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.
5
Tristan
A week has passed since I saw Cate and I’m at my limit.
At the very least, I need to hear her voice.
I miss it. To an uncomfortable degree.
This week has been filled with campaign rallies and on-air interviews. Meeting constituents and doing appearances at fundraisers. I threw myself into every activity with a single-minded focus, but she loomed in the back of my mind all the while—and now that I’m home in the silence, there is nothing to keep me from reaching for my phone.
Even through the mayhem, I’ve been checking in with her instructors regularly and I’m told she’s buckled down and started trying harder. No more running off into the park to fly kites or climb trees. And while I’m the one who asked her to remain indoors and focus, a fissure forms in my chest when I think of her stuck inside, dreaming of the glen.