Forbidden

This is my first story. I’m posting because a friend encouraged me. I’m going to post all parts today and hope for the best despite my nervousness. If it goes over well, I might post some of my other stories. I’d appreciate knowing your thoughts.

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Twin waterfalls cascaded over Heather’s cheeks as she hastily swiped at them, attempting but failing to prevent them from blurring her vision as she drove. Her head throbbed with a dull ache as she took the next exit off the highway. Sniffling in relief, a small smile curled her mouth, she was almost there. Almost free. Colton would help her get on her feet. She needed to stop thinking that her world was ending and adopt the mindset that a new one was just beginning.

~ ~ ~

Colton sighed as he wiped his grease covered hands on the dirty rag hanging out of his back pocket, his eyes on the setting sun in the distance. Shoving the rag back into place, he frowned as he turned back towards his work in progress, debating whether to change out the Dodge Challenger’s calipers tonight or save it for another day. Given the fading daylight, and the grumbling coming from his stomach, Colton opted for the second, thinking a microwaved ‘Hungry man meal’ and the book he’d left on his coffee table sounded a hell of a lot better than more physical labour.

Meticulously organizing his tools back onto his workbench, Colton allowed himself only a moment to glance at the picture he’d stuck to the whiteboard over his bench, his gaze tracing the contours of his sister’s beautiful face with pained eyes. How long had it been since he’d seen her? Called her? Four months? Five? Sighing he turned away, lowering the garage door, turning off the lights and locking the man door of his detached garage before heading into the small two-bedroom bungalow he’d bought the previous year.

Toeing off his work boots, he made his way to the kitchen, thoroughly washing his hands before reaching into the freezer for his meal. While it cooked, he gathered his book from the living room, pointedly ignoring the wall of books opposite the couch, a remnant from his time under his father’s rule he hadn’t been able to shake in his exile.

Grabbing a fork from his utensil drawer, Colton carelessly tossed his meal and his book down on the small dinette table and pulled out his seat. Threading his fingers through his shaggy black hair, he reminded himself to get a haircut soon as he opened his dogeared book. He’d been reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for the last few days, finding the text both engaging and thought provoking. He made it another thirty pages deep when a short passage made him pause.

“Dad?”

“What?” A small bird rises from a tree in front of us.

“What should I be when I grow up?”

The bird disappears over a far ridge. I don’t know what to say. “Honest,” I finally say.

Colton grimaced, wishing his father was even half the man the character in his book was. Setting the paperback aside, he shoved a final forkful of thawed mashed potatoes and green beans into his mouth. Colton’s father had never cared about the content of his character, only the number of facts in his head and the awards on his walls. If he were to pose the same question, he imagined his father would reply with ‘successful’. What was success though? Colton would never possess the wealth his father had, yet he felt more fulfilled now than he ever had living with the ‘privilege’ money had once afforded him. Sighing, he set his fork down and stared absently at the empty seat across from him. He may feel more fulfilled, but he was certainly lonelier.

Placing his hands on his muscled thighs he sighed again, loudly, annoyed with himself for thinking about her. Colton was nothing if not disciplined and letting his mind wander was something he’d fiercely attempted to train out of his system. His little sister was his one exception to everything though. Closing his eyes, he pictured her radiant smile the last time he’d seen her, the way she’d rushed into his arms upon spying him after the last violin performance he’d attended. The feel of her long, wavy, dirty blonde hair tumbling over his forearms as they braced her back, squeezing her to him. The vanilla peony scent of her creamy skin in his nostrils as she stood on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek in greeting with her full red mouth.

The twitch below his belt forced his eyes open, thrusting him out of the memory and back into his small kitchen. Picking up the empty box his meal came in, he shoved it in the trash, disgusted with himself. If his father’s disappointment hadn’t been enough to keep him away from his family, his unnatural feelings towards his sister certainly did the trick.

Leaving the kitchen, he forced himself into the bedroom adjacent to his, set on punishing himself despite the ache he already felt in his muscles. Stripping out of his Henley, Colton positioned his large body under his weight bench, adjusting his grip before pushing up against the heavy weight holding the bar in place. Exhaling, he lifted, grunting as he lowered the weight to his chest. Pumping his arms rhythmically, he thought of his father’s furious face when he’d told him he was dropping out of biochemical engineering to pursue automotive mechanics. It didn’t work though. All he saw was his sister’s horrified face, her green eyes and heart shaped face pleading silently with him not to do it, not to leave her alone with their father.

Grunting, he shifted his thoughts to martial arts and his embarrassing defeat the last time he’d competed. His father screaming from the sidelines to push through the pain in his knee despite the fact he felt he could barely stand, let alone fight. Reminding him that he’d always been a trophy and never a man. That did it. Furious, Colton punched out an extra set, slamming the bar back into place a moment later before he let his hands fall to his sweaty chest and panted his exhaustion.

He had almost fallen asleep right there on his bench when the doorbell rang. Cocking a brow in curiosity, Colton frowned. He didn’t get visitors. He’d burned too many bridges. His friends consisted of the people he worked with and Marisol, the old French woman that lived next door to him. Pushing himself to his feet, not bothering with his shirt, Colton made his way to the front door, twisting the lock out of the way before pulling back the heavy wood. He froze, his fingers tightening on the door handle as his eyes widened, his jaw clenching.

“Hey, big brother,” Heather whispered with a small sad smile as she looked up at him, a suitcase at her feet. Reflexively, she reached up to smooth her hair, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her palms, embarrassed to see the black steaks transfer from her ruined mascara. “Sorry to just show up like this,” she began, drawing in a shaky breath, “I must look…” she trailed off, her eyes welling again. Furious with herself, she closed her eyes and forced back the tears. When she looked up at him again, her gaze was clear, hard, focused. “I need your help.”

Colton could feel the pounding of his heart in his breast as he stared down at his little sister. He wanted to crush her between his arms like he had when they were children and tell her he’d make whatever was upsetting her go away. That’d he’d make good on his promise to always look out for her, that she was his Sunshine and he couldn’t stand to see her cry. He didn’t. Fucking. Dare. He didn’t move a muscle. Instead, he just stood there like a statue trying to figure out how to get her to leave.

“I left, like you did, I need a place to stay,” Heather continued, ignorant of the emotional storm her sudden appearance had evoked within her brother.

“You want to stay here?” Colton managed to get out, seeking clarification, his tone making it sound more like an offer.

Nodding, Heather grabbed her bag and stepped towards him, her curvy body brushing against his as she kicked off her flats and pushed her way past him, into his home. Closing the door, Colton resigned himself to the fact his sister was in his living room as he turned to face her once more. “What do you mean, you left?” he demanded, needing to focus on something other than her tear steaked cheeks before he did something foolish like cupping her face so he could wipe the make up stains away with his thumbs and kiss her.

Ignoring his question, Heather closed the three feet between them and threw her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly as she pressed her cheek to his clammy chest. “I missed you,” she deflected, sighing in contentment a moment later when his strong arms finally circled her form, anchoring her to him. She smiled when she felt his cheek press gently to the crown of her head.

“I missed you too,” his deep voice rumbled as she stood there in utter contentment. It had been months since he’d last held her. Years, since she’d last felt safe.

“Mmm,” she sighed finally releasing him so she could pull away. Crossing the room, she took a seat on his couch, perching on the edge of the cushion, her ankles crossing, her knees together, her hands in her lap as she smiled up at him.

Pulling the ottoman of his reading chair closer to her, he sat, forearms on his thighs, his fingers laced together as his hands hung between his knees, a worried look on his face as he hunched forward toward her. “You said you left?”

Heather nodded, the tight creases at the corner of eyes the only indication her smile was ingenuine. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” she whispered, her thumbnail digging into her palm behind her clasped hands to keep herself from collapsing into tears again, “I had to get out.”

Colton nodded his understanding, a frown forming on his lips the longer he studied his sister. She was uncomfortable, frightened. He eyed her ankles and the stiffness of her spine. She was always ‘proper’ when she was nervous, her etiquette lessons coming second nature to her as a preservation instinct. “Did he hurt you?” Colton asked, his brows low over his angry hazel eyes, his voice deadly calm as his gaze scanned what he could see of her skin for injury.

Shrugging, Heather gnawed at her plump lower lip before twisting in her seat, using her hands to gather her long thick tresses in a bundle, exposing the back of neck to him. “I imagine it’s bruised?” she whispered as Colton glared at the blue tinted fingerprints lining the side of her delicate neck.

Inhaling harshly, Colton squeezed his hands together, his knuckles turning white, flashes of his father’s smug face connecting with his fist rolled through his mind as his anger mounted. His blood boiled as his mind screamed at him to slam his fist through the wall, to rage, to destroy, to rip his father limb from limb for putting hands on her. Instead, he sat stone still and replied as calmly as he could, “it’s not pretty, do you want an ice pack?”

“Uh-uh,” she breathed softly, dropping her hair as she twisted around to face him again, “it’s tender but he’s done worse, I’ll be fine,” she attempted to reassure him, her face falling as she took in the white lines forming around his mouth and the tension in his sharp jaw. Reaching out, her clasped her hands gently over his forearm. “Stop blaming yourself, it’s not your fault,” she beseeched, tilting her head to the side, forcing a small smile, all too familiar with the aggression seething just under his calm exterior.

“I left you alone with him,” Colton muttered, refusing to let her absolve him of his failure to keep his promise, to protect her.

Her nails bit into his arm, “you didn’t have a choice, he kicked you out,” Heather protested.

“I should have brought you with me,” he snarled, disgusted with himself.

“I wouldn’t have gone,” she entreated softly, “back then…I wasn’t his target yet,” she added remembering just how many bruises she’d glimpsed on his skin before he’d been big enough to fight back. She shuddered remembering the black eye Colton had gifted their father the night he’d left.

Eclipsing her fingers with the weight of his hand, he pressed her palm tighter to his forearm. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You can stay with me as long as you need,” he swore, determined not to fail her a second time, no matter how difficult her constant presence would be on him.

Smiling softly at him, Heather nodded, pleased she hadn’t made a mistake in coming to him for help. At five years her senior, Colton had been her best friend, her confidant and her protector growing up. It was him she spent hours practicing her violin trying to impress, him that she’d shared all her secrets and troubles with, and him she’d run to when upset. She was glad that he was still willing to help her despite the closeness they’d lost years ago.

She frowned, thinking on the five years he’d been gone. It wasn’t until the night he’d left that she’d realized the intense pressure she felt to preform, to be perfect, was something he shouldered too, and his weight had been so much heavier than hers. She’d know, she’d been dragging it behind her since the day he’d left, listening to her father rant about ‘what a promising young man’ her brother had been, as if he’d died and not simply moved to across the city. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Nodding, Colton pulled away from her, standing up, he reached for her bag, carrying it into his bedroom. Heather’s gaze trailed him, her eyes on his back, watching the muscles move under his tan skin. “You can have my room, I’ll sleep on the couch,” he called to her, setting her suitcase down on his bed before turning to face her once more, his hands gripping the top of the doorframe as he leaned towards her.

Heather smirked at the old nervous habit, missing the way he used to hangout in her bedroom doorway that way as though unsure if he was allowed to enter. “Don’t be silly Colt, I’ll sleep out here, unlike you, I’ll actually fit on this couch,” she teased, gesturing at the cushion beside her. When he frowned at her, Heather rolled her eyes, “honestly, I’m happy right here, it’s comfy enough,” she attempted to convince him, bouncing lightly on the cushion, unaware of the way his gaze had dipped to her full chest, her breasts giggling in the confines of her wine-coloured sweater. “If you sleep here, your ankles will hang off the end and you’ll have a crick in your neck come morning,” she insisted, beaming at him.

“Suit yourself,” Colton muttered, forcing his gaze off his tempting sister and onto the floor, “I have to work at seven, there’s food in the fridge, shitter is there,” he told her, motioning at the washroom next to his room. “I’ll be back around six thirty, feel free to make yourself at home. The bottom drawer of my dresser is empty, you can move my shit down there and take the top if ya want. I’m gonna shower and crash, alright?” he explained, meeting her gaze briefly before disappearing into the washroom, desperately needing to put a door between them.

Heather sat on the couch stunned as the door closed behind him, effectively shutting her out. Wringing her hands, she bit her lip, unsure what she’d done wrong to have him dismiss her so. Looking around the room, she took in the wall of bookshelves across from her, the coffee table in front of her and the reading chair to her right. Beyond that he had divided the long room in two, a small dinette in the middle of the second area, a desk pressed against the wall behind it. Standing up, she wandered closer to the table, passing the door to the kitchen and the washroom before moving into his bedroom.

Closing her eyes, Heather inhaled and hugged herself, the strong scent of sandalwood calming her. Reaching for her suitcase, she unzipped it, sorting through her items. Moving towards the dresser with the bulk of her clothes, she crouched and placed the folded piles into the bottom drawer. Colton was almost a foot taller than her, it made no sense to move his things lower. Besides, this was his house and she was guest, she didn’t want to change anything on him.

Moving back to her bag, she set her toiletries aside and made a pile of her undergarments, unsure where to put them. Zipping up her bag, she wandered into his spare room, faintly registering the sound of running water as she tucked her suitcase into the closet amongst his workout paraphernalia. She eyed his treadmill before exiting the room, thinking perhaps, if it wasn’t too loud, she might run tonight. After what had happened today, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she exhausted herself. Heather closed her eyes, trying to shake off the echoes of her father’s furious screaming and the clatter of her violin as it hit the wall, cracking into pieces.

Wandering back into Colton’s room, she collected an exercise bra, leggings, ankle socks and her running shoes along with a pair of pyjamas before shoving her underwear into his sock drawer, pushing the balls of material to one side to make room. Snagging the extra pillow and a blanket from the foot of his bed, Heather set up her bed on his couch.

On the other side of the bathroom door, Colton grimaced, his palms flat to the wall of the shower, ice cold water pelting the back of his head and shoulders as he attempted to will his erection away. Water droplets fell from his eyelashes and the ends of his shaggy hair as he reminded himself of the unfortunate fact that Heather was, much to his distress, his sister; and that thinking about her breasts, the curve of her hips and ass in her skin tight jeans or the plump kissable pink of her mouth was wrong.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the wall, disgusted with himself as he braced his weight on his right forearm, his left hand taking his cock in fist as he began to pump his shaft; the suds left on his hand from his bodywash slickening the feel of his fingers as he stroked.

He pictured Heather on his couch, presenting the back of her neck to him again, only this time, instead of bruises he pictured his mouth on her skin, kissing a hot trail down her perfect creamy skin as his arms circled her so he could close his hands over her chest and feel the weight of her breasts in his palms.

He groaned, picturing himself pulling her onto his lap as he joined her on the couch, his hand sliding down to cup and squeeze her delectable ass as she pressed her heated core against his cock, her hands running over his chest as she lowered her mouth to his. He imagined her wet little tongue pressing on the seam of his lips, seeking entrance to his mouth. He pictured flipping her, pinning her to couch on her back as he ravaged her, his tongue fucking her mouth the way he wanted to stroke his cock between her thighs to make her cry out his name.

He gripped his cock tighter, flicking his wrist, twisting his hand over the head of his dick as he increased the pace, his jaw clenched as his shoulders shook with the pleasurable sensation, his body hot despite the ice water raining down on him. He called upon a vivid memory to fill in the blanks of her body, she’d been only sixteen when he’d walked in on her naked in her room, moisturizing her legs. She’d filled out since then, her breasts bigger, her hips wider. He wondered if her nipples were still the same as he pictured her topless beneath him on the couch, a moan escaping her throat as he sucked a dusty rose peak into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it languidly. He could practically hear her panting from him, his name broken syllables as it fell off her tongue.

“Colt?”

He groaned, her voice still as sweet as it had been when they were young.

“Colton?”

He pictured her green eyes reflecting love and trust at him as he sunk into her heat.

“Colton?”

He grunted as his body jerked, splattering his release all over the shower wall.

“Colton!” Her voice came louder as he realized her cries were not coming from inside his head but from the other side of the door.