Page 1 of Sugar Rush
JORDY
I WAS RUDELYyanked out of my recommended eight hours of sleep at precisely 3:19 a.m. Blinking to try and coax the grit out of my eyes, I fumbled my phone back down onto the nightstand, groaning a bit. The disruptive noises were coming from outside.
Heaving off my layers of blankets, I carefully set my beloved and very old stuffed clownfish, creatively christened Orangey by childhood me, next to my pillow before dragging myself over to the bedroom window.
I looked down onto the driveway at a curious scene. Kieran James, also known as my smoking hot older stepbrother was stumbling around, talking loud as shit, and obviously drunk. His friend, who lived a few houses down, was trying to steer him toward the door but it looked as futile as taming a bucking bronco.
That was weird. I’d never known Kieran to be a big drinker. He just wasn’t the kind of guy to get so sloppy. He was too obsessed with always being in control. Although, something had been kind of weird and off with him since I’d graduated from high school a few weeks back.
I wondered if something bad had happened and he’d needed to take the edge off. But I was also distinctly aware that if he needed to get something off his chest, I probably wasn’t the person he would confide in. Even though I’d had a huge and admittedly pitiful crush on him for years, even before I’d hit my second puberty and presented as an omega, he wasn’t interestedin me like that. We were friends, and we’d been friends for basically as long as we’d lived together, even though I kind of not-so-secretly loved getting on his nerves.
Watching closely until Ritchie finally maneuvered him to the front door and pushed him in, I let my curtain fall closed once Kieran was out of sight. I wondered if he’d even be able to make it upstairs to where both our bedrooms were without help, but after a few seconds I could hear his heavy steps approaching.
I never slept with my door closed, so I could only stand there waiting for him to stagger by. At least I’d know if he fell and bludgeoned his head or anything, and could call the appropriate medical professionals if needed.
Catching sight of myself in my floor-length mirror, I quickly fixed my messy blond hair so it wouldn’t look like a bird’s nest with random pieces sticking up everywhere. I wasn’t sure why I bothered, it wasn’t like Kieran was going to notice me either way.
But when he reached the top of the stairs and went to pass by my door, he stopped, his dark chocolate eyes locking on me with such intensity that my heart smacked up into my ribs. To me, he’d always had this poetically handsome face that I couldn’t stare at for too long without starting to fantasize about things. Inappropriate things. I wasn’t insecure about how I looked. I knew I was cute. But with his defined jawline and carved abs, Kieran washot.
“You’re awake?” He asked. His voice was a little bit slurred, but so deep and raspy and sexy. I knew I was technically programmed by my biology to find his alpha traits attractive, like his deep voice and big hands, but that didn’t make the yearning any less potent.
“Thanks to you,” I responded, trying to sound light and casual even though his deep stare was starting to send tingles dancing all over my exposed skin. He took a step toward me, just barely entering my doorway.
“I don’t feel bad,” he said, his gaze falling down to my body where I was just wearing a loose t-shirt and boxer briefs. Was he actually checking me out? “You keep me up all the time.”
“I do?” I was pretty much always in bed before him, and as far as I knew, I’d never done anything to keep him awake.
The ironic thing was he’d woken me up over the years more times than I could count, having a nightmare in his room. I used to crawl into his bed when I heard him making all those sad whimpering sounds, and it worked. He’d always slept better when I was there. But I hadn’t done that in years. Since he’d stopped letting me.
“All the fucking time,” he muttered. This time when he stumbled forward a few steps, he ended up right in front of me. Like so close that I could smell his soap under the whiskey scent that was clinging to him.
“Kieran?” His name burst from my mouth in a surprised breath. What was he doing?
“I know. I shouldn’t be in here,” he said, leaning in so he was barely whispering. His warm breath washed over my ear and neck, sending a shiver coursing through my whole body.
My cock instantly perked up, and I knew these flimsy little boxer briefs weren’t hiding anything. I didn’t know how he would react if he noticed. He was an alpha and I was an omega, but I knew very well that didn’t automatically mean he had any attraction to me. Still, the way he was looking at me was like he wanted to bend me over and breed me. I probably shouldn’t have been thinking about that particular mental image.
“I-it’s okay,” I stammered out. I wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, and I was definitely not the blushing and stuttering type, but my brain felt like mush. “You can stay if you want.”
“Are you cold?” He asked, his dark brows furrowing as he looked over my skin, covered in goosebumps. I was always cold,even when everyone else was hot, and he knew that. I was always stealing his hoodies. Not just because they were warm, but because I was obsessed with the way they smelled.
“A little,” I said, then let out a gasp when he reached out, stroking my arms up and down, like he was trying to warm me up. Nearly losing my balance, I grasped at the front of his black t-shirt, inadvertently pulling him even closer to me. Always black for the moody, broody, introverted tattoo artist.
His hands slipped from my arms to my waist, steadying me. I bit down into my lower lip to suppress the noise that threatened to pour out at the feeling of his strong fingers gripping me. His hands looked even bigger than normal, wrapped around my slim waist.
Was this actually happening? We’d lived together for six years, starting right after my widowed dad had married his divorced mom, and we’d never had any kind of physical contact like this. As much as I’d dreamed about it.
He stared down at my body, seemingly mesmerized. I felt exactly the same way. He had a lot of tattoos, even on the backs of his hands, and the way those inked hands looked on me was so fucking hot I wanted to scream. There was no way he couldn’t tell how turned on I was, looking down at my crotch like that. I was fully hard now, practically throbbing, and the outline of my dick was showing loud and clear through my underwear.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he ordered, once he’d torn his eyes away from my body to glance at my face. “You don’t know what I want to do to you.”
“I know what I want you to do to me,” I retorted, my fingers tightening in the cloth of his shirt. I didn’t know how far this could go, and it was probably the worst idea in the world, but I’d fantasized about him for so long, I couldn’t just pretend I didn’t want him.
“I’m not supposed to touch you,” he murmured, like he was suddenly remembering all the reasons why we shouldn’t have been doing this.
“You can touch me,” I breathed out. “I promise it’s okay.”
“Jordy…”
