base of her throat. What would she have done? Would she have
pushed me away? Or would she have tilted her head back in submission,
offering herself to me, her breasts pressing up against her shirt. My
shaft throbbed as I stroked it, imagining squeezing her breasts,
cupping and kneading until a low moan escaped her throat.
She wanted this like I
did. She’d stood there watching me fuck a girl against the wall. I
wanted to tease her with it, make her admit it. I wanted to take her
nipples between my fingers, pinch them hard and whisper in her ear
her dirty secret, that I’d seen her watching me fuck another girl
against the wall.
She wouldn’t want to
admit it. I could picture her panting, twisting her face to the side,
her eyes closed. She’d feel so embarrassed. I wouldn’t let her
get away with it. I’d make her admit it, working her until her
breath came fast and ragged like mine was becoming as I touched
myself.
I couldn’t wait to
touch her, feel her petals, push a finger up into her sex. She’d be
wet for me, I knew she would. I wanted her worked up, moving her hips
against my finger, pressing against me while I made her admit it. I’d
make her tell me she’d watched me. I wanted to make her frantic,
make her admit she liked watching me fuck.
I was close, my balls
tensing, my cock at its full swollen length, the tip wide and full. I
closed my eyes, imagining her slick, needy pussy, her swollen clit
under my thumb. When I told her to come, she’d come for me, all
over my fingers, quivering and shuddering and screaming, creaming all
over my hand. And I wouldn’t let her off easy, I’d keep at her,
stroking, coaxing more out of her, obsessed by the orgasm crashing
over her entire body again and again.
I came hard, my groan
barely muffled against my pillow. This wasn’t going to last for
much longer. One day soon, it wouldn’t just be my fantasies. I
would get my hands on Jewel. And I would make her come.
CHAPTER 9
Jewel
On Saturday night I
wore my white dress to the fight. Back in my room, it had seemed like
the right thing to do. A no-brainer. I felt beautiful, curvy and
feminine, exactly how I wanted to look and how I wanted him to see
me. I could picture walking in and somehow he’d find me across the
crowded room, looking like a vision of old world glamour and
sexiness. Our eyes would lock and he’d look at me with all that
heat, the intensity of a pent-up animal. Like a drug, I craved it. I
knew we couldn’t be together, not in the way I wanted, but still I
needed to feel this attraction, this pull. I was helpless against it,
drawn, captured.
The white dress left my
shoulders and back bare. I was a lot less covered up than usual. It
was a warm night in L.A., of course all nights were, so I didn’t
even bring a jacket. I drove to the hotel and parked underground in
the garage. My heels made clicks and clacks on the cement as I made
my way over to the elevator, the sound foreign. Flip-flops and
sneakers comprised my wardrobe, but I’d bought something new for
tonight. For Tuck.
I didn’t fully admit
it to myself, that I was doing all of this for him, because of the
growing need deep within me. I could write it off under the guise of
sisterly duty. I should go to his fight to support him. He didn’t
have any other family members doing it. Surely it was the right thing
to do, as his stepsister.
I couldn’t be falling
for him, it didn’t make any sense, I didn’t even really know him.
Was he the spoiled son of a billionaire I’d met before, partying
and tearing his way through women? Or was he the man I’d seen over
the past week, driven and tough as hell?
As I rode up in the
elevator, my heart beat fast and I had no idea what to expect. I’d
never been to anything like an MMA fight. I’d barely attended any
athletic events of any kind. Growing up without a father, we never
had football games on in the house, never listened to baseball as we
drove in the car.
In high school
pushed me away? Or would she have tilted her head back in submission,
offering herself to me, her breasts pressing up against her shirt. My
shaft throbbed as I stroked it, imagining squeezing her breasts,
cupping and kneading until a low moan escaped her throat.
She wanted this like I
did. She’d stood there watching me fuck a girl against the wall. I
wanted to tease her with it, make her admit it. I wanted to take her
nipples between my fingers, pinch them hard and whisper in her ear
her dirty secret, that I’d seen her watching me fuck another girl
against the wall.
She wouldn’t want to
admit it. I could picture her panting, twisting her face to the side,
her eyes closed. She’d feel so embarrassed. I wouldn’t let her
get away with it. I’d make her admit it, working her until her
breath came fast and ragged like mine was becoming as I touched
myself.
I couldn’t wait to
touch her, feel her petals, push a finger up into her sex. She’d be
wet for me, I knew she would. I wanted her worked up, moving her hips
against my finger, pressing against me while I made her admit it. I’d
make her tell me she’d watched me. I wanted to make her frantic,
make her admit she liked watching me fuck.
I was close, my balls
tensing, my cock at its full swollen length, the tip wide and full. I
closed my eyes, imagining her slick, needy pussy, her swollen clit
under my thumb. When I told her to come, she’d come for me, all
over my fingers, quivering and shuddering and screaming, creaming all
over my hand. And I wouldn’t let her off easy, I’d keep at her,
stroking, coaxing more out of her, obsessed by the orgasm crashing
over her entire body again and again.
I came hard, my groan
barely muffled against my pillow. This wasn’t going to last for
much longer. One day soon, it wouldn’t just be my fantasies. I
would get my hands on Jewel. And I would make her come.
CHAPTER 9
Jewel
On Saturday night I
wore my white dress to the fight. Back in my room, it had seemed like
the right thing to do. A no-brainer. I felt beautiful, curvy and
feminine, exactly how I wanted to look and how I wanted him to see
me. I could picture walking in and somehow he’d find me across the
crowded room, looking like a vision of old world glamour and
sexiness. Our eyes would lock and he’d look at me with all that
heat, the intensity of a pent-up animal. Like a drug, I craved it. I
knew we couldn’t be together, not in the way I wanted, but still I
needed to feel this attraction, this pull. I was helpless against it,
drawn, captured.
The white dress left my
shoulders and back bare. I was a lot less covered up than usual. It
was a warm night in L.A., of course all nights were, so I didn’t
even bring a jacket. I drove to the hotel and parked underground in
the garage. My heels made clicks and clacks on the cement as I made
my way over to the elevator, the sound foreign. Flip-flops and
sneakers comprised my wardrobe, but I’d bought something new for
tonight. For Tuck.
I didn’t fully admit
it to myself, that I was doing all of this for him, because of the
growing need deep within me. I could write it off under the guise of
sisterly duty. I should go to his fight to support him. He didn’t
have any other family members doing it. Surely it was the right thing
to do, as his stepsister.
I couldn’t be falling
for him, it didn’t make any sense, I didn’t even really know him.
Was he the spoiled son of a billionaire I’d met before, partying
and tearing his way through women? Or was he the man I’d seen over
the past week, driven and tough as hell?
As I rode up in the
elevator, my heart beat fast and I had no idea what to expect. I’d
never been to anything like an MMA fight. I’d barely attended any
athletic events of any kind. Growing up without a father, we never
had football games on in the house, never listened to baseball as we
drove in the car.
In high school
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