin? This girl, my stepsister who spread her legs for me, who looks like she needs to be fucked more than she needs air to breathe…is a virgin?

  I was about to take her virginity, I realize, and the weight of this stops me in my tracks.

  My stepsister. I was about to be my stepsister’s first time. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I move back, and Josie’s eyes furrow. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I want to. I just wanted you to know first.”

  “We shouldn’t,” I say, and all the power and need and want filling me is not in a head-on-collision with how insane this is. What am I doing? What are we doing?

  “I want to,” Josie protests, shaking her head. “I’ve wanted to for a long time. You’re not making me.”

  “That’s not the point,” I say, and grab a pair of sweatpants from the top drawer of my dresser. I yank them on hastily to cover my still raging erection. “There’s a reason we never did this before. We both know we can’t. That it’s—”

  “We weren’t adults before. We both know what we’re getting into now,” Josie says, sitting up and sliding her knees together. She looks worried now rather than desperate. And she should be worried. We should both be.

  “I’m your stepbrother. You used to follow me around like a little kid.”

  “I wasn’t a little kid. I was fifteen, and had a serious crush on you.” I find a t-shirt in a drawer and pull it on, like the more layers of clothing I can get between us, the easier this will be.

  Josie stands up, the look in her eyes— and the confidence in her stride— proves to me once again that she’s now all woman. “I haven’t had sex before because I wanted it to be with someone I trust. Someone like…you. I want you.”

  God, those words— they’re nearly enough for me to yank my clothes right back off again. I close my eyes for a moment. “You called me tonight for help, not to get laid.”

  “If I’d known getting laid was an option, I’d have called you long before I needed help,” she says. She shakes her head. “Don’t stop this now.”

  “Josie,” I say firmly, closing my eyes again. “This can’t happen. I shouldn’t have started it. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Xander—“

  “No.” This time, my word is firm, powerful. “No. Let me call you a cab. Do you need money to hold you over till your cards are replaced? Never mind— I’ll just give you some cash and— yeah. I think you should go.”

  She’s silent for so long that I have no choice but to meet her eyes, and I immediately regret the choice. To say that she looks hurt isn’t the half of it. She looks…embarrassed? Humiliated? Shocked?

  Josie takes a step backward and folds her arms across her chest, covering her breasts. Her brows knit together, her lips part, and then she turns sharply and bolts from my room.

  I exhale, then grit my teeth as I hear the sounds of her grabbing her things, flinging her clothes on. I fight the urge to go after her, but instead force myself to stand still until I hear the sound of my apartment door slam shut.

  And then, as quickly as she re-entered my life, she’s gone from it again.

  Josie

  My stepbrother is an asshole.

  I mean, he was right. It is insane for us to hook up. It’s even more insane for my first time to be with him. But it’s also what I’ve wanted since I first met him. For a girl who’s had so many fantasies fall flat— having this one yanked out from under me is especially painful. I keep replaying that moment when he changed, when he went from gazing at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world to gaping like I was some sort of freak show. Was it something to do with my body? The fact that I’m a virgin? Because if his hang-up was truly our by-marriage-only relation, then we wouldn’t have even made it so far as the bedroom, right? It’s not like he suddenly found out, seconds before thrusting into me, that our parents were married.

  Between getting mugged and getting turned down flat by my long-time crush— after he initiated the whole freaking thing— suffice it to say that my first night as a New Yorker sucked.

  The days that follow are marginally better, I more or less throw myself into unpacking my boxes, buying the last few textbooks I’ll need before classes begin the following Monday, and eavesdropping on my suite mates talking about how insane the whole sorority rush process is. It’s entertaining, but a pretty weighty reminder that while these girls are perfectly nice, I don’t have much in common with them. I don’t have much in common with anyone I’ve come across so far, to be honest; the other third year students have already established their friend groups, and the freshmen are more interested in partying than I am, these days.

  I knew it would be like this. Hell, a big part of the reason I transferred was that I wanted to become anonymous, part of the cityscape instead of my mom and stepdad’s secret-keeper. But now that I’ve seen Xander, I want…

  Well. I can’t have what I want, apparently, so there’s no point in focusing on it, right?

  “How’s your first week going?” my mom asks when she gets me on the phone a few days later.

  “Okay,” I say, exhaling. “How are things there?”

  “Fine. It’s pretty depressing without you here, though. You know, if you don’t like it come December you can always transfer back—”

  “It’ll be fine, Mom,” I say. “Besides, I’m excited for my classes. They don’t teach any magazine writing classes there.”

  “Derek says magazines are a dead industry anyway,” my mom replies, and I roll my eyes. Derek is her boss— and the guy she’s sleeping with behind my stepfather’s back— and for a dude I’ve never met, he sure does seem to have a lot of opinions on my decisions.

  “Tell Derek I didn’t ask for his opinion,” I answer shortly.

  “That’s not very nice,” my mom says. “He’s going through a hard time right now.”

  “Because his girlfriend is married?” I ask bluntly.

  “Josie!” my mother hisses into the phone. “I told you that in confidence.”

  “You didn’t tell me anything, Mom, I just saw you two going into a hotel. Christ, it’s not like there are many reasons to go to a Hampton Inn in the middle of a small town.”

  “It was a one-time thing and it’s done,” she says, and I know she’s lying, and she knows I know she’s lying, and whatever. What. Ever.

  “Anyhow— your stepfather is going to transfer some more money to your bank account. I think he got a little nervous last night— he doesn’t want you to try to take on a job while you’re in school.”

  “Thanks. That’s nice of him,” I say, and this is another lie— but this time, my mom has no clue.

  And sure, my stepfather is a nice enough guy to me, but he’s dropping money into my account to buy my silence. I found out about his affair just before I decided to transfer.

  He and my mother are ridiculous. If both of them want to have affairs, why not just break the fuck up already?

  This is why I had to get away from the two of them, their claustrophobic relationship, their petty dramas, the way they constantly pulled me back into their twisted toxicity with little regard to the effect any of it had on me.

  Once I’m off the phone with my mom, I check my bank account, curious to see just how much silence my stepfather thinks he’s bought. I do a double take when I see the balance— it’s several thousand dollars, and from the looks of it, there’s another few thousand “pending”. That’s not hush money, that’s help-me-bury-the-body money. This has to be a mistake. I look at the transaction history, opening up deposit notes to see where some banker typed an extra “0” on accident.

  Instead, I see two totally different deposits. One from my stepfather for a thousand dollars, and the remainder from…

  Xander.

  Well, I mean…I think it’s Xander. It’s a company named “HaleTrope”, which I happen to know was his gaming handle back when he was in high school, back when I tried to get into video games just to impress him. It didn’t work, which is just as well, since it wasn’t long after that that his dad started punishing Xander’s outbursts by taking away said video games.

  I stare at the number in my account, fluctuating between rage and delight. I mean, let’s be honest— seeing a fat number in your account can never make you that angry. But what the hell? How did Xander even get my account information? And why does this feel exactly like the “hush money” my stepdad is giving me?

  Hell no.

  I grab my phone and scroll through to Xander’s number. I’m tempted to just send him a series of furious texts, but that feels like letting him off too easy. So, I tap his name and listen as the phone rings.

  Which means I’m not listening long— he picks it up almost immediately.

  “Josie. Is everything okay?” he asks, sounding worried. I hear something in the background, a flurry of male conversation, a few laughs, some glasses clinking like he’s at a very small bar.

  “No, it’s not okay,” I say as pointedly as possible. “Did you put money in my bank account?”

  I hear him exhale and try not to feel too tender about the relief in the sound. “Yeah— listen, can we talk about it later? I’m busy.”

  “No, we can’t. First off, how the hell did you get my account info? And secondly, what is that, hush money? Don’t tell our parents about what we did money? Or was it just basic thanks-for-the-ride, hooker style money? Because I am not okay with any of those, Xander, and I am really not okay with you violating my privacy by going into my bank account.” I’m gulping for air by the time I’m finished, because I forgot to breathe during my diatribe.

  Xander makes a growling sound on the phone, then drops his voice, trying to be discreet. “It’s not any of those things. It’s my-stepsister-is-new-in-town money.”

  I’ve caught my breath and am ready to go again, “That you gave me after not caring to even contact me for three years, and oh, yeah, it just happened to arrive a few days after we almost fucked—”

  “Fine, fine, call it hush money then, whatever,” he snaps.

  “And my bank account? How did you manage that?”

  “I saw your bank name on my computer from when you logged in to cancel your cards. bank there too. I’m a good customer. It wasn’t hard.”

  I was ready to argue about the huge, massive, insane invasion of privacy, but I fall short— because let’s be real, this isn’t a huge, massive, insane invasion of privacy. I mean, it’s still an invasion of privacy, but it’s minor league at best.

  “If you don’t want the money, write me a check, I’ll take it back,” Xander says, voice hard. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”

  I swallow, both because it sounds genuine— Xander wanted to do something nice for me— and because I’m remembering the thing I actually wanted Xander to do. To validate the feelings I’ve had for him for ages, to want me, to have me…

  His rejection still burns at my core, and no amount of bank account padding is going to fix that.

  “I don’t want your money,” I say stiffly.

  “Then write me a check. I can’t talk right now, Josie, I’m at work.”

  “You work at a bar?” I ask, suddenly surprised out of my anger. No way can he afford that type of apartment or to drop major cash into my bank account if he’s a bartender.

  He just makes an annoyed grunt in response. Of course, why should I have expected an actual answer from my asshole stepbrother?

  “Fine. I’ll write you a check. Bye,” I say, the acid drained from my voice. I hang up the phone, perplexed. That really, really sounded like a bar— and given the hour, it makes sense that he’s at one. Maybe it was a business meeting at a bar, and that’s why he said he was at work? But what kind of business?

  I press my lips together. I’m not the sort of girl who jumps to conclusions, but when I combine what I know about Xander à la three years ago— high school dropout, social rebel, quick to argue, anger issues, and no future plans— with the Xander I saw the other night— gorgeous apartment, luxury lifestyle, money to burn, late night business meetings in a bar— I can’t help but assume that chances are he didn’t make his riches as a plastic surgeon to the fabulously wealthy. I guess there are other ways to make a million, these days, but I also don’t think he’d have invented the next Facebook without my hearing about it. Which…leads me to think that maybe Xander’s money comes from something darker.

  My stomach twists. What has Xander gotten himself caught up in? And am I caught up in it too, now that he’s moved money into my account? Should I tell our parents? No, no, I can’t do that— if there was any chance of Xander telling me what’s going on, it’ll be shot the moment he finds out I went to our parents with any news of his life.

  My anger has entirely faded now, and I’m left…worried. Sure, I’m still pissed at Xander for rejecting me and making me feel like a total loser, but that doesn’t mean I want him caught up in an international drug ring or…something else Law & Order worthy. He’s too good a person for that— after all, he’s the kind of guy who will drop everything and rush to help his freshly-mugged stepsister, even though he barely knows her. He’s the kind of guy who picked a fight once with our parents at the exact moment I brought home a less than stellar report card, all to take the heat off me. He’s the kind of guy who somehow got me a pack of wine coolers to take to a party my junior year, not because I actually wanted them, but because I was afraid I’d look like a nerd if I showed up without any and was way too scared to try to buy them myself. And when said party got busted by the cops? He picked me up and got me the hell out of there so fast that I knew he must have been sticking close by.

 

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