Twisted Ivy

Chapter 4: MY STEP-BROTHER

It hadn’t been just once, Leo hadn’t just f****d me to cover his tracks. He did it again. And again. Twice in the same month. Once during winter break. And once, pathetically, in the backseat of his car like we were in some cheap porn parody of “Straight Boys Gone Wild.” No foreplay. No kissing. Just unzipped jeans and the heavy breathing of a boy trying to outrun himself. He never looked at me after cumming. Not once. Because it hadn’t been about me. It had been about erasing something. Scrubbing himself clean with my p***y like I was bleach. And every time, I had let him—not because I had wanted to be wanted, but because I had wanted to see how far he’d fall... and because some part of me... some sick, bitter part... had liked knowing I was his alibi.

The thing between him and the truth. The dirty, wet excuse for why his phone wallpaper was Jasper f*****g Blackwell. Yeah. That part. He didn’t think I had seen it. But I had. I had seen it the day he left his phone on the bathroom sink while he showered, and it had lit up with a new text… underneath Jasper’s smirking face. Not a selfie. A candid. From behind.

Jasper walking away in his black coat. Leo must’ve taken it secretly, probably zoomed in and cropped it just so. I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? “Hey Leo, nice shot. Next time just ask him to sit on your face.”

I had caught him jerking off, too. More than once. The worst time had been recently. Library study room. He had thought I’d left. He had locked the door behind him and opened his laptop like it was a lover. I had doubled back for my pen and found him halfway gone. Hand tight. Mouth open. Gay porn loud in his headphones. The kind that didn’t fake it. The kind that dripped. He hadn’t heard me, not right away. I had stood there.... Watched.

Let it soak in... The truth of him, the crack, the rot, the pain. Leo was like a sealed envelope that had already burned at the edges. And he was full of things he’d never say. Things like: “I wanted him more than I hated myself, I wanted to suck him so badly, I wished I could be the one he ruined, f*****g you didn’t fix me.”

And then there was the neighbor. Hot, tattooed, in his thirties, married. Leo watched him like he was food. Pretended it wasn’t obvious. Pretended he was just bored. Or admiring the guy’s car. Or his watch. Or the way he ran shirtless every Sunday morning with his stupid Labrador and his six-pack and his ring flashing in the sun. But I saw it. The twitch in Leo’s jaw. The hunger in his eyes. The restraint bleeding through his clenched fists. It would almost be sad if it hadn’t been so predictable. Leo wanted Jasper, Leo wanted the neighbor, Leo wanted any man who didn’t want him back.

And me? I was just the temporary fix. The breathing lie. The straight-washed stain remover. He had used my body like a bandaid and then cried under the sheets when it hadn’t worked. But here’s the part that f****d me up: sometimes I wondered if he’d do it again. Not because he wanted me. But because I was here. And because pretending was easier than admitting the truth.

I passed him in the hall today. He looked at me like I was a ghost he regretted summoning. I smiled. It made him flinch because I knew him. I knew everything he was trying to bury... and Jasper? He didn’t have to touch either of us... He already owned us both.

The other time in the hallway, I had known he was there before I saw him... A pressure. A weight behind my ribs that pushed everything else down... thoughts, breath, common sense, dignity... everything.

Jasper at the end of the corridor.

Black shirt, sleeves rolled, belt loose like a warning. One boot against the wall. That f*****g smirk. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, because the second our eyes had locked, my body responded like he had snapped his fingers... Tight n*****s, wet heat... A full-body ache I hadn’t consented to.

I took one step. Then another. Like I was in a dream where I already knew the ending and I still walked in anyway. By the time I reached him, I was already gone.

And he stepped into me. No hands. No kiss. No skin. Just closeness. And I was pinned. Between his body and the cold stone wall. Between logic and lust. Between dignity and destruction. And I chose destruction, yes destruction. Without blinking.

He leaned in, mouth at my ear.

“You looked better with your legs shaking.”

My knees buckled.

I caught myself on the wall behind me. My n*****s tightened under my shirt like they had heard him too. Hard, sensitive, visible. And of course, he looked… the f*****g bastard looked. His gaze dragged over my chest like a mouth. And I knew what he saw. No bra. Tight tee. Thin fabric. Two stiff, pointed betrayals begging for attention.

He didn’t touch.

But God, it felt like he did.

“You’re not wearing one,” he said. Low. Observant. Like it was just data. Like he was reading a menu.

I said nothing because I wasn’t sure if I was proud or ashamed... or both, because my body had been aching for him for days, and now he was here, inches away, and every cell was screaming.

He looked at my chest again.

“You do this on purpose?”

I met his eyes and said, “Would it matter?”

He smiled. Not nice.

“No.”

That was when I saw it... His c**k, or more specifically, the shape of it. Long... Thick, huge... pushed slightly to the left. A bulge so obscene I felt it in my throat. He was hard. Hard because of me... not just hard, like f*****g hard because of me. Or maybe in spite of me, either way, I saw him now... really saw him, and f**k, it was beautiful.

Not polished. Not clean. Just pure menace. Big enough to wreck me. Heavy enough to ruin my week. And close enough that if I leaned forward two inches, I’d feel it against my stomach.

I didn’t lean, but my body begged me to. My n*****s ached... The air was too cold. Or maybe I was too hot.

I imagined him pulling my shirt up with one hand. Sucking one tight pink bud into his mouth while I grinded against that thick outline in his pants like a girl who had forgotten shame ever existed.

I imagined his voice while he did it.

“You want me inside you or all over you first?”

And I almost moaned. Right there. In the hallway. With him not even touching me.

He noticed. He always did. The slight shift in my hips. The way my thighs rubbed together. The breath I was trying to control.

“Say it,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard and forced a speech out. “Say what?”

“That you wanted me to press you into this wall until you couldn’t remember your name.”

I shook my head.

“You’d like that too much.”

He leaned even closer. Breath on my lips now.

“I already do.”

Another student walked by like it wasn’t her business someone was getting pressed against the wall during school hours... oh yes, it wasn’t her f*****g business. She dared not interfere.

Jasper didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.

Just lowered his voice until it slid right down my spine.

“Do you know how many times I’ve watched you walk away and thought about grabbing your hair and bending you over the nearest desk?”

My mouth went dry. My n*****s pulsed. I was dizzy now, floating... drenched.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined what your t**s would look like bouncing while I f****d you from behind?”

I whimpered... not a word... a sound. Embarrassing... raw, guttural.

And that was when he finally, finally, let himself smirk.

Like he had won.

Like I had given him something without even knowing it.

Because I did. Because I was standing there with hard n*****s and a soaked p***y and he was fully hard and untouched and I had already lost.

He stepped back. Just a few inches. Enough for air. Enough to make me miss him.

And he dragged his gaze down my body one more time... slow, deliberate, dangerous.

“Next time,” he said. “No shirt.”

He walked away.

I stayed against the wall. Breathing. Trembling. Clenching.

He hadn’t touched me, but I swear I could feel the outline of his c**k against my stomach—like it had branded me, like it was still there. And I hated that I wanted to taste it more than anything.

I didn’t go to class. I went back to my room, shut the door, locked it, sat on the floor like a girl who had just gotten f****d out of her body....

Except I didn’t. Not even a kiss. Not a finger. Just his words. The sight of his hardness. And his voice like a weapon against my spine.

My n*****s still hurt. My p***y still pulsed. And my thighs were still wet.

I should have hated this.

But I wanted more.

So much more I’d fall to my knees if he just crooked a finger.

I peeled my shirt off. My n*****s were flushed, stiff, aching. I slid in three fingers in my p***y—it used to be two, but this time, it was three. I whispered his name just once...

“Jasper”... and came so fast it scared me.

It didn’t feel good... It felt like I was losing something.

Something I wouldn’t get back.

My phone buzzed. A message. No name. No number. Just a voice note.

I pressed play.

Jasper’s voice.

“Touch yourself again without permission, and I’ll make sure you never finish next time.”

.