Andy
Thump. Thump. Thump. Heat swarmed my face while sweat covered my skin. My heart hammered as Brandon finished. I couldn’t tell if anxiety caused fear, or if it was the other way around. A slow tremble shook my hands as realization carved into me.
I didn't know if I wanted kids, so we always wore protection. Hell, the first time he brought up children was at dinner with Madden tonight. The shock I felt then mirrored the gratefulness I felt now.
Imagine getting pregnant when you stared at your nephew while being fucked by the person you were going to marry? Honest to God, I should be in a fucking straitjacket. How could anyone do that?
The way he leaned against the door, controlling the entire room, all while I had my normal boring sex with my normal boring fiancé.
For the first time in our entire relationship, I orgasmed. And it had nothing to do with Brandon and everything to do with my nephew standing twelve feet away, holding his dick like it was a message.
Madden was my fucking flesh and blood. Not technically, the devil on my shoulder argued. Dox’s parents—our parents—adopted me when he moved out at sixteen. Addicted to coke and the fast life, he no longer needed them.
They selfishly wanted a fresh start.
In came me.
Parenting never was their strong suit and it made sense why I wasn’t a good influence on Madden because of it.
As a result, we were fucked up.
If Dox and Harley were still alive, they'd put me in prison for the thoughts and pleasures I got from this fucking moment. From the blowjob five years ago, to that fucking make out session two years prior, it all made me feel uneasy. I could excuse the last one, it shocked the fuck out of me and I didn’t know how to walk away.
“You seemed extra into it tonight, babe,” Brandon panted, his chest heavily rising and falling with his harsh breaths. His fingers curled around my hips, gripping me before running a hand through his hair. When they said muscular men with pretty faces were the key to pleasure, they lied.
Brandon was attractive as hell. Like fuck hot, with swooping hair and a six-pack for days. If you were into that kind of thing. He played baseball and went to the gym regularly. To the world, he was kind and what everyone searched for in a partner. Except for me, the broken bitch who likes pain.
It never bothered me before. Him being mediocre in bed and living the ordinary life. Hell, I figured it was my fault. When I was a teen and even up until a few years before Dox died, I partied a lot. Fucked even more. Life experience. I had that, and kinks, to last me a lifetime, but Brandon wasn’t that guy.
Now, those around me expected maturity. They wanted me to be an adult and act like one. I had a career, a life, and a man who loved me for some reason. But he needed more, just like I did. Even if he never stated it.
He needed a woman who brought out his passion and forced him to learn more in the bedroom. Brandon deserved more. And so do I.
“Felt different this time,” I whispered, not wanting to show the emotion in my voice. Something about this entire night had been off since the start. Almost hugging Madden after not seeing him in the last five years killed me. He smelled like heaven. Something spicy, manly, and also with a mix of coolness I couldn't quite get out of my mind. The way he sniffed as he kept me at arm’s length, almost as if he missed the comfort of me too.
Nostalgia festered in me, bringing out emotions that shouldn't exist in the first place.
Brandon leaned down and kissed me slowly, his lips soft and slanted as I returned it, wanting to feel something. Anything. He rolled off me with a thud, removing the condom before slinking under the blankets while I begged my body to calm down. I needed another orgasm, relief. A distraction.
When I woke up randomly from a sex dream fifteen minutes earlier, featuring my own fucking nephew, I decided to fuck the only person I could have.
He was into it immediately. Sometimes, I wondered if his sexual awakening hadn't happened like mine. I'd been like a teenager who just learned what orgasms were after five years, wanting something forbidden. Something illegal. Something I wasn’t allowed to ever want.
After not even two minutes, the low hisses came from Brandon’s snoring form. My feet hit the hardwood as I stood, pulling my nightgown down, knowing I shouldn't look fucked, even if the other person witnessed it himself.
Tiptoeing out of my room, I shut my door just in case Brandon woke up and needed something. Hopefully, Madden was still out there and we could talk without the presence of a bed to make it less awkward. I needed to tell him I was sorry, that what I did wasn't okay. I had to.
I trailed into the kitchen, immediately spotting Madden at the table, drinking a glass of water. Or, at least, I hoped it was water and not vodka.
“Hey.”
Madden’s body tensed at my greeting, but didn't turn. Worry instilled in me, my body prickling with unease. It gave me enough anxiety to go over to him as he sat down at the kitchen table. Besides the obvious stiffness, his head aimed downward awkwardly as he looked at his phone. Part of me wondered what he looked at and the other part—the one that refused to admit jealousy—wouldn’t entertain the thought.
“That shouldn't have happened, I'm sorry,” I murmured, my voice thick and unsteady. The apology was necessary, I needed to get it off my chest. Blood pounded in my ears as we got closer. He didn’t bother raising his head, but the scoff escaping his lips was as clear as fucking day. “I'm fucking stupid, Madden.”
Finally, his messy head of hair rose, his dark eyes hitting mine. My breathing picked up as his jaw ticked. “Which part? When you laid like a starfish for him, begging for an orgasm, or when you only came because you imagined my cock ramming into you instead?” His voice lacked all empathy, a darkened rasp of anger was all that met me. He gripped his water, bringing it to his lips. I watched as he licked the rim, taunting me without words. As if feeling the sensation of his tongue, a shiver overtook my frame.
My jaw dropped open and my heart seemed to stop in my chest when he wiped the excess water from his mouth. Before an argument rose at how wrong his words were, he continued.
“I've jerked myself hundreds of times over the years thinking of you. Your mouth on me, what you’d taste like after you’d come on my tongue...” He shook his head, his disappointment palpable. “I literally had to fucking leave this place because the need and want inside me, pushing me to fuck you and commit so many crimes, it wouldn't go away. And it only worsened when they died. My morals died with them.”
Shock settled in my system as the words he said kept piling onto me like a burial of truths in a vat of lies.
How the fuck did we get here? When did this happen? Why did I get wasted the night I sucked him off? Why did I want to admit my own feelings? The wrong and treacherous ones. The incessant ones smacking me, reminding me how we were family. How could I allow them to fester and exist in my mind and heart?
“We can't,” I shakily breathed the words, feeling on the verge of tears. I knew if life was different, and we didn't have the same family members, I'd give up everything to touch him the way I wanted to. He took another long drink of the clear liquid before setting it down with a thump.
His eyes burned as he ate me alive with his intent. We were at an impasse—a cliff, really—stuck between lava and crippling desire. We could choose better.