Page 40 of Saving the Rain
Jesus Christ. A choked noise echoes around the silent bathroom, the only other sound comes from water sloshing gently against the tub, because this is dizzying to let myself think about. I’m tugging rougher, faster, more urgent now as I allow myself to fully fantasize about aguyfor the very first time.
I’ve never done this before, never jerked off while putting myself in the position of being with a man, and oh my fucking god, it’s my stepbrother I’m imagining being on my knees for. It’s the biggest asshole I know who I’m imagining reaching out to cup my face.
He flicks his eyes in silent command, and I hastily drag his sweats down. The massive goddamn length of him bobs in my face, and I’m so eager, it should be embarrassing. I lean forward, wrapping my mouth around him, and suck down.
It’s blurry, a fragment of my imagination pulling on memories of having my own dick sucked and how good that felt and transferring that to what it would be like to be the one lapping and running my tongue along his length.
My fist tightens, my hips lift, and I’m so close. The tingling sensation extends from my groin down to my balls, and a flash like lightning zaps to the base of my spine.
In my dirty little forbidden fantasy, Raine strokes my hair, and I don’t exactly know what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. Sparks burst behind my squeezed-shut eyelids, blood thunders in my ears, and my fist pumps my cock, desperately seeking a release.
Is he gonna spill down my throat? I think he is. My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I imagine what he might taste like, how he might let out a satisfied groan as he comes.
That’s the thought—of how pleased he might sound when he unravels—that shoves me over the edge. My balls draw tight, and my chest damn near explodes at the same time as my cock does. Gasping, panting breaths leave my lungs as cum shoots forward. Thick, hot ropes land on my stomach, splashing up my chest, coating my fist, and I swear I’m gonna float right out of this bathtub.
Heady, overwhelming relief floods my veins as my strokes slow.
It takes a moment to focus. Peeling open my eyes, I gradually find my bearings.
Holy fuck.
Rejoining reality, I’m met with the evidence of my illicit trance I’d fallen prey to. Cum streaked over my damp skin, my hand still wrapped around my length, also slick with my release.
It leaves me momentarily struck by how much I enjoyed that sordid daydream. Followed by an even deeper dread that this is incredibly dangerous territory to be entertaining thoughts of.
In no world should I be shooting cum like a fucking rocket while fantasizing about my stepbrother’s dick. Certainly not at all, and definitely not because it felt good to imagine how the weight of him might fill my mouth.
I’ve got to get my shit together.
And no matter how upended I am sexually, I’ve got to find myself something, someone—anyone else—to fixate on.
Because this can never happen again.
Chapter 17
“You checked the forecast?” My eyes meet Kayce’s muted blues as he walks out of the small office where his father keeps the necessities for running the business side of the ranch. Bookwork. Computer. Radio unit for communications.
I toss back the remnants of my coffee, before rinsing the mug.
“’Course I did,” he snips.
“And?” My eyebrow lifts as I wipe the wetness off my palms against my jeans. There haven’t been many words exchanged between us since I arrived here, we’ve kept to ourselves, but today calls for a trip down to Crimson Ridge.Together.
Which means checking in with the Sheriff’s office before leaving the ranch. No one does anything on Devil’s Peak without getting the latest update on the conditions first.
While the leaves might be fluttering pretty shades of gold and bronze at every turn, there’s always the chance of early snowfall. Setting off unprepared at this time of year puts us at risk of leaving the mountain while skies are blue overhead, only to have our return blocked later this evening if a front rolls in unexpectedly.
“Everything is clear,” Kayce mutters and shuffles off toward the front door. As he passes, I catch a drift of scent, the faint mix of soap and laundry powder hanging off him. His hair is still mussed anddamp, but at least he’s taken the time to shave after rolling around looking like a stray dog for the past couple of weeks.
I bite my tongue rather than giving in to the urge to lash him verbally for being an asshole about this. While I’m the one running around doing the kid goddamn favors left, right, and center, he certainly ain’t acting like it. But I’ve got enough of that bronc rider blood left in my veins to know his mind is firmly elsewhere.
I’d bet anything he’s already sitting in that waiting room, with a restless knee, and clammy palms. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
There’s nothing worse than knowing you can’t do anything but accept whatever news gets delivered after a scan like he’s about to have.
Kayce has so much riding on this appointment, and neither of us needs to say a word to know that there are potentially far bigger things at stake than just the health of his knee. His rodeo career dangles in the balance, and it’s not a scenario anyone wants to face, no matter their age.
So, I clamp my jaw shut and fist the keys. Following him outside, I let my attention fall to his movements as he walks ahead of me. That limp of his isn’t as exaggerated as it was; he appears to be moving smoother. I’ve already got the crutches in the back of the truck on the off chance he might need them. I honestly have no idea how much of this is just for show—how much he’s biting back agonizing pain while staring down inevitable defeat, knowing his knee is about to buckle under him with one single misstep.