4. Nicholas

4

NICHOLAS

W hen the hydrogen peroxide makes contact with my open wounds, the stinging sensation surges through me, igniting a primal fury within. I feel like a beast caught in a trap, and in response, I roar and wrench my paw free from her grasp. “What the fuck, Isabel!” I growl, the words escaping in a mix of anger and disbelief. “I’d rather that man punch me in the face again.”

Her eyes narrow into a fierce glare, and she retorts, “I’ll punch you in the face again then. Just give me back your hand so I can clean off the blood and bandage it properly.”

Despite her being ten years my junior, there’s an undeniable authority in her voice that I find utterly captivating. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen her wear, this commanding air that wraps around her like a cloak. “Could you be a little more sensitive?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm, but there’s a hint of vulnerability beneath it. Tentatively, I push my hand back in her direction, bracing myself for the sting of her ministrations, fully aware that she might hurt me again.

With a cotton ball soaked in peroxide, she carefully dabs at my blood-soaked knuckles, meticulously wiping away the mingled bodily fluids that could belong to either me or that asshole from the bar. “No,” Isabel says, a playful smile dancing across her lips. “You shouldn’t have punched that guy in the first place. What he did was stupid, but I’m going to live. I was already home and showered, see?” She gestures toward her clean hair and fresh clothes, as if to emphasize her point.

“Yes, very clean,” I reply, a grin creeping onto my face. “I have half a mind to get you dirty again, just for your little antics with the peroxide,” I tease her, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere that has settled around us.

It works, at least for a moment—she tenses up, surprise flickering in her eyes before she resumes her ministrations on my hand, her focus unwavering. “Nicholas, you can’t say things like that. You’re my stepbrother. Whatever this is between you and me, it can’t happen. You know that and I know that—” Her voice trails off, the weight of her words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

This speech sounds like it's been rehearsed a hundred times, and I'm not in the mood to hear it. "Save it, Isabel," I interrupt her. "We may be step-siblings, but that just means we're not bound by blood. There's nothing inherently wrong with what's happening between us, except for a little societal taboo." I set the ice pack I've been using on my eye down on the counter and use my newly freed hand to gently lift her chin, turning her face up so she can meet my gaze. "You're stunning, Isabel. You're funny, you're intelligent, and I can't deny the way my body responds to yours." I let my thumb trace the line of her jaw, marveling at the softness of her skin. "I don't care what society thinks. All I know is that I want you, and I think you want me too."

I see her gulp, the sound echoing in the charged atmosphere. It’s no longer just the heat from the water that’s making this bathroom feel stifling; the tension between Isabel and me has thickened the air around us, making it almost palpable. “I want to see what’s beneath that towel,” I continue, my voice low and earnest. “And I don’t want to hear you call yourself fat anymore, because you’re not.” I jump off the counter, the movement breaking the stillness, and Isabel instinctively steps back, but the bathroom is only so big, leaving her nowhere to escape. She finds herself pressed against the wall, and I take a step forward until I’m solidly against her, our bodies almost touching. “You’re a curvy, beautiful woman,” I insist, my gaze locked onto hers, filled with a mixture of desire and sincerity. “Whether you’re my sister or not, I want to fuck you. I want to make love to you. I want to make you scream my name. Am I clear?” The weight of my words hangs between us, charged with an intensity that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

Her low-level panting resonates in the small space, a telltale sign that the years of our flirtation, along with her consistent resistance, have merely masked the undeniable pull she feels toward me. “Nicholas, I?—”

“If the words out of your mouth right now aren’t ‘take me’ or ‘I want you, too,’” I say, leaning down to nibble on her earlobe, letting the warmth of my breath linger against her skin, “then I’m not interested in hearing them.” She hesitates, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as I breathe in her fresh, clean scent, an intoxicating mix of shampoo and something distinctly her. Slowly, I kiss my way down her neck, savoring the soft texture of her skin, teasing her collarbone with my tongue, sending shivers through her. This is a pivotal moment; she can choose to push me away if she wants, and yet, this is the farthest I’ve ever penetrated her defenses. But please God, I hope she doesn’t. The tension between us crackles like static, and I can feel the heat of the moment drawing us closer, urging her to surrender to what we both truly desire.

“Let’s go to my room,” she finally moans after a couple of minutes of me kissing the nape of her neck, her breath hitching with anticipation.

“Lead the way, beautiful,” I grin, my heart racing with excitement. It’s just across the hall, but in the few steps it takes to get there, I make quick work of taking off my suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. She’s only wearing a towel, its fabric barely containing the allure of her curves, but it’s going to take me much longer to get undressed, my fingers trembling with the promise of what’s to come.

“Are we making the right decision?” Isabel asks nervously, her voice barely above a whisper as she turns and takes a seat on the edge of her bed, the tension between us palpable in the air.

I slip off my shoes and place my jacket on top, the weight of the moment settling around us, then begin unbuttoning my shirt in quick succession, the fabric sliding from my shoulders. “I don’t want you to worry about the moral implications of what this is.” My words are steady, but I can feel the urgency beneath them. If she gets bogged down in those details, she could call this off. I’ve finally gotten her to get this far, and I don’t want her to say ‘no’ at the last minute over something that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. I want to focus on us, on this moment, where everything else fades away.

Isabel chews on her bottom lip, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and uncertainty. “But the moral implications are,” she hesitates, searching for the right words, “kind of hot.”

This unexpected admission causes me to raise an eyebrow in surprise. I didn’t see that coming. “Oh, really?” I set down the shirt atop my jacket, the fabric sliding into place as I stroll over to her, closing the distance between us. “So you’ve imagined yourself fucking your stepbrother before?”

A naughty grin blossoms on her lips, illuminating her face with a playful light. “I mean, I know it’s kind of bad. I shouldn’t be thinking like that, but I have.” Her voice drops, now barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret that dances on the edge of taboo and excitement.

"Get on the bed," I say, my cock straining against the confines of my pants, swelling at the provocative image of her entertaining illicit thoughts about me for all these years. "And remove that towel," I add, my gaze devouring her. "I want to feast my eyes on your body."

She carefully undoes the delicate knot she had tied at the top, her fingers deftly working to loosen the fabric. With a gentle wiggle, she frees herself from the towel, allowing it to cascade down and settle atop the bed like a fallen leaf. In that moment, I behold her body in all its breathtaking glory, every curve and contour illuminated by the soft light, stirring a primal reaction deep within me.

"Jesus," I murmur, barely audible, as a wave of reverence washes over me. "This is practically a divine experience."

Isabel's cheeks flush a deep crimson as she gracefully positions herself on the bed, her body sinking into the plush mattress. She gazes at me with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. "I've always perceived you as the dominant type," she admits, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I've fantasized that you would take me with an untamed passion, without holding back."

"If you don't quit talking like that, I'm going to cum before I get out of these pants," I growl as I unbuckle my belt, the sound of the metal releasing its tension echoing through the room. She giggles from her place on the bed, the soft, husky tones sending a thrill through my veins, making my already-hard cock twitch with anticipation. "Hey, no giggling when I'm about to unveil my cock," I chastise her, my voice low and rough, "or else I'll have to punish you," I add, my eyes narrowing slightly as I gaze at her, the threat hanging in the air like a promise.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she says it, the corners of her lips curling upward in a sly, provocative gesture that makes my cock twitch even harder, the anticipation of what's to come almost unbearable.

“Or maybe you would like that.” Sometimes punishment and pleasure are one and the same, and I can see the thrill of that possibility dancing in her gaze, making my own excitement spike as I take a step closer to her, my eyes locked on hers, the air thickening with tension.