Page 4 of His Stubborn Girl

I feel the tension roll down my spine as I see it in her eyes. I know exactly what she wants. The sweat beads on my forehead, dripping down my neck. The crowd is shouting for me to run. The other team is closing in, but I’m frozen. I don’t know what she’s doing. And I don’t understand why my dick is trying to pry its way through my pants.

The last second ticks to zero and then the buzzer sounds. The game is over. We lost the championship.

Boos ring out, echoing throughout the stadium. My teammates are shouting at me. And there she is, her innocent smile forming on her lips.

The anger rushes in and I want to punish her for distracting me. I want to make her pay for blocking me from the win. For ruining my chance. For tempting me into doing something I shouldn’t.

I throw the ball down, shrug off my helmet, then stalk forward. Her eyes grow wide as she sees me coming. The rage is running through my veins, and I can see the panic forming on her soft features as she starts to retreat. But it’s too late. She should’ve thought about the consequences when she decided to tempt the devil. Her little body suddenly turns, and she takes off in a sprint toward the end zone, but I’m ten steps ahead of her, my feet carrying me faster, and I block her pass. Scooping her up and tackling her right down to the ground, pinning her onto her back under the field goal.

“Why are you running, little lamb? I thought this is what you wanted?”

I run my hand up her thigh and grab her over her bloomers, gripping her hot little cunt. She lets out a garbled sound, something between a moan of need and a whimper of fear. Whether she likes it or not, she’s going to pay the price for fouling up my nerves and blocking me from the win.

“Do you hear that?” I grind down into her center, pressing my palm right over her entrance. She’s soaked through and swollen. Undeniably wanting what she’s now afraid of. “They’re all shouting in your honor.”

The boos have turned into obscene jaunts, egging me on. The crowd wants her to pay, and I won’t disappoint them again. I’m going to punish her until she’s screaming her apologies, begging for forgiveness. “Now, spread these thighs and give me what you promised.”

“Lukas.” She’s now terrified, wanting to retract her offer. But it’s too late. She should’ve thought about that before she fucked us over. Now, I’m going to fuck her in front of everyone in the stadium.

“You told me to choose.” I press down on her clit, forcing the pleasure on her as her nerve to fuck me starts to retract. “I’ve chosen.”

“Lukas!”

I wake in a jolt, bolting upright in my bed. Breathing hard and heavy. Fuck. I’m so damn thankful dad woke me when he did. The dream was quickly becoming a nightmare. And worse is the fact that I’m sitting here with a raging hard-on and my stepsister’s face haunting my thoughts.

“Lukas! Are you coming down for dinner?” He knocks on my door, and I pull the blanket over my lap in case he decides to come in.

“Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.” I just need to go to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. Get my boner calmed before I make a scene at the dinner table.

I rise from the bed and catch a glimpse of our family photo sitting on top of my dresser, and thankfully my erection deflates with the gravity of disgust. It was just a dream. There’s nothing to be worried about. I don’t want to fuck my stepsister. I’m not a sick bastard.

3

Torrin

“I’m going out with my friends, so I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as Lukas’ voice trickles down the hall. That means I won’t be tortured with another family dinner. Last night was so incredibly awkward. Mom even commented on how I was being awfully quiet. Usually, I’m a jabber monkey, talking everyone’s ear off. But I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Or share a normal thought. I couldn’t get past the shameful feeling that rooted itself in my gut.

The sound of the front door closing is music to my ears. I’m finally in the clear. I get a few hours reprieve before I become a prisoner in my room again.

“Torrin, sweetie! Would you mind running these up to Luke’s room?” My mom hands me a stack of clean towels as soon as my feet hit the bottom step. I turn, heading right back up the stairs. His room smells like him. The woodsy cologne that smells like a pine tree growing up next to a waterfall. But then there’s that underlying scent that is all Lukas. Virile and masculine. Heady.

I place the towels down on his dresser, noticing that our family picture is turned down. I’d fix it, but I don’t want him thinking I was in here meddling through his things. Which reminds me… There’s a certain blue box hidden in his closet.

As soon as I enter the small space, it’s like walking down memory lane. All of his old football jerseys from when he was in high school are hanging in a row, along with his old letterman jacket. His trophies are all still lined up on the top shelf on proud display. God, he was so good.Isso good. It’s like he was made for the sport. Every professional team is talking about him. It’s all over the news about how he’s probably going to be first pick in the draft. Teams are already positioning themselves for a trade. It’s incredible to hear. Surreal to know it’s my stepbrother they’re talking about.

I bury my nose in one of his old sweatshirts and breathe in the scent. It smells just like him, even after all these years. I start to tug it from its hanger, then stop. It’s probably a bad idea to feed my sickness. It’s already gotten way out of hand. Every thought is of him. All day I was haunted by his eyes. And if I sleep in his clothes, surrounded by his scent, it will only grow worse.

I let the sweatshirt go and start my search for the little blue box. There’s an old baseball card box sitting on his shelf which looks like it could be the perfect hiding place, but it turns out to be filled with baseball cards. Go figure. I peek inside an old shoebox sitting in the corner, but it’s filled with old photos. All his sports photos from way back when, pictures of him in high school, of him going to prom. He was so cute. Easily the most gorgeous guy at his school. But I never would’ve thought that when I was younger. There was a benign feeling when I looked at him. He was just Luke. I never understood why all my friends would get all pink-faced and silly around him. I thought it was weird when they would tell me how cute he is. But now, I can’t unsee their truth. He’s gorgeous. A rugged and raw specimen of the perfect male.

My stomach fills with those troubling feelings again. I wish I didn’t long for him. I wish I didn’t feel the jealousy as I stare at the picture of him and his high school girlfriend kissing. She was his first love and the one who owns his virginity.

I shut the box and start my search again. Looking high and low for the little blue box. Searching under stacks of sweaters. Inside the feet of his huge sneakers. It’s not like the closet is that big, but the blue box is nowhere to be found. For good measure, I check inside his duffle bag, even though I know it was on his bed when he went in to hide the gift. It’s not in there either. But there is a brown leather journal tucked into the inner pocket that’s drawing my curiosity.

I look back over my shoulder at the open door. Lukas is out with his friends, and my mom is downstairs making dinner. I know I’m crossing a line, but my curiosity overrides my decency. I take it out and flip to the first page.

September15

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