Side Swiped By My Step Brother (11 page)

              “I’m not talking about that. Well, maybe a little, it was weird, but that’s just my mom. Who’s going to be your stepmom. Which means we’re going to be stepsiblings. Why does that not bother you? Why do you think it’s still okay for us to be having sex?”

              He gives me an amused look. “I really am starting to believe that this verbal resistance of yours really is your favorite form of foreplay. It’s a bit unorthodox, I admit, but I like it.”

              “It isn’t anything except me trying not to engage in incest. Which might seem a bit unorthodox to you, but is actually something I strive to stay away from. And considering, up until now, I’ve only ever had a sister and I’m not a lesbian, it hasn’t been that difficult.”

              “Well, I’m thrilled to hear that. And nothing has to get difficult, if you don’t want it to. But I’ve got this growing suspicion that you might actually like things to be difficult, at least a little bit. Because it presents a challenge or something. I think you like the idea of part of you pretending that you’re completely aghast at the fact that we have sex—and, might I add, really fucking great sex—and you think it’s something you shouldn’t be doing. But then there’s this whole other part of you who is completely thrilled and turned on by the fact that you’ve found someone who knows how to give it you just the way you want it.”

              He keeps talking, and I struggle to remain impassive, because what he’s saying is absolutely true. And how infuriating is it to have someone tell you the truth about yourself, especially when you’ve been actively trying to deny it?

              But I’m not going to let him know this, just like I’m not going to let him know that just hearing him say he knows how to give it to me is majorly turning me on. It would be so easy to reach out and grab him, throw myself into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist, kiss him all over. He would be totally delighted by that, I know it.

              “I have a question,” I interrupt.

              “By all means,” he says.

              “What would you do if I ripped those pants of yours off and got down on my knees and gave you a blow job right here, right in your beloved childhood lake house? With the chance that any one of our poor, unsuspecting family members could walk by?”

              “Now this is more in line with what I’m talking about. What would I do? Well, let’s see. I’d congratulate myself at being one of the luckiest blokes alive to have a beautiful girl dominate my cock like that. It’s every guy’s fantasy, you know, I don’t care how macho they are—every guy would like his cock to be dominated by a gorgeous woman at some point or another. I’d have you look up at me. Not the entire time, because that’s creepy, but I’d like to look down at you, have our gazes lock, and see the way your mouth is full of my cock. I’d let you blow me for as long as you wanted. We could maybe even make a contest out of it—who’s going to give out first? My cock or your mouth? I’d let you think perhaps you were going to win, but that simply wouldn’t be the case. So then I’d bend you over the ottoman right there, I’d marvel at your beautiful arse before I slid my cock into your fanny, which will be—”

              “Uh, hold up,” I say. “There will be no cock-sliding into any fanny, especially not mine. My ex-boyfriend tried to whole anal sex bit with me and it was probably the most painful experience ever.”

              Jai smiles. “You’re not familiar with many British colloquialisms, are you?”

              “No, but I know that fanny is your rear.”

              “In America, yes, in Britain, no. Fanny is the same as pussy. Which makes the whole concept of your American fanny packs pretty amusing.”

              “That is so completely besides the point. I don’t even know why I brought that up, the part about the blow job.”

              “I know why. Because you’re horny as hell and you really want to do it, despite the fact that we’re going to be stepsiblings.”

              “No, I don’t. I guess I brought it up because I wanted to prove to myself that I don’t want to do it, and that we’re not going to do it. No more sexual contact between us, okay? I really mean it. And if you respect me—as a person, as a woman, as your soon-to-be-stepsister—then you’ll stop trying to get into my pants.”

              “Your knickers.”

              “Whatever.”

              He rubs a hand across the lower part of his face. “Ah, Emma. We are both adults, are we not? And we’re not doing anything wrong. We’re really not. You’re being a bit silly, if you want to know the truth. Let’s just say our parents weren’t getting married. Then what? Would that change the way you’re feeling?”

              “Of course it would!” I snap. “If our parents weren’t getting married, then we wouldn’t be stepsiblings. That’s the problem that I have here. That you, for whatever reason, seem totally fine with. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with this?”

              “I think you’re being rather uptight. I’d say you just need to get laid, but . . .”

              “But nothing. If we can’t be around each other without wanting to engage in some sexual activity, then we’re just going to have to avoid each other, all right? Really. We’re being selfish. Our parents are getting married—they should be the ones running around having sex. Not that I want to be thinking about that.”

              “You didn’t hear them last night?”

              “Ew, no.”

              Jai takes a few steps toward me. “Put your arms down,” he says.

              “No. I mean it, Jai, I’m not doing this anymore.”

              He takes another step, closing the distance between us. He puts his hands on my upper arms.

              “I wish you knew how gorgeous you were,” he says. “Every inch of you. And you know what? That’s the first thing I thought when I saw you at Chateau Marmont. Seems like a long time ago now, doesn’t it?”

              I wriggle free from his grasp. “Look, as nice as it would be to take a walk down memory lane, I’m not going to let you try to make me feel bad about the fact that I don’t think we should be having sex anymore.”

              “You don’t think that it’s really something of a coincidence that, of all the people out there online, you would end up contacting me?”

              “Who cares? And really—a sign for what? If I hadn’t contacted you—actually, it was Megan who set the whole thing up—if that hadn’t happened, I would’ve met you in person at dinner. We still would’ve ended up meeting. So I don’t think it actually means anything. You’re totally grasping at straws.”

              “Okay then.” He holds his hands up, the universal gesture of defeat. “If that is how you feel, okay.”

              Part of me is relieved that he’s finally hearing my words, but there’s a small part of me that’s disappointed. I can’t tell if it’s disappointment in myself, at the fact that he’s accepting this, or that the best sex I’ve ever had has wound up being with my future stepsibling.

              “Well . . . thank you,” I say. “It means a lot to me that you’re hearing what I’m saying and you’re going to respect it. And if it would be better for us to just sort of, you know, stay apart for a little while, then I’m willing to do that.”

              “You mean avoid each other so we don’t end up shagging?”

              “Yes, if you must put it that way. I’m just saying, it might be better to do it that way at first. Not like we can never be in the same room together or anything like that, but maybe at first it would be good if we just steer clear of each other.”

              “Because you find me so irresistible you just can’t keep your hands off me.”

              I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m certainly not turned on by over confident self absorbed assholes, so if you keep this up, we won’t have to worry about avoiding each other for the next couple of days.”

              “Aw, come on, Emma, I’m just joking around. It’s what I do when I’m being told something I don’t really want to hear.”

              “I’m sorry, Jai. I really am. But I think this is for the best.”

              “All right,” he says. “I’ll give you your space.”

He gives me a rueful smile and then turns and leaves. He doesn’t even try to kiss me. Which is good, because it means he heard everything I just said, but I still can’t help but feel disappointed, too.

Chapter Fifteen

Jai

Over the course of the next two days, I do believe I’ve spent more time with my father than I have in the past two decades. There’s been golf, a trip around the lake on his boat, sitting around drinking beer—mostly the sort of activities that are conducive to lengthy conversations, which is something Dad and I usually do not partake in. But I indulge him, especially because Emma is still avoiding me. Three days after that little chat we had and the most we’ve said to each other is “Good morning” and “Would you pass the relish?” I figured she would’ve relented by now, but no, she seems firmly committed to this idea of us never hooking up again. She and her sister spend a lot of time with Stephanie, sunning themselves by the lake or the pool, drinking wine coolers, laughing about who knows what. Whenever I go down there, Stephanie and Jessica are charming and friendly; Emma ignores me. The first couple times it was a bit of a turn on, but now it’s just getting irritating.

              So when I hear they’re all going out on Dad’s boat for the afternoon, I manage to beg off it and get Dad to let me borrow his car. I hate driving and I especially hate driving in L.A., but that should tell you how much I don’t want to be out on the lake with Emma so she can ignore me the entire time.

              I don’t have much of a plan; I just decide to get in the car and go. Mum phones just as I’m starting the car, so I kill the engine and have a chat with her.

              “You caught me right as I was about to drive straight into the seventh level of hell,” I say. “Otherwise known as the L.A. freeways.”

              “Do be careful,” she says, and I can hear the shudder in her voice. “I assume your father let you borrow his car?”

              “He did. I’ve been a good bloke the past couple days and have done everything he’s wanted me to. He probably figures he owes me.”

              “Are you enjoying yourself? How’s the house?”

              “It’s good. About the same as I remember it, I guess. The lake isn’t totally polluted yet, either, which I suppose is a minor miracle, this being L.A. and all.”

              Mum laughs. “You know, I can’t help but wonder sometimes if your total disdain for that place is learned or genetic.”

              I consider this. “Both, probably.”

              “Well, I just wanted to check in with you. I’m glad to hear that you’re having a nice time. Oh, and you’ll never guess who I ran into the other day.”

              “Who?”

              “You don’t want to guess?”

              I run through a mental Rolodex. “I have no clue, Mum.”

              “Kate Brown.”

              “Oh,yeah? How is Katie?”

              “She’s good. She looks great. We had a nice chat. It was a little strange, though, at one point, because she said she’d just seen you.”

              “Just seen me? No, I don’t think so. I can’t remember the last time I saw Kate.”

              “Oh, well. Perhaps I misunderstood her. Either way, it was lovely to see her and I told her I’d tell her we’d spoken next time I talked to you.”

              Kate Brown is one of those people the general public has seen in movies and TV shows on numerous occasions, yet they just don’t realize it. She’s a stunt double and I met her years ago when my dad was filming a movie in Newmarket about horse racing. This was an action thriller type movie, though, so it also involved high speed car chases, moto-x, and I believe someone was also supposed to jump out of a helicopter. I was just a young teen when this all happened, and completely in awe when I got to visit my dad on the set one day and meet Kate, who is hot as hell and can do all sorts of crazy shit, like back flips and jumping off of roofs or from very high cliffs, or wheelie a motorcycle for fifty yards. Totally normal. I was more than a bit enamored, you could say, but it didn’t matter how much I was interested in her. She had zero interest in me. At least like that, anyway. Guys weren’t her thing, and she wasn’t just saying that. But she treated me like a kid brother and my dad treated her like the daughter he never had. Once every four or five years or so we’d run into each other, and it was so easy to just pick up where we left off, like resuming a conversation.

              “I’ll be sure to tell Dad that you saw her,” I say. “He’ll be thrilled to hear it. Anyway, Mum, I’m going to head out now—I’ve just been sitting in the driveway—so I’ll give you a ring after the wedding. And I’ll be home not long after that. I’ll go get you a souvenir right now, how about that?”

              She laughs. “You drive safely, now. Remember—it’s the right side of the road.”

              “And green means go and red means stop? And yellow also means go?”

              “Okay, now you’re making me nervous. I’m getting off the phone.”

              “All right, Mum. I will drive safely. Talk to you soon.”

              I toss the phone on the passenger seat and start the car again, then drive slowly down the driveway. Now, if I were Kate, I’d have revved the thing so you could hear the engine miles away, and I’d peel out of the driveway so fast there’d be thirty feet of burned rubber in my wake.

              I drive aimlessly for a while, not really any clue where I’m going. I end up on Sunset Blvd and decide to park and walk around for a bit. I pop into a tacqueria and get a burrito, which I eat at a table by the window. A blond girl and her friend are at the other table, both of them giving me the eye. Neither are as cute as Emma, and I’m pretty sure the blond’s tits are fake, but I give her a smile when I catch her looking at me, and that’s all the invitation she needs.

              She shimmies over in cut offs and a pink tank top.

              “Hi,” she says. She nods to the empty chairs across from me. “Are these seats taken?”

              “Nope.”

              This close and yes, those tits are fake as hell.

              “Do you mind . . .?”

              She lets the question trail off. This close and I can also see she’s considerably older than I initially thought, with her fake spray tan and Botoxed brow.

              “Go right ahead,” I say, and the blond looks at her friend and giggles.

              “Oh, he’s got an accent. We love a man with an accent!”

              “Is that so?”

              “Yes,” the blond say emphatically. “An accent makes a man a thousand times more attractive—not that you need it,” she adds.

              I smile. “That’s very sweet of you.”

              “So clearly, you’re from out of town,” the blond says. “Or did you just move?”

              “No, I’ll be heading back to London in about a week. I’m here for a wedding, actually.”

              “Not your own, I hope.”

              “No, definitely not.”

              “Okay, good.” She smiles and her face barely moves. “My friend and I—Jenna, and I’m Carly—we don’t live far from here. Would you like to come over?” She looks at the bottle of lemonade I’ve half-drunk. “We could have something a little stronger.” Her friend, Jenna, nods and gives me an encouraging smile.

              “We’ll definitely make it worth your while,” she says.

              I lean back in my chair. If I had to guess, these girls are probably in their early- or mid-thirties. An early- to mid-thirties bird is generally going to be a great shag, at least in all the experiences I’ve had so far. She knows what she wants, how she likes it, and she’s not afraid to ask for it. And a threesome with two mid-thirties girls is likely to be an all-out fuck fest that involves all orifices and much broken furniture.

              And these girls aren’t bad looking—they’re just starting to realize that they’re not young anymore and that they’re not going to be able to count on their looks much longer. Right now, they’re really just looking for some validation, and what better way to get it from a young guy with an accent?

              I consider, for a moment. It would be like doing a public service almost, giving these two a much-needed boost of self esteem. And to suddenly go from having a ton of sex to having none has been a bit jarring, and I wouldn’t mind a nice ride right about now, either. But that would completely fuck up anything with Emma—if she found out, but I don’t want to feel like I’m keeping something from her. Even though we’re not going out. We’re not even having sex anymore. We’re not anything. But . . . still.

              “That’s a very tempting offer,” I say, “but regrettably, I’m going to have to decline.”

              “Oh,” Carly says. The two girls pout for a second. “That is too bad. We were just headed to a sex shop, actually.”

              “A sex shop?”

              “Yes. We’ve got a couple things we need to get.” I think Carly is trying to raise an eyebrow at me, but the Botox is preventing that. “You could come with us.”

              “You two birds want to take me to a sex shop.” I pretend as though I’m mulling this over, even though I already know the answer. “Sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”              The shop is close by, so we walk. I let each of them take an arm, so here I am, moseying down Sunset Blvd with what could very well be two prostitutes on either arm, and boy if I don’t feel like a blue-blooded American. Someone please, come take my picture. Except . . . I don’t think Emma would be too thrilled about that.

              The shop the girls take me to is something of an enclave, with lots of leather, latex, and a wall of dildos in every color of the rainbow.

              “Were you ladies looking for something in particular?” I ask.

              “I need a new vibrator,” Carly says.

              Jenna giggles. “Her previous one broke from overuse.”

              But first, they drag me over to the clothing section, where they ask my opinion about various negligees, g-strings, and crotchless panties. All the cute little lingerie has me thinking about Emma, though, and I wonder if perhaps I should get her something. Would she like a flaming pink pair of crotchless knickers? Or some edible underwear? A latex full body suit with holes cut out for the crotch and tits? Hmm.

              Carly takes my hand and pulls me over to the vibrators and dildos. “You must have a girlfriend,” she says. “And that’s why you don’t want to come back to the apartment with us.”

              “It isn’t quite that,” I say, looking at the dozens and dozens of choices. Who knew there were so many options? They range from little silver bullets no more than two inches long to a huge black horse cock with a suction cup attached to the base. The thing looks like a serious weapon.

              “What’s it like then?” Carly picks up one of the boxes. “Because I sure wouldn’t mind you getting me off as opposed to this thing.”

              “I guess . . . I guess you could say that I’m in active pursuit of someone. Someone who both does and does not want to be pursued.”

              “She must be blind then, if she doesn’t want to be pursued by you.” Carly puts the box back and picks up another, this one a cock with a little rabbit. “Here it is,” she says. “The best vibrator on the market. Maybe you should get her this.”

              Something else has caught my eye though, and I move a few steps away to get a closer look. I pick up the box.

              “I think this,” I say.

              Carly makes a face, or tries to. Jenna has come over, and both women are looking at me skeptically.

              “She’s into that?” Carly says.

“I don’t think I could ever use something like that,” Jenna says. It’s clear that both ladies think I should put the thing back and either pick something else or just give in and go back to their apartment and fuck them silly, but I’m not going to do that. I bring the box up to the register and I try to imagine the look on Emma’s face when I give it to her. This is going to be fucking hilarious.