Stepbrother Beloved Page 3

  “Tanner….” I said, but couldn’t find any more words.

  He leaned over towards me. His face was inches from mine. We looked into each other’s eyes, down deep, and I could see his handsome face, his warm expression, in the light of the streetlamp.

  Please kiss me, I was thinking, so so hard.

  He came a little closer. His lips were like a millimeter from mine and I began to tremble.

  And then he did it. He only grazed my lips at first, but he came right back, his mouth slightly open, and I slipped my tongue in and his mouth opened more, and we groaned at the same time, our hands frantically grabbing each other over our winter coats. He pulled his mouth away and scraped his three-day beard on my cheek and that rough touch sent a bolt to my pussy like I’d never felt before. I was dripping wet, just from that one kiss, electric surges rocketing around my body. Then his lips were back, rougher this time, urgent, and for a short moment all our aching need was exposed in our kiss. I reached a hand down to his leg and stroked it, moving higher, my head swimming with idea of finally touching Tanner’s cock.

  He pulled away. Took back his beautiful soft lips, took back his hand. Took back his love.

  “No, Maggie,” he murmured.

  I pulled my hand back, stung. He wanted me, I knew it, I could feel it. I might have been a virgin but no one kisses that like if they’re not feeling it, right?

  “I’m supposed to protect you,” he said. “Not…not this.”

  “I was trying to tell you back there—I don’t need your protection. I mean, I want your support, maybe sometimes your help. But I don’t need some white knight on standby, looking to swoop in and save the day if I screw up.”

  “I’m not saying that,” he said. “It’s just…what if we do this, and it goes wrong? Then what, Maggie? And also…you’re my sister. I know—stepsister. Our parents—”

  I laughed, a little bitterly. “Like you give two craps about what they think. We’re not blood-related, Tanner, obviously. And we’re adults. It’s not even…” I got out of the car then. I was so disappointed, so hurt, that all I could do was run up to my room and hole up alone. I had no interest in sitting in the car listening to all the many reasons Tanner could concoct for why we couldn’t be together.

  Because you know exactly how it is: if he wanted me enough, he would be with me.

  It’s that simple.

  I cried myself to sleep last night. Sure, I was sorta drunk, but this was real hurt, not alcohol-fueled self-pity. I had gone out with Jamie hoping for a hook-up, thinking that would wipe Tanner out of my mind, and instead now all I could think of now was the taste of his lips and the feel of his arms around me, holding me tight.We had gotten close, so close. Every time I shut my eyes it was like my lips were expecting his to come back, to touch mine as tenderly and enticingly as they had in the car.

  I wanted to be mad at him. It’s easier being mad, isn’t it? Less painful. But I couldn’t get there, couldn’t stop thinking of how to argue against his objections and make him change his mind. Couldn’t stop wanting him.

  In the morning I woke up looking like a mess. My eyes were puffy and my skin almost green. I didn’t want to face my family so I stayed up in my room, even skipping coffee so you know that’s a serious commitment to avoidance.

  At 10, I gave Jamie a call, but her phone went straight to voicemail. She was probably in bed with some guy, having some morning fun, or sleeping after a long night of gymnastic sex. I sighed. If only getting laid was all I wanted. Why did I have to make everything so hard, co complicated? Why couldn’t I just fall for some guy in my dorm or my econ class?

  Hanging out by myself in my room for hours, I obviously had a lot of time to think. I took a shower and slowly began to pull myself together. I was wondering about something. On this visit, Tanner seemed, I don’t know, a little mysterious. He was generally so open, so willing to share whatever he was thinking—not one of those strong, silent types where you have to guess what the hell they’re feeling and maybe they’re not feeling much of anything at all. Tanner wasn’t like that. He was plenty strong, ready to kick ass and take care of business like he did last night—and he was sensitive, too.

  The perfect guy.

  But this time, something was different. And I kicked myself for realizing it now, after everything that had happened. Or almost happened. I had been so absorbed in my own lust that I hadn’t taken the time to pay attention to Tanner, to ask him how he was doing.

  I had been selfish. No other way to say it.

  I decided to go ask Mom what I could do to help with Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and then try to make peace with Tanner. It wasn’t true that I’d only love Tanner if he led the kind of life I’d choose for him. I loved him no matter what. And if he didn’t know that, maybe I needed to tell him.

  It was quiet downstairs. No one was in the family room. I wandered into the kitchen and found Tanner there, cooking a pan of bacon.

  “Morning,” I said, as meekly as I could muster. I noticed he was wearing some new pants, and they didn’t look like they were made for the trail. They fit perfectly, and I could see the outline of his package. I quickly looked away.

  “Good morning, Margaret,” he said, grinning at me and flipping some strips of bacon over. “How’s your head?”

  “No comment.”

  “Mom and Dad went to do the grocery shopping for tomorrow. What do you think they’ll bring back? A couple of cans of Spaghetti-Os and a bottle of gin?”

  We laughed. Then we laughed more. Every time we were done laughing, our eyes would meet and that would set us off again. Some of the family holidays in our past had been absolutely dreadful, I mean Jerry Springer bad, but at least now it gave us something to crack up about. I laughed so hard tears were rolling down my cheeks and I had to restrain myself from putting my hands on Tanner, because I felt so connected to him.

  Tanner flipped some more bacon and I inhaled deeply, loving the smell. Now that I thought about it, Tanner always smelled sort of bacony. Bacon and woodsmoke, on top of whatever manly smell was just him. Mmm.

  Then we both started talking at once, apologizing. “Me first!” I shouted. He turned away from the stove and leaned against the counter. Damn. Here I was, about to apologize for last night, and attempt to go forward as friends, but just the sight of him, the closeness of him, made my body so jangled up with yearning. “I…”

  He waited.

  I looked at his tousled hair and his big, brawny thighs. He crossed his arms over his chest and I admired his biceps. I couldn’t help myself! And I totally forgot what I was going to say. Because…Tanner. I swallowed and looked down at the floor, trying to get my feet back under me, trying to come up with the strength to resist him.

  He said, “I hated seeing you with that asshole last night. I mean—I hated seeing you being treated like that. It made me want to kill the guy.”

  I could hear the anger in his voice. Tanner was usually so chill, but he sounded like he was about to go track the guy down and clock him again.

  He said, “But I just want to make sure you know that I wasn’t following you last night because I thought you were going to get into trouble, or didn’t trust you to take care of yourself, or anything like that,” he said quietly.

  “Well, I wasn’t doing a great job of it last night. I never should have left the bar with that creep.”

  “What were you even…I mean, I came to that bar just because…I wanted to spend time with you.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it again.

  My eyes widened. “Same,” I whispered. I reached out my hand and he grabbed it and squeezed it. “Last night—” I started, but he shook his head.

  “I was an idiot to stop kissing you,” he murmured, and looked deep into my eyes the way he does, like he sees everything about me, including who I’ve been and who I’ll become. He took my chin in his hand and lifted it up slightly so that my face was upturned to his, my mouth so close to his delicious lips.

>   I ached for him. And I saw in his eyes that he wanted me too, I was sure of it.

  “Tanner,” I said, my voice breaking.

  Without a word he kept hold of my hand and turned off the stove. Then he led me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “You did hear me say that the parents are out?” he said, a very mischievous smile on his beautiful face.

  “I did,” I said, my breath coming shorter. We were standing at the door to his bedroom. He put his hands on my shoulders and then let them run down my sides to my hips, and then he pulled me into him, into his tantalizing hard-on, and he moved his hands to my ass and pressed us together so I could feel all of him.

  I gasped as he pumped his hips slowly against me, making me feverish, making me burn.

  God, it was amazing to feel his stiff length pushing into me like that, right on my clit, like he belonged there. “Tanner,” I said again, because I loved him, and loved to say his name.

  “It’s time,” he said, caressing my ass and pulling me into him again. “Oh, Maggie,” he groaned, “it’s time.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  TANNER

  OH, MY girl, my Maggie, my Margaret….

  Her body felt so soft, so yielding. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair, breathing in that smell of coffee and chocolate and Maggie that I knew so well. My cock felt massive, electrified, and I worried I might come right there in the hallway before we’d even gotten our clothes off. It felt so fucking good to press it against her mound. We were almost the same height and the fit was perfect, like two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together.

  Oh, Mags, oh god….

  I heard stamping feet on the front porch. A key in the lock. The door opening.

  Fuck.

  “TAAAAANNNEEERRRR!” yelled my stepmother. She has a voice that could break glass.

  My cock reacted just like you’d imagine.

  I felt Maggie freeze in my arms.

  “Great timing, Ma,” she whispered, with a quiet giggle.

  But I wasn’t laughing. Now that my my boner had shriveled, the misgivings started rolling in. I kissed Maggie on her forehead. “Maybe it’s for the best,” I whispered back.

  “The hell?” she said, pulling away from me. “Since when are you Mr. Hot and Fucking Cold? Dammit, Tanner!” and she shot me a furious glare and went into her room.

  Here we go again. We love each other, there’s no doubting that. If I could just resist temptation for once, maybe we’d be in a better place.

  But it’s so hard. Hell, she makes me so hard. Every time I see her, it gets worse. I can’t stop wanting her, and I have to keep anything from happening, because there’s no way I’m risking what we have just for some fucking. I’m trying to be responsible and take the long view here.

  Maggie and me? We’ll fucking argue about anything. Ever since we were teenagers we just…we just keep ending up like this, with one of us pissed off at the other one. We’ve barely spent any time together since we were kids, but it seems like most of it has been spent sulking or arguing.

  Now tell me—how is that a vote for starting a relationship? I mean like a girlfriend, romantic thing. Because with my Margaret, it’s not something you start and then quit on. It’s not something to try out and cross your fingers. If we go down that road, it’s forever. We haven’t ever talked about it but I bet that’s one thing we can agree on.

  Thing is, my pecker keeps wanting to stir up trouble. I get aroused the second she walks into the room, I want to peel her clothes off, see her naked, thrust myself into her until I lose consciousness.

  Is that any way to think about your little sister? Or to make a rational decision?

  You see my predicament? And that’s not even the half of it. I could go on for days about all the reasons we’re wrong for each other. If only I could get my cock to listen.

  I wanted to go talk to her but I’ve learned over the years that it’s best to let her alone for a little while. She tends to fly off the handle but calm down pretty quickly if you don’t push her. She’s not like her mom, that screeching harpy, who gets pissed and the anger keep ratcheting up until no one is safe.

  And speaking of her mom, I figured I better go see what she was yelling about. I trotted downstairs, my body feeling the discomfort that comes with a hard-on to nowhere.

  “Hey Mom,” I said, trying to sound friendly. You can spend all day trying to hit the right tone with her, one that won’t set her off, but good luck with that. I just give it one shot and and if it doesn’t work, I take off, to the woods usually.

  “I lost your father!” she said, her voice shrill.

  “Huh?”

  “We were at the supermarket, I told him to go get three cans of cranberry sauce, and he disappeared!”

  “Which supermarket?”

  “You know, the one we always go to. He never came back with the cranberry sauce. I need the cranberry sauce, Tanner! You can’t have Thanksgiving without cranberry sauce!”

  “Right,” I said. It’s usually safe to agree with her lunacy. It’s sort of like whipping the cape to the side as the bull charges by, and you’re hoping not to get nicked by a horn. My dad probably went off looking for the nearest liquor store, but I don’t say that to my stepmother. That would be like waving the red cape and then standing right behind it. My body would be gored to pieces.

  “Okay, well, I’m sure he’ll turn up. Would you like me to go out and get the cranberry sauce?”

  “Well, somebody’s got to! We can’t have Thanksgiving without cranberry sauce!” she shrieks.

  Yes. I believe she’s covered that already. “I’m happy to go. What time is dinner?”

  “5:00 sharp. That means butt in the chair at 5, Tanner! Not rolling in covered in mud at 5, you hear me?”

  Oh, I heard all right. The neighbors down the block heard. I grabbed my keys and took off. The neighborhood stores were all closed but I figured one of the big supermarkets on the highway would be open. I had my new Lexus and I admit it was still a thrill to drive, even just to the supermarket. I got the fucking cranberry sauce out of the way and then thought about going to the woods, just for a little while, to clear my head.

  I was feeling unsettled, even sad, and for me the woods is the most reliable place to be when I’m feeling that way. Sometimes when I thought about Maggie, the whole thing seemed so easy. The love is there, the laughs, the attraction. Isn’t that pretty much all you need? But then those thoughts lead quickly to images of her kissing the tip of my cock, and opening her pretty mouth for it, sucking the head, and I fucking lose control. I start tugging at my cock so fast I nearly burn the skin off, and I explode in a paroxysm of animal lust for my Maggie.

  And that, obviously, is part of the problem. It’s not like I think sex is bad or anything like that. I tell her it’s because she’s my stepsister but I know that’s not really the problem. It’s that I know, I fucking know, that we shouldn’t be messing around unless the commitment is total, and I…I…it’s not like I have anything against commitment in principle, it’s just that Mags and I want such different lives, how is that ever going to work? She hates that I want to be outside as much as possible. Hates that I skipped college and don’t work in an office. Would never work in a office.

  And doesn’t that mean she doesn’t love who I am, in some fundamental way? Doesn’t that mean that all the attraction I feel I shouldn’t act on? I don’t want the kind of marriage where one person is always trying to change the other one, or has given up but stays resentful and unhappy because their life together wasn’t what she really wanted.

  Maggie wants to live in a city, in an apartment, building up her bank account. That’s so not me I can’t even tell you. Give me a sleeping bag and a propane stove, and I’m good to go. Or least, I’m good for months at a time that way.

  At least, that’s how it used to be.

  Things in my life have changed, though I haven’t told anyone in my family yet. Not that anyone’s asked. No one has even said
a word about the primo Lexus I’m driving. Yes, I skipped college, and yes, I avoid sitting in an office as much as possible. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a financial success. I believed that all along and now I’ve proved it. My new travel company—mostly luxury trekking but with some side ventures as well—is doing more business than it can handle at the moment. I had to get the Lexus because that’s the kind of transportation my clients expect.

  I’m not sure when I’ll admit to Maggie that it’s a pretty sweet ride.

  The company has done so well I’m already richer than fuck. Rich enough to be able to give money to the environmental organizations I care about. For sure rich enough to keep Maggie feeling secure. But you know, sometimes what seems like a solution just creates another problem, because I know Maggie has worked really hard to do well in school, she’s got all kinds of career plans, and I don’t want to swoop in and say, “Hey, you can forget all that, I’ve already made the money, so just sit back and look pretty, you don’t have to lift a finger.”

  I don’t think that would be fair. I want her to fly on her own, you know?

  I’m trying to be responsible here. I’m trying, as hard as I can, not to let my love for her and my constant stiffy in her presence make all the decisions.

  But my god, when I see her, when she’s near, I lose my fucking head.

  I decided to put off the woods, not wanting to risk showing up late and muddy for Thanksgiving dinner and setting off a stepmother explosion. So I drove back to the house with my cans of cranberry sauce. I love Thanksgiving, actually, or at least I used to. It’s the one holiday I have some happy memories of—both from before my mother died when I was six, and even after. Good, comforting food and then outside to find a touch football game. Nothing complicated.

  My mother used to make the best mashed potatoes on earth. I was an only child and used to hang out in the kitchen while she cooked. I know it makes me sound like a sentimental fool but I can get teary eating mashed potatoes, even all these years later, just because they make me so happy to remember my mom.