Based: A Stepbrother Romance (Extreme Sports Alphas) (15 page)

The carpet was soft under my bare feet. I padded down toward the opposite end of the house and was about to head downstairs when I heard the soft sound of piano playing in the music room.

I should have turned away. I should have ignored it. But I knew who was inside there.

And he was right when he said that I wanted him too.

Quietly I walked over to the door, knocked twice, and then pushed it open. Sitting in front of the piano was Lincoln, wearing only navy blue gym shorts. I gaped for a second at the tattoos running along his muscled body and the way his arms moved as he played.

“Going to stare all night?” he said gently.

“No.” I shut the door behind me and leaned up against it.

He didn’t look up. “You can come in. I won’t bite.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of that going around in this house.”

I should walk away,
I thought. Instead, I moved farther into the room and sat down next to the piano, my back against the wall. Lincoln didn’t look over at me, just kept his eyes on the keys and kept playing.

“That was weird, earlier,” I said.

“Which part?”

“The interview. Jess was being a real bitch.”

He didn’t respond, just kept playing. I watched him in silence for another minute, staring at his ripped, shirtless body and listening to the soft, gentle music. The contrast between his playing and his chiseled torso was strange, but I couldn’t help but stare anyway. He looked like he was concentrating, though I wasn’t sure if that was on the music or on ignoring me.

“Have you heard anything else from my dad?” I asked him.

“No.”

“Did you talk to Jules?”

“Not yet. Tomorrow.”

I made a face. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

He kept playing. “What do you want, Brie?”

“I don’t know. For you to look at me, maybe.”

He sighed and looked over at me, his eyes piercing into mine. “Better?”

“No, not really.”

He smiled softly. “I didn’t think so.”

“I’m not here to fight with you.”

“Good. I’m not in the mood for that either.”

“Okay. Cool.”

He looked away and kept playing for a minute while inwardly I kicked myself. What the hell was I doing? He clearly didn’t want me around, and could I blame him? There was so much shit going on for him, so much crap keeping him awake at night. He didn’t need me around annoying him as well.

“You going to sit down there all night?” he said, cutting through my thoughts.

“Where else should I sit?”

He stopped playing and moved over on the seat. “Come on, I’ll teach you something.”

I stood up and laughed. “I don’t think so.”

He pointed at the bench and I sat down next to him. “I’m a good teacher.”

“I’m a worse student. I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”

He grinned hugely. “I’ll give you one.”

It took me half a second to get it. “Oh, nice. Real mature,” I said, but couldn’t help but laugh at how corny it was.

“Look, it’s simple. I’ll teach you ‘Chopsticks.’”

“Fine. But don’t take it personally when I screw it up.”

He laughed and put his fingers on the keys. “Here, watch once.”

He played through it slowly and I watched, not really getting it. He played it again, even slower.

“Okay. I think I can play it,” I said.

“Really?”

“No, not really. I told you I’m the least musical person in the world.”

He grinned. “Here, put your fingers here.”

I reached out and put my hands on the keyboard. “Here?”

“No, like this.” His hands were warm and firm on mine as he gently placed my fingers in position.

“Oh, okay.”

“Now press down.”

I hit the keys. Somehow, it made the right noise but seemed off anyway.

“Good,” he said. “Now you move here.” He took my hands again and moved me, pushing me down. He kept his hands on top of mine, his touch lingering, as he pushed me down. We pressed the keys together, the sound filling the room.

I could feel myself beginning to breathe more deeply. His arm was pressed against mine and our legs and shoulders were touching.

“Good. Now here,” he said, moving our hands and pressing the keys.

“I’m great at this.”

“No worse than I was when I first started.”

“Yeah, did you teacher move your hands like this?”

He grinned. “Not exactly.”

We went through the song twice like that, his hands guiding mine gently but firmly, our bodies close together.

“Now, you do it on your own.”

I shook my head. “It’s going to be terrible.”

“That’s fine. Do it anyway.”

I put my fingers in place and pressed the keys, moving my hands at the right tempo.

“Good, now . . .” he said as I moved my hands. “Good. Hit it there.”

I pushed and it sounded surprisingly okay.

“Awesome, now shift,” he said.

I moved my hands and finished off the stanza.

He laughed. “Great. You’ve officially played chopsticks on your own.”

I stopped playing and grinned. “I’m such a talent.”

“You’re not bad. We’ll have you playing Mozart soon enough.”

“Yeah, right. I think this is the extent of my piano career.”

He was still sitting right next to me, our bodies closer together, his face inches from mine. I was suddenly intensely aware of his skin and the ink running all through it.

There was a pause. “You have a lot of tattoos,” I said lamely.

He looked at himself. “Yeah, I guess I do. They’re addictive.”

I reached out and touched one on his arm. “Is this from a videogame?”

He laughed. “Yeah, it’s from
Halo
. Used to play it a lot on the road. I guess it started to mean something after a while.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a dork.”

“Hey, it’s the least dorky of all video games.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He grabbed my hand and moved it from his arm to his chest. He pressed my fingers down on another tattoo, this one of a skull with a snake and a rose running through it. I blinked and felt excitement jolt through my core as I realized I was touching his ripped chest muscle, his skin smooth under my fingers, his breath coming in deep and even.

“What about this one?” he asked.

“Um. What about it?”

“It’s the newest. Dorky?”

“No. I mean, not dorky.”

His hand felt tighter around mine. My head was spinning at his closeness, at how badly I wanted him. The little voice in the back of my mind that usually kept me from doing something stupid was dead silent.

“Lincoln . . .” I started.

“Don’t talk. Not this time.”

And then he crushed me in a deep kiss.

His right hand stayed on mine, pressed up against his chest, and I could feel his heart pounding. His other hand came up and cupped my face as he kissed me deeply, our tongues touching again, a chill bursting through my spine. I wanted it, wanted it badly, and couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t imagine pulling away.

And then I threw my arm around him, crushing his lips even tighter, and knew I wasn’t going back.

He adjusted our bodies and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me up against his hard body as he kissed me hungrily, our mouths and lips working together. Desire flooded through me, filling my every inch and corner.

His mouth pulled away. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he said as he kissed my neck.

My hands roamed along his muscled back. “We shouldn’t. But I don’t care anymore,” I groaned.

“Good. Fuck should or shouldn’t.” His lips found mine for a second.

He stood, pushing the bench back and pulling me to my feet. I gasped as he practically tore my shirt off. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the cool air bit into my skin. He looked at my breasts hungrily and I blushed. I hadn’t had a guy stare at my body in a while.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

“That’s just a line.”

His hands grabbed my breasts, working my nipples as he pressed against me. I could feel his dick, stiff against my leg.

“Not a line.”

“Fuck, Lincoln,” I groaned as he kissed my chest and neck.

“Tell me you’ve been thinking about this for years.”

“No,” I whispered.

He moved one hand from my breast and wrapped it in my hair, taking a handful. He didn’t pull it, but he held it firmly, tilting my chin up. His lips were soft against my throat as he kissed me. I gasped and moaned softly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Lincoln,” I said.

His other hand moved away from my breast and touched my stomach, moving down toward my soaked pussy.

“Say it.”

“Fine. I’ve been thinking about you for years.”

“What about me?”

His hand slipped down my shorts. I was practically shaking with anticipation.

“You. Your body. Your lips. What you’d feel like . . .” I trailed off.

“Say it.” His hand found my clit and I gasped as he moved in slow circles.

“Ah. Shit. What you’d feel like inside me.”

“Mmm. Fuck, Brie. You’re soaked for me.”

“I know,” I moaned.

His fingers continued to play with my clit, moving in soft circles, sending waves of pleasure through me as his mouth found mine again. After a second of teasing, he slipped his fingers inside me and I gasped again. He bit my lip, sending pleasure and slight pain flooding through me.

I could barely take it. He was big, a lot bigger than me, and he moved my body perfectly. His one hand stayed in my hair, a slight pressure, while the other moved in and out of my pussy, fucking me softly one second and rubbing my clit the next.

I could barely think. I reached forward and grabbed his cock through his thin shorts, and he grunted.

“Holy shit,” I said as I felt its length.

“I know. Not bad.”

“Not bad?” I moved forward and he loosened his grip on my hair. I tugged his shorts down, and his hard dick slipped out from the waistband. I laughed and took it in my two hands.

“Bigger than you expected?”

“Huge,” I said as I slowly rubbed his length.

He grunted and pulled my hair softly again, pressing his mouth against mine. I stroked him with both hands as he continued to work my soaked clit, fingers rolling around it and back inside me. His mouth was hungry against mine.

I pulled back. “I fucking want you,” I moaned.

He released my hair and wrapped his arms around me. Suddenly I was in the air, and he gently put me down on top of the piano. I giggled softly. He pressed his hands down on either side of me, his dick hard between us, and looked me in the eye.

“You want me to fuck you?” he said.

“Please. Fuck me.”

His hands grabbed my shorts and pulled them off. He grinned.

“No panties. I thought something was off.”

“I don’t sleep in them.”

“Dirty girl.”

I giggled again. “Cut it out.”

His hands found my clit again and I spread my legs wide, the piano cold against my ass.

“You want me to stop?”

“No. No, don’t stop that.”

“Good.” He kissed my neck and breasts as he kept rubbing my clit. After a second, he pushed me back, and his face disappeared between my legs.

“Hey—” I said, and then I felt his tongue.

It lapped at my clit hungrily, his mouth sucking and working my pussy. Anything I had to say was totally gone in the overwhelming pleasure that flooded through me. I grabbed either side of the piano and gripped it tightly as I felt him slip a finger inside me, fucking me while he slowly nibbled at my swollen spot.

There was nothing gentle or sweet about him. It was pure frenzied hunger, like he was starving for me. He reached up with one hand and grabbed my breast, continuing to work my body.

“Shit, Lincoln,” I kept saying, my brain wracked with pleasure.

And it felt like too much. It was all building through me, fast and slow and heavy, when he suddenly pulled back and pressed his body against mine. 

“Don’t come yet,” he ordered.

I lay there panting. “Then you stopped at the right time,” I said.

He grinned. “I know.”

His mouth pressed against mine, kissing me hard. “Fuck me,” I begged, pulling back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning.

I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he walked over to the piano and knelt down to get something. His wallet and his phone, I realized. He pulled something from the wallet, tore it open, and then rolled a condom down his huge length.

I groaned as he came back, wrapping his arms around me.

“Say it again,” he whispered in my ear.

“Fuck me, please.”

He paused, and then his dick pushed inside me.

I moaned and gripped his back again, fingers digging into his skin. He grunted his pleasure.

“Holy shit, Brie.”

He lay on top of me on the piano, and for a second I was afraid it would break. But then he was moving, fuck was he moving, his cock sliding in and out of my slick pussy, filling my every inch. Any thoughts about the structural integrity of the piano were gone as he began to thrust into me.

His hand found my hair and his mouth found my lips as he thrust deeper and harder.

“God damn you are tight,” he panted.

That drove me insane. “I’ve been wanting this for so long,” I whispered.

“I’ve been dreaming about you.”

“Shit, right there,” I moaned as he adjusted his hands, grabbing my hips.

He thrust deep into me, rough and slow. I wrapped my legs around his back as he continued to rock back and forth, filling me.

“I’ve thought about this a thousand times,” he whispered in my ear.

“You’re so fucking big,” I gasped, half laughing, half crazy with pleasure.

He grunted. “You have no clue how fucking hard it makes me hearing you say that.”

My mouth found his and he bit my lower lip again as he fucked me. I moaned and held on to his shoulders, squeezing, as he thrust in and out, soft and hard and fast.

And then he was off me, sliding back. I watched as he landed softly on his feet, standing at the edge of the piano.

“Lincoln,” I begged.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me forward, ass on the edge of the piano, and pushed himself back inside me.