18. Lane

It"s too quiet. I need to pee. I"m sore from overdoing it the other day. My morning wood hurts. The weather pressure is giving me a headache, or maybe it"s stress. It could be both, I suppose.

Everything is uncomfortable. Tears prick at the back of my eyes as I stare up at my ceiling, but I refuse to let them fall.

I"m in control. I"m in control. I"m in control.

I wasn"t in control the other night. I let Noah have it, again. And he…

He touched me.

It wasn"t me doing it to myself, using the excuse of his torment. I suppose I could still use it as an excuse. His closeness was agonizing. I was tormented by his smell, his skin touching mine. A violent shudder runs through my body as I remember the nip of sharp teeth on my Adam"s apple, the warm wet slide of his tongue. I thought there"d be a mark where he bit me, but after staring at my reflection until the steam covered the bathroom mirror last night, I couldn't find one.

I"m still unsure what to think about the stab of disappointment that followed my breath of relief. How can someone be relieved and disappointed at the same time? And why would I be disappointed about not having his bite marks on my throat? Everyone would see them. I"d see them. I"d have to remember every single time I saw them, or pressed my fingers against the bruises. The reminder could set me off, make his voice come back. Or it could make me want Noah more.

My stomach rumbles—with hunger or uneasiness, I"m not sure.

I should really get up. Noah is probably still asleep; I could slip into the bathroom and maybe grab something to eat without having to face him. My hand reaches for my phone to look at the time. Not to read all his texts again. The ones I stared at in confusion for an hour after confirming that classes would be canceled because of a hurricane off the coast. There were no classes or practice yesterday, and they were both canceled for today, too. We"re a few hours inland, and unlikely to experience any especially hazardous conditions, but it"s definitely too windy and rainy to be outdoors. It's supposed to start clearing up soon. I just hope everything dries up enough that our game isn't canceled for Saturday night; our parents are supposed to be coming up to see us play.

I"m still staring at my phone, the same way I have been since avoiding Noah all day yesterday. Aside from sneaking out for the bathroom and food, I've mostly hidden in my room since the incident in the kitchen, and when I couldn't stay cooped up anymore, I went down and hung out with Danny, Peters, and a few of the other guys. Miah was here playing video games when I got back late yesterday afternoon, so I didn't have to deal with being grilled by Noah. To his credit, he's given me space.

Then again, maybe he wasn't as into it as I thought. Maybe I'm the only one even thinking about it. No. He touched me. He...wanted me.

He didn"t say it, but I felt it. I felt it. It"s what made me drop the idea of control, and just let him take what he wanted.

What I wanted.

Because I wanted it. I do want it.

And I don"t know how to stop. That, more than my fear and shame over what happened, is what has kept me hiding from him for the last twenty-four hours. But I can't hide forever.

I slip quietly out of bed to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. Then I tiptoe to the kitchen to grab a couple bananas and fill a large water bottle.

I eat a banana while I flip through my textbooks, many of which are digital, so I use my tablet to flip through them. My eyes keep traveling to my bookcase, where my grandfather"s Bible seems to glow. I"m sure it"s just a trick of the light, but once I see it that way, I can"t see it any other way.

"Sickness." "I"m trying to help you, Isaiah."

I shake the voice from my head. These are memories I don"t need right now, while we"re likely to be cooped up for another day.

I am in control.

Dropping to the floor, I do push-ups until my arms burn. And then I do some more. I pull back before I go overboard, lying face down on the floor. I think of the child's pose and doing yoga with Noah, and I smile into the cool flooring. When Noah gets up, I can hear his footsteps reverberating through the wood planks of the floor.

I"m not brave enough to confront him in person. I can't even force myself to text him until I hear him close the door to the shower. His phone pings from his room, where it lays somewhere in his messy, unmade bed. He left his door open, and I can see into his space. I send him another couple of messages, watching his phone light up. When the water turns off, I scramble back into my room to hide, sitting on the edge of my bed and staring between my door and phone.

Lane: Sorry I've been avoiding you. I get in my head.

Lane: I suppose you know that already, though.

Lane: What was your idea that you wanted to talk to me about?

My knee bounces uncontrollably while I listen to him exit the bathroom, walk to his room, and close the door. Maybe it"s my imagination, but I think he walks close to my door on the way to his room that is directly across from mine. Within a few moments, the messages I"ve sent him are marked read. Three dots appear on the screen.

Noah: How are you doing this morning?

Noah: With being in your head, I mean?

I frown. He hasn"t answered my question. I"m not a huge fan of small talk, but I suppose he"s just being nice and I should take it at face value.

Lane: I"m alright.

Noah: Liar.

Rolling my eyes, I look at the door, as if reminding myself he can"t see me, before replying more honestly.

Lane: I"m not completely alright.

Noah: ...

Noah: Wanna talk it out?

Not really.

Lane: I"m just… confused, I guess. Overwhelmed.

Noah: Is it because of your grandpa?

My eyes feel hot, but I sniff back the tears that keep threatening. I"m a man. I"m in control.

Lane: He wouldn"t approve.

Noah: Fuck his approval.

Lane: You wouldn"t understand.

Noah: Tell me then. Make me understand.

No. Never. I"ll never tell him or anyone else.

My eyes squeeze shut. Flashes of light flare behind my eyes, still images of core memories imprinted in my brain. My phone pings, but all I can hear is bells.

A chair. Leather belts. Chris smiling, running after a soccer ball. Laughing and talking. Singing. My grandfather"s cold glare.

"Sin is infectious, Isaiah. You are made unclean by his disease. You must repent and submit to be cleansed of the devil"s touch."

A round drain in the floor, gurgling. Water dripping from wet hair. Tears. Pain. A single hanging lightbulb. Red light.

"It"s a sickness. I"m trying to help you wash away the filth of your sins."

"I haven"t done anything."

"It"s inside you. I can see it. The sickness will eat you from the inside out, until even the flames of hell won"t be hot enough to purify your soul."

Retching, I drop my phone and scramble to the small wastebasket beneath my desk. I clutch it to my body as waves of nausea pass through me, but I keep my meager breakfast down.

My phone pings again. And again. It pings two more times in quick succession before I come back to myself and pick it up.

It pings again as I register all the messages Noah has sent me over the last couple of minutes.

Noah: I"m a good listener, believe it or not.

Noah: You alright in there?

Noah: Lane. Don"t ignore me. I won"t bring it up again, okay?

Noah: Lane, I"m sorry.

Noah: Lane?

Noah: Damn it Lane, stop jerking off and answer me before I break your door down.

Noah: I"ll fucking do it, and I"ll make you sorry.

Adrenaline courses through me as I text him back as quickly as possible.

Lane: I"m fine.

It"s just two words, but hopefully it"s enough that he won"t make good on his threat. I studiously ignore the part of me that is excited by the prospect.

Deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Ping.

Noah: I win.

I have to laugh out loud, typing out that I think he"s an idiot. Once I push send, I realize something that both comforts and unsettles me. Noah"s text messages just pulled me out of a hard spiral. And not in a, he got me out of my head before I started panicking way. I was over that edge, tipping again into the dangerous territory that is hard to pull up from. The territory that I"ve been circling and trying to avoid for days. Weeks. Years.

Noah did that.

Noah: What are you doing?

Lane: Nothing. Eating a banana.

Noah: ??

Noah: Take a picture.

Lane: What? No.

Lane: That"s stupid.

Lane: You"re stupid.

Noah: Want a dick pic instead?

Yes.Wait. No!

Scrambling to open my remaining banana, I take a quick bite and hold it up to snap a picture.

Noah: Take a picture of it in your mouth.

He can't be serious.

Lane: I"m not going to do that.

I don"t say that I"m not doing it because I don"t trust him not to save or use the picture against me. It"s innocent enough, eating a banana, but I know exactly what he"s alluding to and what it"ll look like if I take a picture like that. I might have grown up sheltered, but I"ve lived in the real world for over four years now and I've overheard plenty of damning information that I found both interesting and terrifying. I know what that is. I"ve thought about it before. Imagined it.

Before I take another bite of my banana, I push it into my mouth, as far back as it can go, and hold it there. Is this what it would be like? Noah"s bigger than this banana, but it doesn"t seem so bad. His fingers were in my throat last night, and I didn"t feel the need to gag. Maybe I could handle it.

My phone pings and I cough, pulling the banana from my mouth.

Noah: You"re no fun.

Lane: And you"re deflecting. Tell me about your idea.

Noah: If you can"t handle deep throating a banana for me, I don"t think you"d be into my idea.

Lane: No one said anything about deep throating anything.

Noah: It was implied.

Lane: Still deflecting?

Noah: Nah, forget I said anything.

Lane: Why?

Noah: Because I"m not sure it"s a good idea anymore.

My forehead crinkles. Is this a trap? He's spinning me in circles.

Lane: But if I sent you a picture of me with a banana in my mouth, it"d be okay?

Noah: ...

Lane: Fine. If I deep throated a banana for you, it"d be okay?

Noah: Probably not. I just want to know what you would look like choking on a dick.

A comment like that should not surprise me. And it most certainly shouldn"t send a thrill of adrenaline through my veins, right to my crotch.

Lane: Haha. Very funny.

So funny that I'm rock hard. Why am I so hard?

Noah: The fact that you think I"m kidding is exactly why this couldn"t work.

Lane: You"re driving me insane.

I eyeball the banana that"s still in my hand, thinking of how to play this cool. I"m not sure I"ll like whatever his idea is, but damn if I don"t want to know what it is.

He"s probably doing this on purpose. It"s probably a trap.

Lane: You first.

Noah: I"m allergic to bananas.

Oh, right. I knew that. They give him hives.

Noah: …But I"ll put something else in my mouth.

Thump. Thump.My blood pumps directly to my erection. I need to pull my head out of the gutter, and fast, before this escalates. This conversation alone is enough to condemn me.

I don"t know how to respond, so I don"t.

Noah: I meant your cock.

Noah: I"d put your cock in my mouth and let you take a picture.

Jesus. He has to be kidding.

Thump. Thump.

Be cool, Lane. It"s just Noah being funny.

Lane: ??

Noah: Meet me in the hallway.

The breath rushes out of me when I hear his door open, followed by a soft knock when I don"t come out. He thinks he"s hilarious. There"s no way I can go out there with an erection this big, though. It"s too obvious.

Ping.

Thump. Thump.

Noah: ...

With a deep breath, I get to my feet. I have to go out there and call him on his shit, if only to get this one win. Willing my erection to behave, I position it against my stomach, using my waistband and arranging my shirt so he won't notice. I"m just going to stick my head out and call his bluff, and then maybe have a shower to calm down.

When I open the door, he"s waiting for me. I barely have time to raise an eyebrow. With two hands gripping the front of my shirt, he pulls me into the hallway and slams me against the wall next to my door. He"s wearing a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants and no shirt. He"s nowhere near as bulky as me, but his chest and abs are lean and defined. Drops of water fall from his dark, wet hair onto his shoulders, dripping down his chest.

A surprised oof escapes me when my back hits the wall, and I watch as Noah sinks to his knees. Oh, damn, he"s really testing my boundaries. I can only imagine that he"s expecting me to push him away, but I want him to be the one to back down for once. And I"m entranced by the sight of him on his knees in front of me. His eyes are raised to mine, watching me, studying me, waiting for a reaction.

I"m pretty sure my pupils are blown as wide as my eyes, out of pure shock, but I"m too sick, too broken, to stop him.

My grandfather would?—

No. Nope. Not going there.

My eyes squeeze shut, focusing on the pressure of Noah"s hands on my hips, feigning like he"s about to pull my sleep pants down. If my determination not to lose every battle between us isn"t enough to keep my resolve, distracting myself by not sinking into my thoughts might be what does it.

"Don"t think about him," Noah growls. "Think about me. I"m the only one allowed in your head."

Before I can really process his words, Noah yanks my pants down enough for my erection to spring free. It nearly smacks him in the face. He smiles arrogantly, probably because the sheer amount of pre-cum dripping from my tip is enough to let him know just how excited I am at the thought of his mouth on me. If he stands up now, he"s won. He has all the power, and he"ll use it to?—

OH

MY

GOD

Noah"s hand wraps tightly around my base, and he licks the pre-cum off the tip, swirling his tongue around… Oh my God. His hand strokes me while he tastes my arousal, his eyes rolling back. It"s too much.

My breath catches as he wraps his lips around the crown and sucks me into his mouth. He"s… Oh my God… He"s sucking on my… Oh my God.

"Noah. If this is your idea to?—"

I gasp harshly as his tongue swirls around my head. I can"t form coherent thoughts. His mouth is so warm. And wet.

He pops off me, and for a moment I have to reconsider whether I"m thankful for the reprieve. His hand stays wrapped around my shaft, using it to rub wetness over his soft lips.

My breaths are shaky, my voice too weak to sound convincing.

"It"s wrong. This is wrong."

"Not if I make you. Isn't that how it works?"

Noah takes me deep into his mouth, until I bump against his soft palate. He gags a little, and pulls back, but doesn"t stop slurping and sucking. He does it again, forcing me deeper, and every time he gags, the sound reverberates in my brain and makes my?—

Oh my God. That feels… Oh my God...

"Noah," I warn, my voice is choked and raspy. "Fu-Fuc," I choke out the expletive. "Noah?—"

He hums and takes me deep again, looking me in the eye as one of his warm hands cups my balls.

"Noah, I"m going to?—"

Jesus, why isn't he stopping?

Noah sucks me hard and fast, tugging gently on my balls, daring me with his eyes.

"I"m going to cuuu—" I choke as a deep moan escapes me, taking away all words and thoughts and any sensation other than the pure ecstasy that rips through me.

My legs shake with the force of my orgasm as it tears through me, and I empty into Noah"s willing mouth. And he swallows it.

He sucks and swallows, sucks and swallows, until every drop is drained from my body and I"m shrinking away from the tickle of overstimulation as I soften in his mouth. He stops sucking, but holds me there, watching my face run through the multitude of sensations and emotions that hit me all at once.

Finally, when I"m in danger of either passing out or getting hard again, Noah releases me. The cold air is a shock after the heat of his mouth, the air tingling over the skin of my wet, half flaccid dick.

Noah stands and, crowding me, wipes a drop of my orgasm off the corner of his mouth. He"s so close, I"m afraid he"s going to kiss me. Please don"t kiss me. I"m too scared to voice it. It"s stupid that I"m afraid of a kiss when he just did that to me. But if he does…

He doesn"t. He bypasses my lips, smirking when I let out a sigh of relief.

One of his hands drags up the back of my head, fingernails sending prickles of gooseflesh down my neck, and he grips my hair at the top where it"s longer. He tugs, not too hard, but hard enough to direct me to look up. He shoves the thumb of his other hand into my mouth.

"Suck."

Even with his voice low and soft, the instruction is commanding, leaving no room to do anything but comply. I wrap my lips around his thumb and suck, tasting the drop of my salty release from his thumb. His eyelashes flutter when I roll my tongue over the pad of his thumb, so I do it again.

"Did you like it?" he asks, softly but forcefully.

There"s no mistaking what he"s talking about, but my eyes blink rapidly, processing the last few minutes. Tightening his grip on my hair, Noah pulls his thumb from my mouth and puts it in his, licking away any last remnants of my cum or saliva.

His dark eyes bore into mine. "Did you like it when I got on my knees and sucked the cum from you?"

I pull in a shaky breath, his words making my mind spin.

Lowering his face to mine, he rubs his face against my cheek like he did last night. Our stubble scrapes together, a delicious friction that has my overstimulated mind and body amping up.

"I want to hear you say it," he murmurs into my ear.

"Y-yes. I liked it."

"You like it when I make you do things?"

Swallowing my usual denial, I nod.

"I liked it, too," he says. My eyes widen, and I focus my fuzzy vision on his expression. I think he"s telling the truth.

"But you"re straight," I croak.

A sly grin spreads across his face, making him look as menacing as ever. "So are you, right?"

I don"t answer. I can"t.

"How about you keep pretending to be whoever and whatever you want to pretend to be, and I"ll keep making you do things you can pretend to hate later."

He looks like the devil himself, his eyes twinkling with danger.

"That's your idea?" I huff in disbelief. "Why? What do you get out of it?"

Still holding onto my hair with one hand, he uses the other to move my hand against the hard bulge in his pants.

"I have some of my own things to figure out. We can figure out our curiosities together."

"And what if I don"t want to?"

"You can lie all you want, little brother. I know you want me."

He uses my hand to rub up and down the length of his hardness until I realize he"s not moving my hand anymore. I"m squeezing and stroking him through his pants without his guidance. I stop, but don"t remove my hand, and look up into Noah"s eyes again. They"re hooded with arousal, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He releases it and gives me a half smile.

"If you actually don"t like something, and I mean you really want me to stop, say, um..." He thinks for a second. "Time Warp."

I have to chuckle, releasing some of the tension in my shoulders. "As long as you don"t make me do the dance again."

"Oh, I will. So make sure you really fucking mean it before those words come out of your mouth," he says, and it sounds like a warning. Like I should be afraid to use the safe word, even though he"s the one giving it to me. My hand pulls away from his erection.

"I"ll stop everything," he says, as if hearing my thoughts out loud. It still sounds like a warning.

As wary as I am, I can"t ignore that the idea intrigues me. He makes me feel good, not just good—amazing. Euphoric. For a few minutes, at least. Before the guilt crashes down around me and I spiral. But he"s the only one that"s ever changed the course of my fear and anxiety. He"s helped me release the pressure before it became too much, and he"s helped pull me back without me even realizing it was happening.

But what he"s asking of me is preposterous. He"s my stepbrother. And there are two key components to that word that make this so wrong. I"m afraid the devil may rise from hell and swallow me just for thinking it. We"re related, even if not by blood. He"s supposed to be my brother. And he"s… a he.

Premarital sexual relations is a punishable offense on its own. But with him?

I can"t do this.

My head shakes fervently. "I"m sorry. I can"t do this. It"s wrong. It"s too wrong."

He tightens his hand on my hair and forces my hand back to where it was.

"You want this," he says. "You want me."

He thrusts himself in my hand as he licks and nips along my jawline. His voice makes me ache, because he"s right.

"You want me to make you feel good," he murmurs. "And you want to make me feel good, too. Don't you?"

I whimper when he pushes my hand inside his sweatpants, my palm coming in contact with his smooth, hot flesh. The contact sends a shiver of pleasure through me, as if I were touching my own dick.

"Stroke me," Noah growls.

It"s not a choice. I"ve always blindly submitted to whatever Noah tells me to do. If I"m being honest, I crave his instruction. His control.

"Harder."

It takes me a moment to find a good angle, but he lets me know when I do.

"That"s right, just like that," he rasps as my hand tightens and pumps his shaft.

I"ve never touched or even seen someone else"s penis before, and I watch my hand working him up and down, rubbing over the tip and exploring before going back to stroking him. It"s so different from mine. He"s circumcised, so the skin is tighter. It"s definitely not as long, but it"s much thicker. So thick.

"Fuck," he groans out. "Don"t stop. I"m close."

As if I could. I"m entranced, desperate to see his face when he comes undone. He's watched me so many times, and now it's my turn to watch his face as I bring him to the end. I feel oddly powerful, even with my domineering stepbrother growling commands at me, his fist so tightly in my hair it hurts. My free hand grips his waist, fingers digging into his flesh to hold him against me. I briefly wish I wasn"t wearing a shirt. I have the oddest urge to let his cum get on my skin, to rub it in and let it bleed into my bloodstream.

Without realizing what I"m doing, I release my grip on his waist and pull my shirt up, while my other hand pumps him faster.

Noah"s eyes dart to the movement and they flutter and roll back a little, before refocusing. They look darker, more unhinged, than I"ve ever seen them. I have a moment of pause where my grandfather"s voice whispers to me again.

The devil lives in those who would lead us astray.