Break Me: A Stepbrother Romance (12 page)

B
ram

I
don’t know
how the hell I ended up in South Carolina. This was where my life fell apart, where I ended up in hell, where I’d never thought I’d go. Maybe it was inevitable that I’d end up in the place where everything went wrong. All I knew was that when I left Michigan, I drove south.

I kept moving, working odd jobs. Body shops that needed an extra pair of hands. Factories that needed night janitors. It didn’t make me proud, but I paid my way and I earned my keep. And I ended up in South Carolina, working on a little oyster boat that supplied the local resorts and restaurants in the winter.

I pulled my hood on tighter and grabbed the rope one of my crewmates threw me as our boat pulled into the dock. It had started to rain, and the sea was choppy with an oncoming storm. Hurricane season was over, but the waters of the Atlantic were unpredictable in winter, the wind heavy with salt. It was warmer here than it was in Michigan—I was still getting used to the idea of no snow—but you’d hardly know it out on the open water, where the surf was cold and the wind relentless. My hands were frozen even through the heavy gloves I wore, but I helped moor the boat and haul our day’s catch onto the dock.

When we were finished, I had worked up a sweat beneath my coat and rain slicker. I dashed the water from my eyes and nodded to the crew captain as he dismissed us all from our shift. The docks were deserted, the tourists all fled inside as the storm came closer. I turned to make my way home.

A figure was walking the docks, coming toward me. A woman.

She was wearing jeans, a heavy raincoat, and boots. Her hands were shoved into her pockets, her shoulders leaned forward into the wind. Her hood had blown back, and she wore a hat, beneath which I could see blond hair whipping in the rainy air. She didn’t have to look up. I knew who she was with every breath in my body.

I hurried toward her, trying to ignore the fact that I’d been horribly fucking lonely for four months and I’d missed this woman’s body day and night. “Summer,” I called out. “What are you doing here? It’s about to storm.”

She looked up at me as she came closer, those big hazel eyes slicing me in two. “I came to find you,” she said.

I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, one of my crewmates let out a whistle from behind me. “Hey Riordan, who’s the hot blonde?”

I gritted my teeth and grabbed her elbow. “Let’s go.”

More whistles and catcalls followed us as we left—the crew I worked with were nice guys, but long hours on the boat meant they talked about sex nonstop. They were worse than the guys in prison, for fuck’s sake. The fact that I never joined in, that they still knew nothing about me, made them curious.

“Bram, where are we going?” Summer asked as I pulled her along the dock, away from the goons hooting at her.

I glanced back at the water, where the swells were getting bigger, the sky darkening. “There’s a coffee shop just here,” I said. “We’ll go inside.”

We were practically the only customers. It was close to Christmas, with a storm setting in, and there wasn’t much activity on the shore. I sat Summer down and got us two coffees. I remembered how she liked hers from the day we’d gone to the diner after that first crazy night.

When I got back to our little table, she had pulled off her hat and was running her fingers through her hair. Even wet and cold and without makeup, Summer’s looks just about knocked me over. “Your hair is longer,” I said as I pushed her cup toward her and sat down.

“So is yours,” she said, her eyes traveling over me. I’d pushed my own hood back now that we were inside. “And you have a beard.”

Shit. I ran my hand over my jaw. I’d gotten out of the habit of shaving every day, since a crew of stinking fishermen never cared, and there wasn’t much point. “I forgot,” I said. “It’s been two days, maybe three. If I knew you were coming, I would have cleaned up.”

“Would you?” She crossed her arms and looked at me. “Or would you have gotten in your car and kept driving?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Hell, if I’d known Summer was coming, maybe I would have run. I wasn’t a coward, but having her here was pretty fucking terrifying. I drank some coffee, feeling the warmth inside me, and said, “What do you want?”

She kept her arms crossed, her gaze straight on me. “Are you going to be an asshole?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It depends what you have to say.”

I had to keep my guard up. She mattered too much. She hadn’t said yet that this was some kind of reunion. She hadn’t said anything. Maybe she was here to tell me she’d found some other guy, and they’d gotten married, and she was happy and knocked up with his kid. I had to be ready in case she broke me in two.

If she said that, maybe I’d get back on the fishing boat and drive it out into the ocean as far as it would go.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Summer said. “Evan Tanner is in jail.”

I blinked and hid my shock. “For what?”

“You can probably guess,” she replied. “Theft, drug possession.” She watched me think this over. “Was he blackmailing my dad to get drug money?”

“Yeah,” I said. I tried to picture it—Tanner the spoiled mayor’s kid, booked and locked up. We’d see how far his gym rat muscles got him on the inside. “I talked him out of it.”

“Well, it worked,” Summer said. “He never contacted Dad again.”

“Is Nate okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s off the crutches now, too. He’s ornery without you.”

“He was ornery anyway,” I said.

She shrugged, and then she licked her lips in a nervous little gesture. The sight of her tongue on her lip lit up every nerve ending inside of me, made me start to go hard inside my damp jeans. I could have lain her right here on the table and fucked her here in the coffee shop. She had no idea what an animal I was.

Four months celibate as I tore myself up over Summer. Blue balls were the curse of my fucking life.

“How are you?” she said finally. “Are you okay?”

I had to laugh at that. “Sure. I’m great. I have a crappy apartment a few blocks away, and I get paid cash under the table. How are you?”

“Well, I’m great,” she said. “My shop is doing well. I added a website, which has improved business. I signed up for college courses in interior design. My dad is healthy and he’s stopped being so stressed all the time.” She licked her lips again. “I guess my only problem is that the guy I was fucking left town, and I’ve been going a little crazy without him.”

I felt my skin go hot. “That’s a problem,” I said. “But I seem to remember there were other guys in Terre Mills.”

“Are there? I didn’t notice.”

I watched her for a long moment as the air went electric between us.

“So,” she said, waving a hand airily. “I guess your apartment a few blocks away doesn’t have a girlfriend in it?”

The question was so insane it almost made me mad. “Are you kidding me?” I said. “I took a job in the ocean so I’d have a cold shower every day.”

Now she bit her lip. I was practically jumping out of my skin, every movement of hers jolting the blood in my veins. She reached into her purse and pulled something out. “I want to return this,” she said. “It’s your cell phone.”

“What?”

“You left it behind.”

“I know I did.”

She slid the phone across the table to me. “Well, you missed a message that day,” she said. “Read it.”

Reluctantly, I picked up the phone. It was charged—she must have charged it. I woke it up and saw the unread message icon. I tapped it.

There was a message from Summer, dated the day I left.

I love you. Come home.

The storm roared outside, and the rain pounded on the windows. I barely heard it over the blood rushing in my ears.

When I looked up at her, she looked unsure. Like she thought I’d reject her or something.
Hey, Summer, it was nice knowing you and all, but no thanks. I think you should go home.
Like there was a chance I’d ever let her go again.

I shoved my chair back and leaned over the table. I cupped her face in my hand and I kissed her.

Behind the counter, the old couple who ran the coffee shop started clapping. The only other customer, a lady sitting at a table with her kid, cheered.

I didn’t care. I kissed her like I meant it. It had been a long time.

I
hadn’t been kidding
about my apartment. It was a small furnished room with a bed, a bathroom, and a few kitchen appliances in one corner. It was all I could afford without getting a roommate. I’d spent six years in prison—there was no way in hell I was living with a fucking roommate.

At least it was neat, since I owned almost nothing. A few clothes, some shaving stuff—that I’d forgotten to use—and some inexpensive food in the fridge. I was keeping every spare dollar I was earning for savings, trying to build up some kind of life.

Summer didn’t care. I knew she wouldn’t. We were soaking wet from the rain, but by the time we were through the door and I’d closed it behind me, she was kissing me, pulling my shirt up from the waist of my jeans.

After a minute I reluctantly pushed her hands down and broke the kiss. “Fuck,” I panted. “I’ve been at work all day. Let me take a shower.”

“No,” she said, kicking off her boots and pulling off her coat and sweater. “I like you sweaty.”

I pulled off my own sweater and shirt, but she was faster than me. In seconds she had unzipped her jeans and dropped them to the floor, along with her panties. Now she was wearing only a bra and t-shirt, her pussy visible beneath the hem of the shirt. I had to stop for a second, just looking at it. It looked very fucking good.

“Come here,” I said.

I sat on the edge of the bed and she straddled me, kissing me, her arms around my neck. I wanted to feel her, for both of us to be naked, but I didn’t have the patience. I rubbed my hands over her ass and slipped my fingers between her spread legs as she moaned into my mouth. I was practically breaking my zipper I was so hard.

She reached down between us and tore at my jeans, pulling down my boxers and loosing my cock. I bit her lip.

“Bram,” she said. “The beard is really sexy, but it scratches.”

“I’ll shave it,” I panted.

“Good,” she said. “Now fuck me hard, because I’m losing my mind.”

I gripped her hips and slid her onto me, stroking into her. She was tight and hot, her pussy gripping me, and I flexed my hips up into her, trying to get deeper. She dropped her head to my shoulder and gasped, her legs going around my waist, her heels digging in.

“Just ride me,” I said in her ear, moving her hips. “Like that. Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you come.”

She groaned again as she ground against me, holding on to me. I worked a rhythm with my cock, trying to hit her just where she liked it. I angled her hips so I was fucking her deeper, her legs splayed wider, her ankles locked behind my back. I could feel myself all the way in her, as far as I could go, and I held her in place, hitting the spot with my cock over and over.

It only took a few minutes—good for me, because I couldn’t hold out much longer. She gripped me frantically, and I felt her body tensing, straining. “Oh, god, Bram,” she said.

“Like that,” I said, fucking her harder. “Like that.”

“
Oh.
” She came with a strangled sound, as if she’d never come before. I dropped my forehead to her shoulder and watched my cock sliding into her, watched her coming on it, and then I came too, filling her hard with everything inside me.

We sat tangled up like that for a few long minutes when we finished, both of us gasping for breath. Then I rolled her onto her back on the bed and pinned her down, rubbing my beard against her neck as she squirmed.

“Stop it!” she shrieked. “It scratches. And you need a shower.”

“I love you,” I said into her ear. “My woman.”

“I love you, too,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” I said. “You’re stuck with me now.”

We stayed in bed all night as the storm raged on. And in the morning, I packed my bags and we left South Carolina behind for good. It was time to go home.

S
ummer

I
looked
up from my textbook, glad for a distraction. “Bram, what are you doing?”

“I’m fixing this,” he said. “Keep studying.”

I tapped my pen and watched him for a moment. It was spring, and we were in the back room of my antique furniture shop, among the mixed-up bits of furniture I hadn’t put out front yet. I was sitting at an old roll-top desk, reading under the light of a lamp. A few feet away, Bram was on one knee, putting together a broken drawer that had come out of an armoire.

It was eight o’clock at night, the shop long closed, and the lights in the back room were dim, the place quiet. Bram had finished work at Dad’s auto body shop, then come to my shop to help me with my refinishing projects while I studied. He did this a lot—he wanted me to pass my course, he said, even if he had to work extra to do it. So he was bent over the old drawer, wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt that showed the planes of his muscles as he worked the pieces together.

I watched him the same way I always did—trying not to drool. He just looked so sexy, the line of his back, the strong muscles of his thighs, the way I could see the tail of his dragon tattoo moving over his flexing arm. His head was bent in concentration, so I looked my fill of his profile, with its high cheekbones and dark eyes. He stayed clean-shaven now, at my request, but he wore his hair a little longer than he had when he first came home. The effect made him look less scary and more devastatingly gorgeous, and whenever we went anywhere, women tended to trip over their feet or walk into doorways, staring at him.

We went places now, like a couple. When one or the other of us wasn’t working, we actually managed to go on dates—sometimes, even, without fucking first. It was weird at first, and then it was easy, and then it was fun. Even when Bram was tired from working seven days a week, even when he was worried, he could make me laugh, and he could make me feel sexy.

He was working at the auto body shop, and over the past five months Dad had offloaded more and more responsibility onto Bram while he “semi-retired,” as he put it. Semi-retirement, for Dad, meant spending more poker afternoons with his buddies, hanging out in various guys’ garages tinkering with cars, and going to Ted Munson’s cottage. In private with me, Dad had made noises about handing the business off to Bram entirely, but he wasn’t yet sixty and he wasn’t ready to let go. But I could see it was only a matter of time.

Dad had also shocked us last week with another announcement: He was moving out of the house. It was too big, he said, too much work and too much commitment. He was moving into an apartment complex where a few of his friends already lived. And he was giving the house to Bram and to me.

Leave it to my dad to decide when Bram and I should move in together.

But it made sense. The house was plenty big. I could give up the rent on my apartment. And we could be together all the time, instead of traveling back and forth.

The thought made me giddy. Living with Bram. I hoped we could handle it.

“I don’t hear you studying,” Bram said without looking up.

“Are you sure you want me to move in?” I said.

“Yes,” he replied. He turned a piece of wood over in his hands. “They made these surprisingly complicated a hundred years ago.”

“It’s a big step,” I said. “Most guys kind of freak out.”

“I’m not most guys,” Bram said.

He wasn’t. I was going kind of liquid in my chair, just watching him. Bram Riordan was mine. All mine. He worked hard with his hands for me. He supported the things I wanted. He treated my body like I was a goddess. And despite his mistakes, he was building a life so he could spend it with me.

And God, he was hot. Even hotter than he’d been when I was eighteen.

I looked at the edge of the tattoo that showed above the neck of his shirt, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to study any more. I was too wet. My gaze traveled over to a dresser I’d bought, the low kind with a large mirror on the top. It gave me an idea.

I pushed my chair back and walked over to the dresser. I was wearing a knee-length shirtdress that buttoned up the front, and I leaned back on the dresser and started undoing the buttons.

Bram still hadn’t looked at me. “You’re not studying,” he said again.

“No,” I replied. “I’m not.”

He looked up. I undid the dress’s buttons to my waist, then let it drop from my shoulders. I was wearing a front-clasp bra, and I unclasped it, so I was bare before him, my nipples slowly going hard in the open air.

Bram watched. His gaze went very, very dark, in a way I had come to know intimately well. I felt a delicious pulse of anticipation between my legs.

He said nothing about this being inappropriate, that we were in the back room of my shop, that we were supposed to be working. He just stood and came toward me. His body was as big and hard as ever, but the months away had changed it a little. The muscles were sleeker from long hours of hard work. He moved less like an angry, caged animal and more like a man who knew exactly what the fuck he was doing, where he was going, and what he wanted.

And what he wanted right now was me.

He didn’t touch me. He walked right up to me and put his hands on the dresser on either side of me, bracing me against it. His voice was a low purr. “Are you playing a game?”

“Maybe,” I said. My body thrummed with anticipated pleasure as I looked at him. I licked my lips and ran my palm down his stomach, over his t-shirt, to his belt. “The rules are easy,” I said as I undid it, then undid his jeans. “You just stand still.”

He didn’t make a sound as I went down on my knees. Oh, how I loved doing this to him. I liked giving him head more than any woman should. Bram had done absolutely everything to me, in every possible way—and I loved all of it. But I had a sneaking suspicion that this was his favorite. That my mouth on his cock gave him pleasure that was different from sex. Sucking him looked like I was surrendering to him, but that was only on the surface. Beneath it, he was surrendering to me.

I took him all the way in and ran my tongue over him, tasting him. I swirled my tongue over the head of his cock, then took it all the way in again. His hands were still braced on the dresser, and he was facing the mirror, so I knew that he could see himself, could see me sucking him both in reality and in the mirror’s reflection. He gave a pained sigh that meant he was really turned on, and I let my eyes drift close and let myself feel—his cock in my mouth, its pressure on my throat, its ridges under my tongue, his body tensing beneath my hands, the wetness soaking between my legs. I started to anticipate the taste of his come, which I knew I would swallow.

His pleasure built—I had done this so often by now that I could feel it, could feel every vibration of his amazing body—and then he reached down and gripped my shoulder, pulling me up. I let go of him reluctantly, but he pulled me from my knees and turned me so I was leaning against the dresser, facing the mirror. I couldn’t see my face—just my lips, which were parted and red, beneath the top frame of the mirror—but I could see my open dress, my creamy breasts topped with nipples gone dark red. I could see his body behind me, his big hands as he pushed my dress up over my ass and pushed my panties down to the floor.

I braced my own hands on the dresser and bent forward as he parted my legs. Then he slid inside me, hot and hard in my slick pussy, and I watched my breasts dangle forward as I leaned, watched them shake with the impact of him. I moaned and pressed back against him.

He slid his hands around me and gripped my body, his arms flexing, bending me forward, and he fucked me for a minute like that, stroking into me as my breasts shook. Then he cupped my breasts as I watched, his big palms covering my soft flesh. His fingers were rough and callused from work, and they scraped over my sensitive skin as he pinched my nipples. The sensation nearly made me come, and I moaned, dropping my head back against his shoulder, my eyes drifting closed.

“Fuck, Summer,” he said almost softly in my ear as he stroked into me. “I’ve got you. I have all of you. Your cunt and your tits. It’s all mine right now. You feel me fucking you?”

“Yes,” I panted.

“Good,” he said. “Open your eyes and watch.”

I opened my eyes. He stilled, and one hand reached down and pulled up the hem of my dress, so I could see my pussy in the mirror, could see the skin stretched where he was still inside me. He pulled one of my legs up so my knee was on the dresser and I was splayed open.

“Now rub yourself,” he growled in my ear, “and watch yourself come.”

I was so aroused I could barely take a breath. As I watched myself in the mirror, I slid one hand between my legs, parting my lips and rubbing around the place where we were joined. Bram was watching, too. He gave a low groan and started stroking me again, his hands on my hips, bracing me.

“Oh, God,” I said. The friction of him inside me, the sight of it, was incredibly exciting. I slid my juices over my clit and rubbed it, and the added jolt of pleasure made me cry out. My leg felt stretched, my body stretched open, and the edge of the dresser cut into me as Bram fucked me, but it was all part of a crescendo of experience. I kept my eyes open and watched my finger rubbing my reddened flesh until I felt the jolt of my orgasm. My pussy clamped down hard on him, squeezing him, and his fingers dug into my hips as he pressed his cock into me harder, letting my pussy milk him as he came.

When he slid out of me, I didn’t want to let him go. I let my dress fall and turned around so I was facing him. I scooted up on the dresser and put my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I put my head on his warm shoulder. “Oh, my God, Bram,” I said, catching my breath. “I don’t think I can walk.”

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “That was your idea, sweetheart.”

I let my crazy pulse slowly fall back to normal. Bram found the dangling ends of my bra and slid it over me, pulling them together and clasping it shut between my breasts. It was a sweetly intimate gesture, one that reminded me that he was almost as familiar with my body as I was. When he gently started buttoning my dress, my heart flipped. I raised my head and looked at him. “Can I ask you something?”

He was intent on my buttons, but his face had the relaxed look of a very satisfied male. “Sure.”

“Do you ever want a baby?”

Bram stopped buttoning and went very still.

“I mean, not right this minute,” I clarified. “I just…” I didn’t want to get into the fact that every time my friend Caitlyn came into the shop with her little boy lately, I had an increasing case of baby envy. “I’m twenty-five, and I want kids while I’m still young.”

Bram let out a breath. “Summer, I’ve been out for less than a year.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s soon. But things are going well. And we’ll have the house, with plenty of room. And motherhood is something I want.”

There it was, out in the open. If he said he didn’t agree, that he never wanted kids, I had no idea what I would do.

But he finished buttoning my dress, then he righted his jeans, frowning. “What about college?” he said.

“I’m not quitting,” I said. I meant it. My marks were top of the class, and I loved interior design. “I’m taking it part time anyway. I could hire some help in the shop. And Dad can help me.”

Still he didn’t say no. My heart did a little flip behind my ribs. Was it possible I could have a baby? His baby? Our baby?

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at me. I held his gaze, staring into his gorgeous dark eyes, watching him think it through.

“Okay,” he said. “But I need some time.”

My jaw dropped. I tapped my fingers over my ears. “Wait, wait,” I said. “I just heard the word
okay.
”

“Yeah, you did,” Bram said. “But you also heard me ask for time. I need a few months. I’ve been making steady money. I don’t want to be broke when we have a kid. That’s no good for any of us.”

I felt a burst of joy flow through me, and tears prickled behind my eyes. I made a move to fling myself on him, but he pressed me back, frowning. “Also, first things first,” he said, patting his pockets. “We have to be married.”

Married? Was he serious? “Yes,” I said.

“I already have a ring,” he said, pulling it from the pocket of his jeans. “I’ve been carrying it around. I wasn’t sure when to ask you.”

A ring? He already wanted to marry me? He could have asked me anytime. “Yes!”

“Will you stop?” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to ask anything.”

I bit my lip and tried to restrain myself. “Okay, go ahead.”

He had the ring in his palm. It was slender, soft gold, unadorned. Bram couldn’t afford diamonds. I didn’t care. He could have made it out of paper for all it mattered to me. He’d gone to the trouble of picking it out and buying it for me. The thought made me tremble.

He seemed to hesitate. “I don’t have a speech, sorry,” he said. “I feel like I should say something nice to convince you. But here’s what I have. Summer, you’re beautiful and I love you. Will you marry me?”

Now the tears spilled down my cheeks. “Yes, yes, yes,” I said, and this time I put my arms around him. Because he was mine, and I was his. Forever.

T
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Julie