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I made my way downstairs barefoot, opened a garbage bag, and started filling it with expensive bottles. Then I walked into the darkened pantry and began shoving junk food into a separate bag. That’s when I heard a soft huff behind my back. More of a hiccup, actually. I turned around, thinking it was one of the staff, to find my stepsister standing right in front of me, looking like a ghost of her former self.
We stood in the pantry, staring at each other, the faint light from the range hood outside the room the only thing illuminating our faces.
“Are you crying?” I sneered. Her eyes were shining; her face was wet.
She wiped at her cheeks hurriedly, letting out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I cry?”
“Because your family life is nonexistent, you have no real friends, no particular talents, and once your average beauty fades, you’re pretty much toast?” I offered chivalrously.
She let out a cackle that sounded like a nail scratching a blackboard, before breaking down in a feral wail. I didn’t understand it. Any of it. She’d won. She was here, and I was gone. I hadn’t forgiven her, no. In a sense that I’d still deliver vengeance, if and when the opportunity called for it. But I had accepted the situation for what it was over the years. And I never let her see how upset I was by it. Letting someone know you have an emotional reaction to them was the worst thing you could do for yourself. Especially if you didn’t trust them with said feelings.
“You’re such an asshole, Arsène, no wonder your dad likes me better than you!” She pushed at my chest, but she was still crying, almosthysterically, and we both knew this was just a weak attempt from her to save face.
I flung the bags of junk food and alcoholic beverages over one shoulder, shrugging. “Well, enjoy your meltdown, sis. See you next year. Unless Doug decides he’s finally had enough of you Langstons.”
I tried to sidestep her, but she shoved herself between the door and me. “No! Don’t go.”
This goddamn menace ... I glanced at my watch. It was late, but even if it weren’t, no time was a good time to listen to Grace bitch and moan.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I grunted.
“Actually.” A slow smile spread over her face. It was a pleasant face, I had to admit. She had grown out of her awkward phase. And not only was she hot, but she was also completely off limits. Which, of course, spoke to my adolescent cock. “I could think of better uses for our mouths, seeing as you’re about to leave here in a few hours.”
I swallowed, watching her under half-lidded eyes. The self-respecting man in me wanted to tell her to go ride her own fingers in the shower. The hormonal teenager in me couldn’t wait to know if she’d put that virginal tongue of hers to good use since we’d last kissed.
I arched an eyebrow, downplaying my interest. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that.”
She grinned, masking her pain. “Like, tell you what I wanna do to you?”
“A demonstration would be best.”
“All right, cowboy.”
She closed the door behind her. I flicked the light on. I wanted to see everything when it happened. A part of me didn’t believe this was happening (hormonal teenager). Another thought I was insane for letting her teeth anywhere near my cock (self-respecting man).
But as I was pushed back by my stepsister, my spine colliding with tall glass bottles of imported sparkling water, I decided to takethe chance. Gracelynn dropped to her knees and worked quickly at tugging my pants down my legs. She didn’t even want to kiss. My cock sprang free from my sweatpants. It was long and hard and engorged, having listened to the conversation between us and knowing the score.
She grabbed it by the base, looking a little hesitant. I was pretty sure this was the first time she’d come face to face with a cock. She looked up at me, under thick lashes.
“Do you sometimes think about me? When you’re there, at boarding school?”
All the time. And not good things.
“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck you, the answer is this.” I thrust my hips her way, my cock poking her cheek.
“No, not fuck. Do you want more? Do you ... do you like me?” Her eyes were pleading, but I knew better than to think she was genuine. She was just hurt. Messed up about our parents. If I showed her compassion, she would use it as a weapon against me.
I ran my fingers through her hair, moving it behind her ear with a smirk. “Gracelynn, I’m not here to tell you you’re pretty. If you want to suck my cock, be my guest. If not, move along and let me get out of here. This is too little, too late.”
This, ironically, made her spring into action. She became hot and needy for me. Turned on by the idea of trying to win me over. Her lips covered my crown, and she went to town on it. I tipped my head back, a grunt escaping my mouth. I’d enjoyed a few blowies in the past, but never with anyone I’d known. This felt different. Like submission. I decided seeing Grace submit to me was even better than making her cry into her pillow by being mean to her. Because when I hurt her—she only hated me. When I used her—she’d hate herself afterward too.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew what we were doing was extremely fucked up. Wanting her to hurt. Putting myself in harm’s way. All of it.
“Is this good?” she asked around my penis.
“Deeper.” I grabbed her hair and tilted her back a little, shoving more of myself inside her. She gagged. I chuckled.
She gave it her all, and when I felt like I was about to blow my load, I said, “If you don’t want my cum down your throat, now’s a good time to pull away.”
