Chapter 1
"Rough Patch"
Annika
I saw my brother. While my breath instantly grew heavier and my pulse more rapid, I was distinctly aware in the back of my mind that the image looked vaguely familiar -- as if I'd seen him in exactly this situation before, almost as if I was having déjà vu. I felt myself reaching out for him, and so deeply ingrained as my instincts were, I caught myself immediately.
My big brother was occupied anyways; riding a faux horse into an equally ersatz battle. He swung his hand about in a seemingly random way, though he undoubtedly was cutting down all manner of evil-doer with a virtual sword. A sword that could only be seen if I would tear my eyes away from him and look at the screen hanging above the booth he was currently occupying.
However, the fact that he was only participating in a simulation -- No, a video game, regardless of how he tried to fancy it up -- didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He was gleeful unaware of the outside world as he hacked and slashed, calling out various commands to his virtual army. A shiver of excitement ran down my spine, and I struggled to control my breath again.
I'll admit, it was a rather neat looking game... from what I'd seen before he'd entered it. However it paled in comparison to the chance of watching him in action. There was something about his sheer presence that demanded my attention. Or perhaps it was just the way, while twisting and thrusting, his thick yet lean muscles strained against the flimsy black cotton shirt. Or maybe it was how his thighs clenched the saddle; his tight jeans bulging with masculine flesh.
The shiver was a lingering throb now, emanating from the core of my sex up my body like tendrils of electricity, preparing my body for what I desperately wanted, but sadly, would never have. I wondered what his powerful thighs would feel like in my delicate hands as I gripped them. What his iron arms would feel like wrapped around my petite body. What his --
Abruptly, the image shifted, replaying from the start. My brother would smile at me, enter the booth. He'd don the thin VR glasses and mount the saddle, while giving me a reassuring thumb up. And then the fighting, the flexing, the look of absolute abandon and glee on his face. I didn't understand why I was seeing it again and again, though I didn't care. I clung to the memory with fervor, happily. He'd no idea to what he was doing to me. What he was making me feel... think... fantasize about. I simply enjoyed it, as a gift.
He was next to me in the following nanosecond, a whisper's breath away from me. This memory -- for surely that was the only thing this could be -- was not at all a pleasant one, despite the closeness. I felt the tears well up before he even spoke the calm, cold words to me. "You don't know what you want, 'Nik. Or what you shouldn't."
I jerked awake with a jolt, anger rising in me faster than I could imagine. I immediately realized that I was on a fancy new high-tech corporate jet, surrounded by several dozen first-class style rows of sleeping passengers. Darian Black, in all his six foot one magnificence looked very peaceful as he slept in the plush seat to my right, blocking my escape to the bathroom. He was sprawled out rather comfortably, having reclined the seat back into an almost elevated bed position, with the footrest kicked up. On his side more than on his back, he was curled in my direction. One of his arms had found its way under his pillow in what looked to be a rather uncomfortably position, while his other had snuck over to me.
I was surprised to find myself holding his very soft, pale hand. My body released its anger before I could understand why, and I melted back into a more comfortable position in my seat, keeping hold of his hand. Anger would be a waste at this point anyway, what with him being unconscious. And the fact he'd sought my hand out even in his sleep was truly touching. No matter how horribly I'd treated him on the little vacation we were just finishing, he'd treated me better than I deserved. If that didn't prove he loved me, nothing would.
Yeah sure, he treats me fine. He just doesn't give me what I really crave...
I thought, before I could catch myself. I shook my head as if to physically fling the thought from my head; despite its accuracy. Yes, I had feelings for him. Intimate, longing, apparently unshared feelings for this man whom happened to share a father with me.
I could happily live -- ok maybe not happily, but live -- with the fact he didn't feel for me
that way.
If he'd been straight with me about it, if he'd simply said "No, that's gross," I would probably have gone out and found a boyfriend the next day; if only to soothe the physical need I'd had for him. Usually such issues were addressed by my vibrator, but my craving for Darian was so great only a man's touch could truly satisfy it.
Well technically, only ONE man's touch could truly satisfy it.
Realizing that I had been caressing the hand resting in my palm, I sighed. I knew I had that very obvious dreamy expression on my face as I gazed over at him. I didn't care. I didn't get many moments like this, to just look at him.
His blond hair, so very much unlike my own, was cropped short and naturally curled a fraction at the tips. He was clean shaven, though sometimes he wore a shockingly blond goatee, which I preferred only slightly more. His eyelids hid hazel-blue eyes the exact same shade as mine... probably the only physical indication we shared a parent. His jaw line was strong and sure, but hinted at feminine somehow.
While I'm no hater of the masculine form, there
is
such a thing as "Too manly." Darian, in my eyes, struck the absolutely perfect balance. His very fair, pale skin contrasted with well defined lean muscles stretch over a large frame. His wide shoulders contrasted with his delicious looking long, lithe neck, while his lower body... His lower body...
I gulped and blushed faintly; the one occasion I'd seen him completely naked popping suddenly into my head. He'd been stepping out of a steamy shower just as I'd walked in -- thinking we'd shared separate bathrooms.
He'd had a towel over his head, and I watched for five glorious seconds. I'd taken every detail in... the muscled, solid chest... the flat, impossibly smooth looking abdominal muscles with a faint six-pack formation. The abbreviated, thin trail of wispy-fine golden hair leading down to a...
Something a LOT bigger than my fingers
, I admitted to myself ruefully. That was the wonderful thing about fantasizing about him -- Physics didn't matter much. If he'd actually shown interest in me, I honestly didn't have the faintest idea what I would do after that. There was no way that...
thing
would fit.
Another shiver ran through me, and I forced myself to stop thinking about him. Unfortunately that just led me to think about why I shouldn't think about him, which started making me depressed, and a little angry again.
I didn't let go of his hand, though.
Some time later, I was jolted out of my fitful sleep once again. Not due to a nightmare, however, but something much more frightening.
Another bout of turbulence rocked the small plane, leaving me no choice. "Dare. Wake up." My voice was quiet, even though I knew full well how heavy a sleeper my brother was. He used three alarm clocks.
I naturally received no response.
"Darian Black, wake up right this minute!" I hissed into his ear, though when I squeezed his hand it was in a rather loving manner that belied my fabricated tone of voice.
"Mmm..." He mumbled, and tightened his grip on my hand. That meant little. I'd had complete conversations with him while he slept. He never remembered them, either. Though they were typically my trying to get him up, and he giving me excuse after excuse as to why he couldn't.
I tapped and pushed on his thick shoulder, until finally he spoke a proper word, "What?"
Of course that didn't mean much; chances were he was still fast asleep. I frowned at his still-closed eyes, as if I could force them open through telekinesis. "The plane is shaking."
