Текст книги "Uncaged"

Автор книги: Emilia Kincade

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Uncaged

An MMA Stepbrother Romance

By

Emilia Kincade

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Note to readers: The story depicted in this book is a full-length adaptation of Saffron Daughter's novella, Pierce Her Stepbrother. The full publishing rights were transferred to this author, Emilia Kincade.

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Cover designed by Cormar Covers.

Table of Contents:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Afterword

Excerpt: Unleashed (An MMA Stepbrother Romance)

License

Chapter One

He’s talking about his dick. Again.

What can I say? I’m not even a little bit surprised.

“What is it?” I ask, tattoo machine in my hand. I’m going over the shadowing of a fluffy white rabbit tattoo on my client’s arm, but already he’s screwing up my concentration.

“I want a Prince Albert.”

I lift the compact needle off her skin, watch as her reddened flesh depresses slowly. I don’t bother looking up at him. I know the expression he’s got on his face without needing to see it. A cocky smirk, as though he thinks he’s so funny, so clever.

He’s already got me completely annoyed.

A Prince Albert? Is he serious? He can’t just come to my place of work and mess with me like this. But it’s not the first time he’s done it, and I’m certain it won’t be the last.

I push my lips together. My temper frays. “Please don’t disturb me while I’m working.”

But he doesn’t move. He just stands by the leather-bound reclined chair my client is sat in. He shouldn’t even be in the back room where we administer the tattoos. But things like regulations, closed doorways, heck, even mere manners don’t stop him.

At the bottom of my vision I can see his lower legs up to his knees. He’s wearing jeans, but I see straight through the dark denim.

Tribal-inspired lines coil around his shins and calves. On his left knee he’s got a ram’s head with huge, gnarled horns, and on his right knee he’s got an owl with ram’s horns. The two look scary, unreal in a monster-in-the-dark kind of way. The first time I saw them, I was extremely impressed by the artistry. The eyes on each beast look straight into you, no matter which angle you look at them from.

Of course, I should know about all his tattoos. I’m his new favorite tattoo artist, apparently.

“Sorry,” I mouth to the girl in the chair, scrunching up my face with an apologetic look. This is unprofessional, and she, the client, shouldn’t have to deal with Pierce’s uncontrollable and childish impulses.

She says no problem with her eyes, and then offers me a quick but confused smile. I’m not sure if she knows what a Prince Albert is.

“Can you do it?” Pierce asks me. In his baritone voice I can hear just a hint of playfulness. He’s definitely trying to rile me up, trying to get under my skin. And if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s being a splinter.

With deliberate slowness I pull my eyes up his body. I don’t see his clothing or his skin, but instead see his tattoos. I know them all because I’ve worked on them all.

I filled in the trawling tentacles of the jellyfish on his leg, redid the outline of the coiled serpent-slash-dragon on his chest and stomach. I darkened some of the fading ink on the snarling, salivating white wolf he has on his right shoulder. I added a line to the tally he keeps on his wrist – his fighting wins – and I did the fifth numeral on his fifth knuckle. I have no idea what the numerals mean.

“No,” I say, finally meeting his eyes with as stony a stare as I can muster. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t shift his focus, doesn’t grow uncomfortable in the slightest. He looks right at me with a sparkle of amusement. I hate that he always seems at ease, confident, unburdened by awkwardness, embarrassment, or shame. I hate that he still messes with me.

Truth be told, we’ve been through too much together. I thought he had grown up.

“I can’t, and I won’t. Please leave,” I tell him curtly. The last thing I want to do is make a scene in front of this client. His eyes seem to flash, grow hot not with anger but with... competitiveness. It’s the only way to describe it. He thinks everything is a competition. He thinks every situation has winners and losers, and God forbid he ever lose.

Pierce’s eyes are this shade of light grey that always surprise me. Looking into his eyes is like looking into a shaken-up snow globe. They almost seem to glow. Sometimes, his eyes remind me of a wolf’s in the night. They have a shine to them, something intense.

“You sure?” he asks. His thumb slides beneath the waist of his jeans, and he adjusts it, showing a flash of trimmed pubic buzz.

I roll my eyes. “One-hundred percent.”

“You don’t want to… pierce my dick?” He’s in full-on smug mode now, and he has an eyebrow raised as though he just made the witticism of the century.

“I’m not trained,” I tell him in a matter-of-fact manner. I do my best to sound bored. “I’m sure you can appreciate the… dangers involved if I were to attempt to give you a Prince Albert.”

His lips curl to the side, a little off-center within his granite jaw. “Amen to that! Don’t want to damage my junk, do you?” He pauses for a moment. “Go get training, then.”

I wear my annoyance freely on my face. “Go get training?”

“Yeah.”

“Just go away, Pierce. I don’t want to see your dick.”

His full, endlessly kissable lips pull farther to the side in what I can only describe as the most smug and conceited smirk ever. He’s so full of himself. Why have I gotten myself into this mess? He’s a walking whirlwind of trouble… it seems to seek him out.

“You know,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s not what you said last ni—”

“No!” I bark, glancing quickly toward my client. I pinch the bridge of my nose, and lower my voice, steady it. My client is stewing in the awkwardness. “We don’t do piercings here.”

“You could do this Pierce.”

He grins, I glare.

“I only trust you to do it,” he says. “Besides, you and I both know you wouldn’t mind getting your fingers wrapped ’round my junk again.”

I groan and look away. Why does he insist on calling it his junk? It’s disgusting.

“No, okay? I can refer you to someone who is qualified, though.”

“I don’t want anybody else touching my cock, Penny. Just you. You know it’s all yours.”

The girl on the chair clears her throat. “Maybe I’d better go into the waiting room.”

I nod at her. “Sorry, Maya. This will only take a minute.”

“Take your time, honey,” she says, and she gets up. She looks Pierce up and down. He licks his lips and flashes his eyes at her, and I’m certain I see her knees wobble.

I feel it in my chest: The white-hot burn of unwanted jealousy.

Even worse? He sees it in my eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, Pen, she’s not my type. You are.”

“Please go away.”

“Come on, sis,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Don’t call me that. It’s Penny. And I’m not your sister.”

“Stepsister.”

“No! Not yet I’m not.”

Pierce grins. “I read up about it on the internet, the cock piercing, I mean. They say there can be complications, but that it’s unlikely.”

“There can,” I tell him. I’m leaning back on my stool now, and clasping my hands in front of me, elbows on my knees, hoping I look as irritated as I feel. “But it’s unlikely as long as you take good care of it.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Infection is most likely, but a relatively low risk. Urine cleans the cut somewhat.”

“How big is the risk?” he asks. His face grows serious. I can’t tell if he’s still messing around or not. Sometimes he’s so hard to read.

“What do you think, idiot? You’re sticking a ten-gauge metal ring through the skin on the base of your penis, and passing it into your urethra. It’s not exactly something the body is used to, so of course there’s a risk.”

“Ah.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “With as much as you like to talk about and use your prick, are you sure it’s one you’re willing to take?”

“That’s why I want you to do it. I trust you. I know you and Tina run a clean shop.” He grins. “Also, you know how to handle my ju—”

“This is Tina’s shop, not mine.” I focus on my vials of ink instead of him. “And she doesn’t do piercings here.”

“What’s the difference? Your shop, her shop… why not branch out? Attract a new clientele.”

Now my patience has officially been torn to tatters. “What is this really about, huh? Do you really want a Prince Albert, or are you just trying to find some new way to annoy me? Especially after everything that happened? You’re going to do this to me now?”

I’m huffing, really on the verge of just losing it, but he just laughs it off. It’s insanely infuriating. He flops down into the reclined chair, let’s out a sigh, and puts his arms up, gripping onto the top edge. It creaks beneath his weight.

His tight t-shirt strains against his body. He’s a heavy guy; all muscle, whipcord tight. He said he was close to two-hundred pounds at six-two.

“You can’t just come into my place of work and harass me like this, Pierce. I thought we moved past this immature posturing.”

“Hey,” he says, feigning innocence. “I’m a client.”

“You’re not booked for today.”

“I want an unscheduled consultation.”

“On dick piercings?” I cry, slapping my thighs with frustration. “You’re really annoying the shit out of me, and Tina is going to be back from lunch at any moment. You’re going to get me in trouble!”

Pierce levels his eyes at me, except now they’ve gone hard. “You left this morning without saying bye. You were cold and distant all night last night.”

“And this is how you address that, is it?” I ask, scowling at him. I throw the tattoo machine down onto my equipment tray, and fold my arms across my chest. “You said we’d talk about it last night. You said we’d talk about what happened. Don’t you think we need to talk about it?”

He raises his eyebrows, challenging me. “It takes two to fuck, which is all you seemed to want to do.”

I feel my temperature rising. “I told you not to do that fight. I told you that you were getting mixed up with the wrong people. It was too close!”

Unbelievably, he just shrugs. He’s silently saying whatever.

“It would be nice if you took responsibility for once.”

“Responsibility?” he asks, eyes narrowing. “You know why I had to do that fight!”

“Right, of course. How could I forget? Look at you! You’re all fucked up.” I point at the eight stitches in the cut above his eye. I then look down at his foot. “They fucking shot you in the foot, Pierce. What the hell are you even doing walking around?”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh? Didn’t the doctor tell you to stay off your foot?”

“Fuck the doctors.”

“What about your fractured rib? All the bruises on your body? The black one on your thigh?”

“It’s not like you were worried about that last night.” He licks his lips. “While you were screaming my name… scratching my back.”

The image of his hot, sweaty body pressed up against mine, his hips thrusting into me, flashes through my mind. I scowl at him.

“You’re losing me, Pierce. I’m telling you, I’ve had it up to here. I’m ready to walk away.”

“No you’re not,” he says, and he gets up off the chair. It creaks and cracks again. He’s comes to me, closes the distance fast in just two hard strides.

I put my hands out, but he moves them aside, turns me around, and wraps me up from behind. He buries his nose into my neck and inhales.

“God, you smell sexy.”

I feel a pang of self-consciousness. The last time I showered was yesterday morning, and we got very sweaty the night before. If only I hadn’t overslept!

“Pierce…”

“Pen,” he says, and I don’t fail to notice his right hand sidling ever lower over my belly.

“Pierce,” I hiss. “Not here, not now!”

He takes my earlobe into his mouth, gives it a nibble. Goosebumps explode all over my body, and still his hand is creeping ever lower.

“Why not?” he asks. “There’s construction on the road. Traffic is bad. Tina won’t be back for a while.”

“Tina walks,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “And she’ll fire me if she catches us. This is unhygienic.”

“Well, you can be pretty dirty.” Before I can reply, he lowers his voice, and says: “I need to taste you.”

“Pierce.”

“Right now. I’m going to make you come.”

Chapter Two

“No,” I say, but I find myself wrapping my hands behind me, around his ass. I squeeze, feeling firm, compact muscle.

He starts to plant soft kisses on the back of my neck. I can feel his warm breath, smell the leftover of a mint candy. It’s intimate, heady, and a part of me hates myself for not stopping this right now, right this moment.

I crane my neck to the side, let him kiss me more, let my eyes fall shut.

“Why do you do this?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, but just keeps kissing me. I feel the dab of his tongue on my shoulder, then feel the press of his teeth.

“You smell so good,” he whispers. “Get up on that chair.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Pierce…”

His finger dips beneath the elastic of my underwear. His huge hand is so warm, it leaves my skin aching and hot. Fingers thread through my pubic hair, and a ball of energy, pure longing, starts to grow in my gut.

“Really,” I say, half-heartedly trying to pry his hand out. “Not here.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“You want it,” he tells me. He turns me slightly, makes me look at him. I stare into his light, ashy eyes. They’re determined, full of lust, full of wanting.

I go to shake my head, try to say ‘no’, but as I part my lips he claims them in his, and he kisses me with crushing force. His tongue is in my mouth, and he’s taking from me what he wants. His finger dips into my folds, and I moan softly at the fleeting hints of pleasure.

“You do want me,” he says as he breaks the kiss. He presses his forehead against my own, pulls his finger up to my clit. It’s already a hard stub. “I can feel it.”

I open my mouth again, let him kiss me, let him bite my lower lip, let him send his tongue inside to dance with my own.

“Oh,” I breathe, turning in his arms, wrapping my own around his neck. He lifts me off the floor easily, pushes me up against the wall. Photographs of tattoos previously pinned to the corkboard scatter onto the floor. His arms aren’t shaking, and his hands are groping my ass.

The press of his bulge is against my inner thigh, and I look down his body to see it, prominent through his jeans. I send a hand down, cup him, feel his hardness, rigid as steel. Longing, lust, it blooms inside me.

No, more like it booms inside me, a firework going off. Oh, God, I want to pull him out, wrap my fingers around him.

No! I can’t believe I’m letting this happen. I can’t believe I’m unraveling like this. At my place of work! This is so unprofessional.

That’s when it clicks. He’s no good for me. I’m supposed to be here trying to make a name for myself, trying to start my career as an artist, and I’m being derailed by him. He’s already gotten me into enough trouble!

Jesus, we both almost lost our lives!

But fuck if he isn’t sexy. Fuck if I don’t want him, every inch of his hot-as-hell body. Fuck if he doesn’t make me feel like the most beautiful, most desired girl on this planet, the way he devours me, plays me like an instrument. He knows my every button, and he wants to push them all. He wants to pluck every single string.

Somehow, he knows how to uncage my desire. He only needs to draw me close to him, promise me the pleasure I know he’s good for, to pick that lock.

I hate that, to him, I’m so seemingly easy to conquer. I hate that it seems like I have no defenses, no walls or barricades. He melts through them all, sees straight through me.

Why do I always let him get what he wants?

Pierce sets me down, spins me around, and holds my hips and pulls them into his own. I feel his hardness on my ass, and his other hand goes to my breast and squeezes hard.

In a flash he’s undoing the button to my jeans, and he pulls down the zip before I can stop him, and his whole hand is inside my underwear, and I’m throwing my head back against his shoulder while he kisses the top of mine.

I feel his fingers slide down my sex, and my whole body buzzes with anticipation, a heady thrum, and I know in my heart that I’m ready to give in, to let him take from me every single thing he wants… right here and right now.

He plays with my pearl, rubs it in circles, teases me. He pulls strands of bliss from my core. He winds up my spring, tighter and tighter, and that ball of energy inside me keeps expanding, a pressure in my abdomen.

My heart races faster, my breaths draw quicker, and our bodies writhe together synchronously as one. He pushes a thick finger inside me, and I clench my jaw to stop from moaning. He rubs my front wall, turns my legs to jelly, and then his lips are at my ear again.

“I need you,” he tells me.

I press my ear into his lips, want him to kiss it, want to feel the bite of his teeth on my lobe.

He’s guiding me to the chair, the one my client was just seated in. He pushes me into it, I flop down into the cotton cushioning, and hear the crackle of the sterile wrap that gets replaced for each customer.

My eyes go toward the doorway that adjoins the tattooing room to the waiting room. It’s just a curtain, a sheet of fabric that hangs down from wooden rings set into the frame.

“Wait,” I gargle, trying to push him off me, but his hungry hands are having their way with me. I realize that he’s in control. I realize this is all about him today.

He pulls up my tank, rolls it over my breasts, and with one finger tugs my bra cup to one side.

“Pierce,” I whimper, but I find myself lifting my breasts to meet his lips. He sucks on my nipple, gives me a small bite, and then grins playfully up at me, my hardened bud in between his teeth.

Anticipation… urgency… longing… it’s all coursing through me, all egging me on, all telling me that I have to let him do this to me, here, now, because I can’t possibly resist.

Because I don’t want him to stop.

“Damn it,” I hiss, and I hold his head against me, savor the feel of his wet, insatiable tongue ringing my nipple. I yelp when he bites me again, and I push him off me, finger on his forehead, and wag it at him.

“Not so hard.”

His eyes bore into mine, and I can see his lust for me playing out in every feature on his face. From the way the muscles in his jaw twitch, to the way his eyes won’t ever leave my body. He wants me. No, he needs me.

“You are so fuckable,” he growls, dipping his head to smell me behind my ear. Expecting a compliment that isn’t crass from Pierce is like expecting diamonds to rain from the sky.

He’s back at my jeans, and now he’s tugging them down my legs. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I help him by wiggling out of them. Now I’m in the seat, just in my underwear. All thoughts of modesty evaporate when I see the look in his eyes.

He settles in between my legs, tugs my underwear to one side, and before I can protest he drapes his hot, wet tongue over my sex.

I jolt in the seat, already so sensitive, and then he’s licking me wildly, like some kind of starving dog. All I can see is his head bobbing slightly in between my legs.

I throw my head back, clamp my mouth shut. Making a sound is something I just don’t dare to do. My client is right outside. She could walk in at any minute.

Not to mention my boss…

“Jesus,” I mewl softly. He’s settled into a rhythm on my clit, flicking it left and right with his tongue. He’s going fast and hard, trying to make me peak, trying to bring me racing toward oblivion.

And I’ve no doubt he can do it in under a minute.

He’s holding onto my thighs, gripping them hard. I can see his fingers digging into my flesh as he feasts on me, as he plucks strings of pleasure deep within my core.

I’m panting, heaving, and I’m mentally begging him to bring me there, faster, sooner, harder.

Pierce puts a finger at my entrance, rings it slowly, teases me while he laps at my pearl. I pull at my nipples, and my eyes are shut tight. I lift my hips to meet him, press my sex into his face, grind myself into him. The sounds of him pleasuring me are all I can hear.

He pushes his finger inside me, rubs my front wall, right there, right at the spot. I’m drowning in bliss, waiting for him to take me there.

I’m climbing, ever higher, getting closer to the edge, waiting for him to heave me off.

I’m waiting to soar.

“Yes,” I whisper, holding his head against me, pushing myself harder into his mouth. His deft tongue works me so expertly. He pushes in another finger, draws a quiet but extended moan from my throat.

“You taste so good,” he groans. The vibrations of his voice thrum through me. “I could eat your pussy forever.”

“Make me come,” I beg. I’m so close. The ball of pressure in my belly is so big. I feel like I’m going to explode.

It grows and grows, gets tighter, tauter.

“Oh, shit,” I gasp. “Oh, yes… oh, yes!”

I’m nearly there. So, so close.

But then he backs me off!

“What?” I say a little too loudly, exasperated, panting. My face is flushed, and my eyes are wide, accusing. Why did he do that? Don’t tell me he came here just to tease me!

He grins at me, pulls his two fingers from me and sucks on them. “You taste good, Pen.” He walks around to the side of the chair. His bulge is visible through his jeans.

“Unzip me,” he commands. I reach out my hands, but he stops me with two fingers on my head. “With your teeth.”

There’s a pause, just the space between two heartbeats. But then my teeth are around the metal zip, and I’m pulling it down. His hands weave through my hair, and when I’ve unzipped him, he tips my head up so I meet his eyes.

“Together,” he tells me.

I gulp and nod. He pulls out his cock from his boxer briefs. Even though we’ve been together before, I’m still surprised by how big he is.

He guides me to his manhood, and I take it into my mouth. Still gripping onto my hair, he pushes himself into me, and I struggle for a moment to open my throat for him.

That’s when I feel his fingers on my folds again. They dip inside me, and he uses his thumb to rub my clit.

He begins to finger me hard and fast, rub my pearl in just the perfect way. I’m instantly overwhelmed, thrust back onto the runway, pushed back toward the precipice.

I can’t concentrate on his cock, can’t focus on pleasing him. I notice his hand go to his shaft, and he begins to pump himself, jerking off into my mouth.

“Come for me, Pen,” he growls, leaning over and taking the top of my ear in between his teeth.

He’s got me right there, so close again. I feel the pressure. I let my eyes flutter shut, focus on his fingers, squeeze around them. I’m so, so, so fucking close…

It explodes, white-hot, blinding. I groan loudly onto his cock, feel my body thrown off the edge. I come hard. It’s intense, so intense, and he drives me through it, keeps it going, doesn’t let up with his dancing fingers.

Pleasure overwhelms me, and I clench tight around him, cresting so hard. My body is a rigid snapshot of ecstasy.

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely. I feel his body stiffen, see him get to his toes, and then he’s emptying himself into my mouth, firing his hot seed into me over and over again. I only barely manage to swallow it all.

“Damn, Pen,” he says, winding down. “You are good.”

I’ve become too sensitive, and I jolt as he pulls his fingers from me. He examines them, and I see my pleasure on them. He sucks off each finger, pulls his cock from my mouth, and then his hand is cupping my chin.

Pierce guides my face up to his, and he kisses me hard, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I can smell and taste myself mixed with the smell and taste of him.

It’s… gross and sexy at the same time.

He breaks the kiss, pulls away, and tucks himself back into his trousers with some difficulty. He brings me a box of sanitized wipes from the counter, and watches, lips at a slight curl, while I wipe my mouth and chin.

“Damn it, Pierce,” I say after a moment, breathing hard. “We could have been caught.” But I feel so good, so relaxed. I needed that.

I quickly yank my jeans back up my legs, and get out of the chair. My tank top is sticking to my back. I notice that Pierce’s neck is shining.

He always looks so good when he sweats.

I sigh, and shake my head. “You really should go.”

But he doesn’t. He smirks at me and asks, “So, will you pierce my cock?”