Eighteen

Cade

I don't listen to him, feeling too good to stop touching myself. Plus, I don't know. Maybe he'll get mad at me.

I hope he means it—that he'll force me. Chase me and hunt me down. I have no clue what's wrong with me, why I crave the things I do but I have a hard time not blaming Nic.

He's just sexy. He's extra sexy when he's pissed and when he's fucking me? I've technically only gotten to see it once—when he made me lay on my back—but he straight up wrecks me. The fucker glares when he comes—how hot is that? The answer is very. And he's rough and bossy and pretty much everything me and my Dumb Dick could ask for.

I read Twilight in high school—a secret I'll take to the grave—and I've been thinking about that sparkly bastard a lot lately. Specifically when he said that he was an addict and Bella was his own personal brand of heroin. I feel that shit in my bones. Only instead of a pretty Mormom-coded emo girl, my addiction is a pretty Eeyore-coded emo boy who can't stand me half the time.

I let out a moan that has him groaning through gritted teeth.

" Cade ," he warns, but the sound of his voice only makes me hotter.

I have to wrap my hand around my dick again to give myself a few relieving strokes before letting go once more. I don't want to come until he's the one making me.

The only reason I do stop is because we're pulling off the interstate, finally taking the exit that leads to my mom's. I had to basically undress, leaving me looking stupid in just my shirt and socks—not that it wasn't worth it. I'm pretty excited, tucking my cock away with a familiar giddiness swirling in my guts that I can't shake. I pat my pocket to make sure my keys are where I need them, specifically feeling for my old house key.

"What if I don't get the door unlocked in time?"

"Then I guess we'll be giving the neighbors a show."

I can't decide if I believe him or not. I don't even hate the idea of it—if I wasn't sure it was against the law or, worse, that it would get back to our parents, then I might go for it. It's my kind of crazy—the kind that makes my blood pump straight to my cock. The same kind of crazy Nic is.

I watch those white strands of hair on the back of his head as we drive down the street, now only seconds away from parking. He's so… everything. Infuriating and soothing, all wrapped up in a beautifully damaged package.

I want to kiss him. I don't know why he's so against it, but I need it. I want it so badly I've even dreamed about it a few times. His lips on mine, the way we'd fight for control until he'd grab me and forcefully take it—I want that.

"Nic?"

As soon as he looks at me with those grey eyes of his I lose the courage to ask him about it. He waits patiently for me to say something, cocking that half-white brow in a silent question, but I struggle with finding the words. By the time I think of something to tell him, we're already pulling into the driveway.

"Make it hurt." I throw the door open, slipping a bit on all the lube I spilled as I step out of the car and just book it for the door. I don't know if he meant it when he said he'd fuck me wherever he caught me, but it rings in the back of my mind loud enough that I decide the back door is the safest option.

The more distance I put between us, the more afraid I begin to feel. My focus is so zeroed in on what I'm doing that everything feels both sharp and hazy at once, and the second I begin to grapple with the lock, it only gets worse. That excitement is still there, sitting just above my groin and pushing me to move faster, but the very real threat of my stepbrother's dick is more prominent.

I hear the car door slam and let out a panicked whimper, the stupid key finally turning being my only saving grace. The gravel on the side of the house is crunching under his shoes just as I bolt through the door.

I run through the kitchen to get to the stairs, happy when I make it without hearing him behind me. It feels like there are more steps than I remember there being as I take them two or three at a time, but I'm almost there. My room is—

" Fuck! " It's the only word I manage before the air is knocked out of my lungs, my chest hitting the edge of the top step making it impossible to breathe—to do much of anything, really. There's a buzzing sound in my ears as my body tries to recover, and the next thing I'm aware of outside of that noise is my jeans being dragged over my hips. I try to kick behind me only to end up with my knee pressed roughly against the wood with a thud.

" Nic —" My voice is raspy, and somehow, amidst all the fog, it reminds me of him choking me—of how good that shit feels, how empty it makes my head. "Nic," I try again, this time clearer, more desperate.

"My name sounds so fucking good on your lips, little brother."

I whimper, reaching for the rug lying in the middle of the hallway and not quite able to touch it. He has more leverage— on top of me while I struggle helplessly beneath him. It feels like I'm in danger, but just below all of that—the panic and distress—I know that I'm okay. That I'm safe. Nic only hurts me because I like it—most of the time. I trust him more than I ever thought possible, and I know he'll take care of me.

But the adrenaline is real.

"Tell me you want it, and I'll go easy on you."

"No!" I don't mean to sound so whiny, but no. He promised me some things, and I'm holding him to it. I don't want easy. The way he jerks my hips back, putting me in position for easy access right here on the staircase—that's what I want. I want Nic. I want—

Oh, fuck. I lay my sweaty forehead flat on the ground, unable to process anything but pain. I almost regret not going past two fingers and pouring more lube on Nic's floorboard than on my fingers. There's no getting used to this, that first punishing thrust—it always takes my breath. There's no time to get used to the invasion, just an instant state of being fucked. It feels hot, like he's searing my insides with every thrust he gives me.

And then it's not just pain. It's everything. It's me and Nic. Our moans are all wrapped around each other, literal music to my ears as he wraps his hand around me.

" More ," I beg. I don't even know what more I could want—I just know I need it. More of him, of his dark little laugh he's breathing into my ear. It's all so, so fucking good.

"My greedy little whore." His voice is saturated in devotion—so much care and adoration in those words. His greedy little whore—fuck. I love that, him claiming me. His teeth graze my earlobe, forcing a needy whimper out of my mouth. "Turn around."

He pulls out too fast, a move that has me crying out the split second I feel his absence. I try to do as he says, but my body is too stiff to cooperate—I need his help. He's aggressive as he gets me how he wants me—pulling my shoes and pants off all the way so he can fit where he's needed. My back hurts in this position, but he's lining up and sinking back into me, and it's all worth it. He holds my legs apart, a hand under each knee as he rocks inside me without mercy.

I think the word at times, those first few moments are borderline unbearable sometimes, but it always gets better. I'll never utter that stupid safeword he forced me to have. I can't imagine saying no to him and meaning it, not in these situations. I need him too much.

It feels like a small forever of this. It's brutal. Uncomfortable and painful but so, so good.

"I'm close, Cade," he groans, the tendons in his neck pulled tight as he strains, his pale grey eyes already fixed in that glare I'm so fucking gone for.

I reach for myself with a clumsy hand, but I'm closer than I thought, spraying endless ropes of cum after just a few tugs. The arm propping me up falters, making me slip down a step and forcing his cock deeper. He says something that I can't hear over my own cries of ecstasy, and I don't have the mental capacity to worry about it. It feels too good to stress about all the many bruises I'm for sure sporting, all the bullshit going on in my everyday life. Unrequited feelings, parents, Nic's moods.

Those are all things to dwell on later.

Right now I just want to feel good. Hollow in a freshly washed sort of way. Almost weightless. Almost perfect.

"Nic?" My head feels heavy as I lift it to look at him.

"I know, baby." He starts to ease out, being gentle with it now that I've finished, but that's not how I need this to work. I manage to hook one leg loosely around him, hoping he gets the message. "I'm gonna come, Cade. I have to, but let's go to your room. I—"

"No, now. In me." There's a very real chance that I'll be mortified by this later, but at the moment, nothing else matters. "Come inside me."

He stares at me for a moment and waits until I'm close to begging again before he starts moving—this time slowly. Grinding his hips into me in steady rolls as he stays watching my face.

"Nic?" I bite my lip to hide a wince, oversensitive and uncomfortable despite all the tenderness.

He leans over me, his forehead pressed against mine, and it's exactly right for what I want.

"Please?" I whisper, too afraid to speak louder.

I feel his breath on my lips and see the indecision on his face as he realizes what I'm asking for. My arm slips under his so I can grab him, grip his shoulder in a fit of desperation. Please. Please just kiss me .

But he doesn't. He holds back, and it's awful. It ruins every bit of perfect the rest of today was. Absolutely shatters it. I'm so disappointed, and all I can do is let my head fall back and close my eyes. I won't cry, but I could.

His hand cups the nape of my neck, and maybe he wants me to look at him again, but the moment has passed. Rejection stings, but it's worse coming from him. I knew better, and still let myself hope. I feel so stupid.

And then his lips are on mine. They're chapped and timid and not at all like what I imagined. But he's kissing me, pressing his entire body on mine on what is easily the worst thing I've ever had sex on. There's no meeting of tongues. It's just his lips slowly moving against mine, and I'm so fucking in love with the feel of it that it hurts.

His orgasm is what breaks the kiss, but he doesn't go anywhere. Grunts a soft " Fuck ," against my lips before going still. I run my fingers through his hair and grin, forcing myself to hold in my gratitude. It feels like a moment of silence, a short time to process everything is needed, but he's moving out and off of me only seconds later.

It's for the best. My body has been through it. He helps me stand up, makes sure that I make it up the remaining steps, and still doesn't back away. He just lets me use him for support and leads me to my old bedroom. It's not until he tugs the comforter on my bed back that I recognize this behavior as something unlike him.

But I'm not complaining.

He's very gentle with me as he helps me out of my shirt—stopping to examine the bruises I'm very proud to wear. He asks if they hurt, but they don't. It's an ache, a dull soreness that I'll miss when it's gone.

When he disappears, leaving me lying on my stomach fully naked, I try not to be sad. But it feels a bit like I'm slipping. With my drug of choice gone, I'm left dealing with the comedown all by myself.

I flinch when something warm and wet is pressed over my hole.

"Are you okay?"

I feel silly for thinking he left me after all of that, but I am okay. Now I am. I nod my head to let him know and give him a tired smile to really convince him. I'm so much better than okay.

"I just need to grab our things. I'll be right back, okay?"

I make myself nod again—shove the clingy part of me that wants to tell him not to leave me away. I can still feel the withdrawal. It's not as bad as it was, but I hope he hurries.

∞∞∞

T here's a gentle prodding at my entrance, something cold being rubbed into my skin.

"Better?" It's Nic's voice, his fingers working something soothing inside me.

I give him a drowsy moan, trying hard not to doze off again. He took longer than I expected. Either that, or I've been out for longer than it seems. "It feels nice," I murmur, trying to open my eyes only to fail completely.

"It should help with the pain."

"You'll sleep here, right—with me? You'll stay?"

"I—yeah. If you want me to."

I sigh dreamily, burrowing into the pillow under my face just as he drags his fingers out of me. He's rubbing more in random spots on my back and legs—areas that I assume are bruised. "Thank you."

I hear him huff a quiet laugh, his palm skimming over the back of my thigh. "You wouldn't even need it if it weren't for me."

"No, not—I mean, thanks for coming with me." I yawn, cozy enough that I know I won't have any trouble passing out. "I'm glad you're here, Nic." This time, I manage to peel my eyes open enough to look at him over my shoulder, but it's difficult. My head is heavy, and leaving it on the pillow is too comfortable. But I want him to know I mean it, so I reach with my hand, feel until I find his, and give him a squeeze. "Thanks."

His lips press against mine, a short and sweet little peck that has my mouth tugging into a sleepy smile. "Thank you ."

It's the last thing I hear before I fall back to sleep .