The Hot Brothers Ch. 08

It truly was more than an RV that we approached-- with me shivering the entire walk toward it. It seemed to be sized similar to one of those sports team touring busses that had plenty of room for a group to comfortably be in. I imagined the Subaru could drive up into the back. It probably still would only take a third of the length space and have plenty of room above it.

A queasiness set in. I wouldn't escape the brothers. But maybe some of John's behaviors and some of what Caleb had told me earlier would prove the older brother nicer than how he'd been acting.

Some antiheroes were warm beneath their harsh exteriors. Most likely, John was one of them. I didn't want to go into this bus with any other belief.

"Your house first to wash the countryness off of you," John snapped.

Countryness? A guy who could afford a touring bus had a problem with rural dirt on him. I recalled Caleb's warning about John being OCD. Now I worried a bit about what being considered clean might entail. It wasn't like I'd actually fallen in manure.

Once in my house, I flicked on the lights, shifting a side eye to John, who appeared caked with mud, wet and sticky, and absolutely fuming about it. If I hadn't been so miserably cold and mostly naked aside for the tight legs and rear of my jeans, I might have laughed. If he'd been Roy or even Caleb, the sight would receive a snicker. But not John. John wasn't the sort I trusted to tolerate laughter.

"Turn on the shower," he ordered, grabbing my wrist when I reached for my coat. He released me and peeled off his drenched shirt.

Damn he looked good. Like the sort of dirty sexy of an Alpha of a motorcycle gang. Greasy and dirty, but in just the right way.

He yanked the tie from his topknot, letting the wet and muddy hair fall to cake against his shoulders. When my attention returned to his stubbly face, his teeth bared. Before he could get any words out, I bolted toward the bathroom.

I had the hot water blasting by the time he followed me in. My teeth chattered as i looked past myself in the mirror to where he'd arrived in the cramped space. "Hot water takes a sec." I covered my dirty chest with my arms.

"Undress," he demanded.

I looked downward and kicked off my shoes and socks and wiggled out of the torn jeans. My favorite pair.

He'd destroyed the jeans I absolutely loved. I could have left them behind without a thought, but actually taking the opportunity to look at a favorite garment in this condition would make any self-respecting girl cry.

I rathered torture to seeing them so shredded. And despite the brutality they'd suffered, I lovingly folded them and placed them on the counter. A pathetic farewell, but it would have to do.

I turned to watch John step into the small shower, not bothering to close the yellowed curtain. Brown water flowed off of his defined muscles. How the fuck had I thought I could outrun someone of his fitness? And why didn't he ravish me to assert his dominance when he had me on the ground?

Just the thought had my cold, dirty body anticipating the punishment to come. He might do any number of things to me.

"Get in," he ordered, pulling me out of my entranced stare.

I'd been standing here repulsively dirty, gawking at his glorious form. And that almost black, Fabio length hair added to the Godlike appeal of him. I felt a bout of instalove overcome me. I might have always enjoyed the trope, but it was too far-fetched for most people. But they probably had really shitty lives and a bad imagination, though. Or simply knew the truth of inevitable dating failure due to their bitchy attitude, lack of attractiveness, and obsessive need to complain, which could never get a man's cock up.

"Get. In." This time he enunciated, and I realized I'd been staring at the manhood that began to point upward.

How long had that been going on? Wiser than to dare test his patience any further, I decided to go to the small shower we both would barely fit into.

The cramped space didn't bother him, he went to work scrubbing me as though I were a furry pet covered with grime. "I'm going to shave this pussy."

I'd never considered shaving a personal slave as something to bring arousal to a man. I was okay at keeping things mildly covered but well-trimmed. "I can groom it myself." I would maintain a little dignity through the jab at my appearance.

I'd only thought there was too little space in the shower before he closed in on me. My back pressed to the wall and he braced his left elbow to the side of my head. Water dribbled down from his chin to mine.

"You do whatever the fuck I give you permission to do." His right hand went down to my folds, which were wet with something more than soap and misting water. "And I want it bare so every time I walk past where you're kept, I see it weeping to be fucked."

Kept? Why was I so mental that the way he said kept sounded sexy? Like the women kept in one area and only visited when they were to be fucked.

And that always had the twisted intent of breeding.

No thanks, creepy dude.

Suddenly kept didn't feel so sexy, no matter how dreamy the glossy man was who'd trapped me against the tile. Or the way his fingertips spread and explored my nethers.

His long digits probed. "I like it when you tremble like a scared little bunny."

What was I supposed to say to that? The tremble he mentioned also affected my voice. "Thank you."

As he dedicated his hand to my body, he watched my every response. Not in the I want to provide you with pleasure sort of way. This careful assessment seemed more in tune with figuring out how to exploit my body's reaction to his touch. And I always loved the way a captor in a forced proximity had her begging for him.

The way he could look at her and have a heartrate pulsing. The way the graze of his knuckles, even against the forearm, could make his hungry gaze a treasure. And now, these piercing green eyes behind a dark line of thick wet lashes threatened to affect me in such a way. If only his intentions didn't include children, I could drink in every millisecond of his attractiveness.

The intensity of his focused gaze created an internal turbulence I wasn't ready to deal with. I attempted to look past him to the rusty showerhead.

"Look at me," he demanded, continuing his exploration that captured my most sensitive area with the friction of his stroke.

It was a shameful thing to have to look into the eyes of a man whose craving could be so overwhelming. A man I knew had jacked off to the image of me before ever planning to capture me. He'd probably fantasized about this moment of me being cornered every time he considered turning me into his property.

Now that I knew he came from wealth, I needed to gain the courage to ask my worth. "How much did I cost you?" Hopefully more than thirty thousand including the expense of hiring me, travel, and purchase of all the gloomy flowers from multiple states.

Deep breaths swelled his shimmery body. Rage seemed to billow, as though a fire from within him caused the steam. "You didn't put a dent in my finances."

I supposed that could be good or bad. Either I'd been really cheap for a purchasable person or he didn't have to keep track of his finances in the least. Hopefully the latter. After all, this man didn't have a small dick and he didn't need to draw attention to himself by bragging.

The closer he leaned so his head hovered inches above mine, the more water streamed down from his face. With his hand no longer exploring me, he raised his arm, positioning so his elbows were above my shoulders to either side of my head.

His cock pushed against my stomach, both promising to fulfill my darkest desires and warning of torment to be inflicted. "I would fuck you now, but since you're so worried about how much you're worth, we might as well save that fun for the fancy new equipment I bought to punish you."

Water may have been pouring down, but my eyes widened, unconcerned with the spray. My lips may have parted, but no words would find their way out.

"And we should probably get on the road to pick up the additional items I had to special order after you chose to run away." He had this sort of sexiness of an islander drenched from a waterfall, ready to claim me beneath the waters he ruled over.

My voice didn't even sound like my own when I said, "Okay."