Mia
I wake up sometime in the middle of the night, still in the clothes I wore all day. I must have drifted off after that unexpectedly hot chat with Drake. And then I did what he told me to do after our chat. How could I not? He had me wound up and hot as hell.
So once our call ended, I made myself come by replaying the sound of his dirty words in my head, and it did not take long at all. Then, I took a picture of myself, like he asked, and I sent it.
After coming down from that high, I started to wonder if I was getting a little too attached to this mystery guy. I would normally never masturbate after a call because the guy told me to. After I get off work, I’m off work. Meaning, I put it all away and don’t think about it until I flip that camera on again. But after just two chats with Drake, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s different.
It’s probably just the anonymous thing. And the fact that I’ve seen his abs and his dick, and both were impressive.
But even without the sex stuff, I feel comfortable enough to actually open up to him. To show him the real me. Not the fake, camgirl me that is always on, giving my patrons just enough to keep them interested without letting them in too deep.
Which is ridiculous.
He’s probably just another pervy guy on the app who wants to see some tits and ass, and he’s willing to pay for it. There’s no way he cares about the real me, no matter how much he pretends to. None of them do.
I pick up my phone and check the time. Two thirty-five.
I toss and turn for a while, replaying the private chat with Drake. Moments from my day with Garrett keep slipping through as well. Something seems off with him. That call out of the blue yesterday and then him showing up and going on a walk with me. Is this really about my dad? Or has he just started being nice to me because he wants to. He hasn’t been as cruel or as mocking as he usually is.
And that whole talk about sex on our walk was way out of character. To Garrett, I am and have always been his annoying little sister. No amount of makeup or cleavage is ever going to change that. I’m dreaming if I let myself believe it could be any different.
Even if he was attracted to me, Garrett does not take relationships seriously enough to actually be in one long-term. He is destined to be a cocky bachelor for the rest of his life, and I don’t think that’s something he’d ever mourn.
When sleep eludes me for another thirty minutes, I give up and climb out of bed. The house is silent, but I like the silence sometimes. Life often feels so loud that I enjoy sitting in the stillness for a while. Alone with my thoughts, all of which are currently consumed by the sound of some sexy stranger’s voice, echoing on repeat in my head.
I pad silently down the stairs, but it’s dark and quiet. When I hear the laugh track of an old sitcom playing in the basement, I keep going down the steps. The TV is playing in the living room, and I see Garrett on the couch, his face illuminated by the glow of the television.
“Hey.” His voice carries faintly across the dim room.
He looks barely awake, with tousled hair and dark circles under his eyes. It’s strange to see him so grim looking. Garrett is usually bright and cheerful.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, hovering by the staircase. I don’t want to come any closer without an invitation.
Then, to my surprise, he lifts his blanket, inviting me to come sit next to him. I hesitate, not quite sure how to react, since the Garrett I know would tell me to go to bed or ignore me.
“Not really,” he replies. I take his invitation and sit on the cushion next to him, so there’s a good foot of space between us. He lays the blanket over me so I’m wrapped in warmth.
“What are you watching?”
“Golden Girls,” he replies with a laugh. “It’s the only thing on at three in the morning.”
“I love this show.”
He lifts his arm and drapes it across the back of the couch. “Me too.”
We watch together for a while, laughing in unison at Blanche’s sex jokes and Dorothy’s one-liners. When the next commercial break comes on, I glance up at Garrett and notice a blankness in his expression I’ve never seen before.
“Everything okay?” I ask. I can’t quite explain what’s off about him, but it’s almost like there are so many thoughts swirling in there that he’s not really existing to the outside world.
And the last thing I would ever expect is for him to open up to me.
Which he doesn’t. “Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?”
He lifts his arm away from me, as if he’s worried that almost touching me is a problem.
“I’m fine,” I reply.
“So, what’s new with you?” he asks, making small talk. “Any new…ventures?”
I turn toward him. Garrett has always teased me about my failed attempts at life, and I remember how encouraging Drake was, how he said trying was better than regretting the missed opportunity later.
“Why would I tell you? So you can make fun of me for failing at something again?”
He looks affected, a shocked expression on his face as he turns toward me. “Why would I make fun of you?”
“Because that’s what you do. You know, it’s better to at least try at something than regret not trying later on,” I say, but I don’t miss the way he rolls his eyes and looks away.
“Wise words.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Mia, I’m not making fun of you. I just asked what you’ve been up to. I’m proud of you for trying different things.”
“No, you’re not,” I say, turning toward the TV. For some reason, I feel my lower lip tremble and my eyes sting with tears. Why do I even care? It shouldn’t matter to me what Garrett thinks about me.
Except that it does.
“For the record,” I continue, “I really like my job now, and I’m making enough to finally move out of our parents’ basement.”
“Oh yeah? Doing what?” There’s a harshness in his tone that stops me from answering. He’s such a cocky asshole sometimes. The last thing I would ever do is actually open up to him about what I do. He would only judge me more.
“Never mind,” I mutter, throwing the blanket off of me and moving to stand. But his hand is on my arm, pulling me back down. I glare at him, mouth hanging open in surprise. “Let me go.”
“No. You’re being a brat. Just answer the question.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” I argue, trying to get up again. This time his arms wrap around my middle and drag me down onto his lap.
“Why not? What do you have to hide, Mia? Because I don’t believe your lies about being in data entry.”
He’s mocking me and it has my blood boiling. So I take a swing at him, trying to slap him across the face, but he’s too fast, catching my wrist in his hand. I’m struggling against his hold until we’re wrestling, but he’s so much stronger than me that, within minutes, he has me face down on the couch with all of his body weight resting on my back.
“You’re such an asshole!” I yell into the cushion.
“Why does everything have to be a fight with you?” he argues, a hint of mocking humor in his tone. “You’re so goddamn feisty.”
“Me? You’re the one lying on me like you want to fuck me!”
He laughs in my ear, a low gravelly chuckle. “Trust me, brat. If I wanted to fuck you, I would.”
I struggle against him some more. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you can’t stand me, so I don’t have to worry about it.”
I swear I must be imagining things because I feel his hips grind against my backside, and there’s definitely something stiff in his pants as he does it. Heat courses up my spine in a flurry of arousal and confusion. Why on earth is Garrett getting hard?
Does wrestling with his stepsister really get him aroused?
“On second thought…a little hate-sex might be fun.” His breath is against my ear and I gasp at his words. Heat floods my belly at the thought. Is he being serious?
I’ve given up all my fight against his hold now. Instead, I find myself pressing my hips back against him. Almost as if I’m searching for the growing erection in his pants.
“Garrett,” I murmur, and the energy between us quickly changes from playful to…something else.
“Do you want me to get off you? Just say the word, Mia.”
But I don’t say a word. I lift my head from the couch, feeling his breath against my cheek, turning my face just enough that his mouth ends up only an inch away from mine. His hands, which were previously holding my wrists in a fierce, painful grip, move to my fingers, so our hands are clasped.
Then he grinds again. And I let out a loud moan, pushing my hips back again.
This is crossing a line. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I still don’t really know what this is and there’s no denying how much we both want it, so I don’t say a word.
His lips brush my neck and jaw, then move up to my earlobe before he whispers, “What is this new job you’re not telling me about, Mia?”
“I can’t tell you,” I reply, moving my head in search of his lips.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks as one hand drifts down from my arm, over my body, and squeezes between my belly and the couch. My bottoms grow wet as his fingers graze the sensitive flesh below my belly button. I’m assaulted by a tingling arousal from his touch.
I can barely reply. It’s too strange to vocalize, but God yes, I do want him to touch me. So bad.
So I give him a weak whimper and “Mh-hm.”
“Then tell me. Don’t keep secrets from me.”
“No,” I mumble as I squirm under his body, desperate to get his fingers where I want them.
This is insane. Just a couple hours ago, I was video-chatting with Drake and now I’m halfway to having sex with my stepbrother. What is happening?
Then, without warning, his body is off the couch and the weight of him on top of me is gone. I sit up in a rush and gape at him. “What?”
He laughs and then shrugs. “If you want something, you have to be able to give something.”
Anger burns through me so hot that I grab the throw pillow and chuck it angrily at his face. “You jerk!”
Jumping off the couch, I storm away toward the stairs. I was putty in the palm of his hand, and he had me moaning and salivating for him like a cat in heat. It’s humiliating.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“If you change your mind, I’ll be down here waiting,” he calls after me, but I’m already halfway up the stairs. My body is still buzzing with exhilaration, but I won’t be going back down to him. He’s never getting me like that again.
