Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance (13 page)

I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is going on when I realize that I smell pancakes—and coffee. I see a smear of batter on the shirt I picked up for Josh, which is cute, I must admit. Or it would be, but I don’t have a damn bit of food in this house.
He must have left and—

Before I can finish my thought, he scowls and clicks the cell phone off, placing it back in his pocket. His eyes move over to the door, and I back away, but he’s seen me. I sit back on the bed, but I can’t find an especially appropriate way to sit since I’m still only wearing my t-shirt. When the door opens, Josh cocks his head and grins.

“There are pancakes! I made them,” he announces. Then he comes to the bed and sweeps me up with his right arm, kissing me tenderly and bringing his left hand to my breast. “Oh fuck,” he moans, his lips barely touching mine. “I love it when you don’t wear a bra, Natty. Always have actually. You didn’t at prom, remember? You had that dress with the tiny straps, and—”

“How do you remember that? You came with that cheerleader—”

“Monica. But I kept finding you so I could look at your tits.” He brushes his thumb over my nipple, and a searing heat rips through my body. And God help me, the undeniable throbbing has returned to my core. He keeps circling my nipple, kissing my lips and then moving his lips to the sensitive hollow of my neck.
 

Josh. Who was that girl on the phone
? I open my mouth to ask him, but instead I say something else entirely. “Josh…” I start, “I’m so wet.” I blush as soon as I say it, but Josh laughs.

“Fuck, Natty.” He brings his mouth close to my ear, then pulls my earlobe in his mouth. “You tell me that and I’ll be getting you to sit on my face. Why you gotta get me all worked up like this when I just wanted to cook you breakfast before your shift?”

“Josh—last night—” I try to get my thoughts together, try to say that we should take things slower, that we should stop and think about what we both want. The reasonable, rational Natalie wants that conversation, but the
woman
part of Natalie is stronger. And that part of me just wants Josh—it doesn’t matter how.
 

“I know I should let you decide, give you time—and I meant to.” He bends down and puts his mouth to my breast, pulling my nipple between his lips and sucking it gently, slowly, until it stands stiff in his mouth. He flicks his tongue across the surface and bites down gently before pulling away. I’ve never come from a man simply touching my breasts, but it feels like I might as Josh cups my tits with both hands and circles his thumbs over my nipples. The fire sears through me, threatening to crest and burn hot, high, not relent until I’m satisfied. I melt into his hands, and he pulls me in and keeps circling around my nipple rhythmically, as he covers my mouth with his. Another flood of wetness rushes between my legs, telling me that my body wants him, needs him, bows to him like it did last night.
 

My body, my mind, they both remember what it felt like when Josh left me standing right here, in this very house, on a day not unlike this one. But that pain seems worthless now, if I can have something like this.
 

“I’m so hard for you, Nat,” he says, his lips brushing against my ear. “I thought I could be a good boy around you, but I can’t. Not after I felt you on my fingers, after you sucked my cock and made me come harder than I ever had in my life.” He presses his cock into me, and I sway, dizzy with the arousal that consumes me, threatens to swallow me whole.
 

“What do you want, Josh?” The rational part of me
wants
to win out, but I’m not drawing away from him, and I’m pressing into his fingers as he brings them between my legs. I look up at him, meeting those hazel green eyes, and I can see the perfect flecks of gold buried within.

“I want you, Nat. Haven’t you gotten that?”

“I do, uh, get that, Josh. But I don’t know if you want a one-night stand or—oh Jesus—” He finds my clit with his fingers, pushing against it insistently.

“I want you, Nat. I want it all. I want you bent over, serving yourself up to me whenever you want it. I want you to wake up when I’m buried between your legs, licking you, tasting you—and with every moment, I want to show you how much I regret leaving you that day.” The fire threatens to take me over, and the desire is crashing through me like an unstoppable force. “I want you,
now
.”
 

“We still don’t have a—” I can barely get the words out, I’m so lost in wanting him—needing him inside of me. All the pain of the past has evaporated into the charged air around us, and I’m at his mercy.
 

“I went out and got some condoms this morning,” he says. His voice is gravely, raw with desire. I can’t process what he’s just told me—it doesn’t fit within the framework of what the last ten days have been, his need for recovery, his not leaving the sofa.

“With what? How? What?” I pull away from him slightly, my brain still confused, thoughts still hazy from being so close to him.

“Walked over to the lot where I’m keeping my Camaro and—” Something starts buzzing against my thigh, and I absently wonder if Josh has figured out a way to get his dick to vibrate. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t surprise me a damn bit.
 

“I need to take this, Nat.”

“What? No, no, no. You don’t need to take this, Josh. I want you to fuck me. Every other girl in town has had the chance.” He snorts and then laughs, but still he pulls the phone from his shorts and answers it, stepping away from me. My mouth drops open. He can’t do this.

“Yeah?” he says into the phone. I lean back against the wall, watching him, dumbfounded. His eyes dart over to me. “This isn’t a great time—I get it. I don’t want the police involved either... No I can’t fight tomorrow. Hell no. My stepsister—my doctor—she says—Okay, I get it. Maybe next week, yeah. I can train some, I think.”

Stepsister, doctor. Not Nat, not Natty, not the sexy, raspy way he says my name.
Where do I fit? Who the fuck knows? I’d take fucktoy right about now, no bones about it. Well, lots of boning about it.
I look down. My nipples still stand stiff. I pull my shirt down to hide them, to go back to normal. His eyes meet mine again, but the glimmer has vanished.
 

“Fine, yes, I can come today,” he says, clicking the phone off.
 

“What the fuck, Josh?” I say, heat pricking at the backs of my eyes. I want to cry—I want to scream, but I’m not that kind of woman. I’ve kept my cool for so long with Josh. That’s the
role
I fit into in this situation. Still, I’m fucking angry, and I probably couldn’t articulate why if someone asked me. Because he called me his doctor? Because he’s leaving? Because I’m
horny?

What’s worse, the arousal still courses like fire through my body. I’m unsatisfied. I need to be
filled.

“Nat, I’m sorry to do this, but they need me at the gym—”

“They who?”
 

“Ash. My trainer, my sponsor. He says Frank is breathing down his neck, wants me to fight. And if I don’t show up, Frank will get suspicious. And if Frank gets suspicious, then—”

“Okay, I get it. Then he might do something to wreck the big fight, or he might find out about it or whatever.” Josh nods, his face solemn. I flip my hair to the side, pretending I didn’t think he was talking about
Katy
. Thank God he wasn’t.
Oh God, am I becoming that girl? I can’t. I’m fucking twenty-four.
 

“I hope you understand—”

“Sure, you can make your own decisions, Josh.” My voice comes out a little too casual, and he raises an eyebrow. “But you do need your sling, even if you’re healing remarkably fast.” He doesn’t catch the undertone in that last comment, but Josh has never been one for catching undertones.
 

“I didn’t mean to leave you like this, Nat. It’s not what I want.”

“It’s what you’re doing, so go,” I say. Just like that, my real fantasy come to life is over. I watch Josh as he hurries out of the house, keys jangling in his pocket. I realize I didn’t even know he had keys—I didn’t even know he still had his car. And here I was, about to dive into his world without a second thought.
 

I stand there, frozen to the spot, minutes after the door has closed and Josh has disappeared again. My deeply unsatisfied, angrily aroused body wants
something
. When I move, I’m slow as molasses, heading toward the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. I fix myself a plate without thinking, making my stack seven pancakes high, and I drown it in syrup and butter. Standing at the counter, I methodically eat my way through the stack. And even when my stomach is full, I still feel a nagging emptiness that has nothing to do with hunger.
 

Silently, numbly, I get ready for my shift while Beatrice watches me. The cat meows every now and then, like she’s worried about me. I look down at her and scratch her head as she massages her face against my leg and kneads my foot, trying to get my attention.

“It’s fine, Bee. He’s his own man. He can do whatever shit he pleases.” I still crave the release of his body next to mine, him entering me, owning me. I try to let it go while I get ready to go to work far too early, but even after the comfortable daily routines, I still feel undone.
 

And when exactly hasn’t this man undone me?
 

When I head out, I leave the door unlocked so Josh can get back in when he comes back—if he comes back.

The drive back to my apartment is the worst—and longest—drive of my life. My shoulder still smarts, so I’m mostly driving with my right hand. The damn sling is in the passenger seat. I try not to look over at it, because it makes me think of Natalie, and it makes me think about how much of an idiot I am. It was foolish of me to ever show up at her house. I should have known I’d be bringing trouble with me. I always do. That much
hasn’t
changed in three years.
 

Katy had told me on the phone that Frank was looking for me, trying to find out where I’d gone. She said he’d been around to my apartment three times, even though she kept telling him I wasn’t there. Even Katy sounded scared shitless when she described what Frank was doing with the newest kids, getting them roughed up before they even stepped in the cage. But it’s Ash’s words that stick with me.
 

“He wants you back here, Josh,” Ash told me. “He’s getting angry, and I tell ya, he needs to think you’re still part of his crew. I don’t have a girl—or anyone I care about around here—but you do. He’ll find Nat if you stay there a day longer.”

I think of the horror movies where the kid stays in one place like a fucking idiot, and you’re screaming at the TV to get them to
move, move, move,
because the serial killer is right behind them. That ain’t going to be me. It can’t be. It’s not just
me
anymore, and I hadn’t fucking thought that through.

I beat against the steering wheel as I pull into my apartment complex. I run up the stairs, holding my left arm against my body, wondering how I’m going to convince everyone at the gym I’m ready for training again. I pick up the manila folder I keep at the edge of the counter—if Frank’s sniffing around, wondering where I am, this’ll be his first stop. And I’m fucked if he finds this folder. I stuff the folder into a grocery bag and grab a pair of shorts, my boxers, an extra shirt. I’m not ready to go back to the gym, but I have to.

I hear a muffled knock at the front door. My first thought runs to Frank, if he’s come looking already. He
knows
I needed at least a week to recover, and with the bruised ribs, maybe more. If he wants me to be back—to really fight, he’d leave his top fighter alone for more than a few days at a time. But hell, he’s only interested in the bottom line.
 

“Fucking asshole,” I mutter under my breath. I pause for a moment, hear the thudding at the door again, this time louder.
 

Fuck. It’s Frank. It’s gotta be.
My heart races. I wonder if he’s been looking for the place I’m staying, or if he came here first.
Natalie. I have to protect Natalie—by staying away or by going back to her?
 

I walk over to the front door, my step falling into the practiced swagger of a fighter. Instinctively, I clutch my hands into fists, even though it sends a shooting pain up my left arm. Like Frank taught me a long time ago—before I figured out what a worthless piece of shit he was—I was always prepared to fight, always prepared to defend myself.
 

Fists raised, I put my hand to the old brass doorknob and listen for signs of more than one person lurking around outside. I turn the knob, and I feel the soft gasp of air as the door creaks open. I fling the door open hard and step outside, ready to shuffle, ready to strike.
 

“What the fuck do you want?” I almost can’t process what I’m seeing—it’s not Frank standing in front of me, but my coach.
 

“Fucking hell, Joshie. One bad fight left you kind of touchy, no?” I relax my hands, and the anxiety starts to fade from my body.
 
Even at my own apartment, I’m afraid of Frank—of what he can do. And worse, I’m afraid of Natalie, of what I’m doing do her—what she’s doing to me. I think back to last night with Natalie, how perfect her body matched mine, how much I wanted her. I shudder, and my stomach drops. With my right hand, I wipe sweat away from my forehead. Not much scares me, but even the
idea
of Frank finding Natalie activates the deepest reactions in my subconscious—fear, rage, the instinct to protect what’s mine.