Page 8 of Wanting What's Wrong

She interrupts me with a burst of laughter. “Did you just say ‘lit’? Seriously? And you’re on me for ‘bling’?”

“Whatever, I got it all set for us. Furnished, decorated, kitchen is stocked. Down to fresh raspberries in the fridge and those strawberry, crunchy ice cream bars you love in the freezer. Oh, and Crunch Berry. I hate that fucking cereal.”

“No way.” She gives me a little shove. “How did you remember that? And, Crunch Berry is the best cereal ever made.Ever.”

I stifle a grimace of pain as she pushes me and I try not to laugh. Her worried eyes tell me she notices. Because she knows me better than anybody else.

“Never mind the money. Never mind the house,” she says, reaching over and taking my hand. “Are you okay? You didn’t tell me everything. So you might as well tell me because what I’m imagining is awful.”

I watch the trees rush past, and count one, two, three mile-markers as I decide how much to tell her. I don’t want to fucking burden her. I don’t want to fucking overwhelm her. But I do want her to know.

“It was bad. Two bullets, through-and-through. In the chest. I flat-lined for thirty-three seconds during surgery. Damn near bled to death.”

She squeezes my hand; her sweet little fingers knitted between my scarred, tanned ones.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because I’m fucking proud. And tough. And hated to think of her worried. “Because I woke up. Because I’m good.”

“Bullshit me at your own risk, son,” she says, mimicking Dad’s voice.

She’s gotten tougher in the years since I’ve been gone. I fucking love it and hate it at the same time.

I draw a long breath and look away. It’s a fucking head game, being this close to her. I start shaking my leg trying to get my dick under control as I tell myself what a shit I am, getting a hard on for forbidden fruit. For my sister.

Step-sister,I correct myself, but it doesn’t make it less sinful.

But my dick is on autopilot, and I’m consumed with thoughts of slipping deep inside that holy, slippery, tight space of hers.

More nights than I can possibly count, that’s where I’ve lived. I want to make her pull this fucking Jeep over, and take her right over my knee, right here on the side of the highway. Redden those ass cheeks with my hand, and then slip her little panties off and…

Christ, Reynolds,stop. I have to. Because there’s something I need from her. And it’s not her pussy.

Not yet.

“I mean, I’mmostlyfine.Kind offine.” I exhale through my nose, running my hand over the top of my head.

Her eyes linger on mine then flick forward again. “Tell me.”

Another long inhale then, “Yeah. So that’s the problem. I need some help and I need to know if you’d be the one to help me.”

She bites her lip, working her teeth into it, blinking twice before flicking her gaze down at my knees for a second. “You mean like, nurse you?” she asks, concentrating forward again.

“Yeah.” My voice is thick. Emotions I’ve pushed down for two years are ready to explode from my chest. “It’s a big ask. I know, but…”

“Did you get hit in the head too?” She shoots me a hard glare, twisting up her face. “Of course I’ll help you, dumb-ass. It’s not a big ask. Not at all. If you ask anyone else, then we’re going to throw down.” Her naive, wide-eyed, dimpled face sends a jolt straight into my heart.

Swords are clashing inside me. The battle between hard-headed independence and sincerely accepting the help I need and want.

“But you’ve got work.”But, not for long because you don’t need to work.“You’ve got a life.”But, I want to be your life, as selfish as that is.

Pink creeps up her cheeks, blooming into fuchsia as I watch her squint at the road, then reply.

“I’ve saved up some vacation time and took this week off anyway. I’d do anything for you. Anything you need.”

My heart fucking aches as my balls feel like they grow three sizes, filling with cum. My angel. My everything. What she can’t know, looking at me, is that I’ve been saving myself for her. I give zero fucks that she’s my step-sister. My body, my soul, my cock are all hers. Always have been. Always will be.

“You are the perfect sister.” The last word lingers on my tongue like sweet depravity.

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