I pull at the dress I'm wearing, this little black dress my mother said was completely inappropriate but that I bought anyway. I'm practically an adult, at least in music industry terms. And screw her, anyway. She's attempting to control me, trying to dictate which boys I date or don't date. Mostly don't date.

Not since the kiss.

The kiss, the one that changed everything. The kiss that made Hendrix pull himself away from me like he was in the worst kind of physical pain, then turn and walk away. He's barely spoken to me since it happened, nothing more than a handful of sentences, and even though he doesn't parade a string of slutty high school girls through the house the way he did once upon a time, I know he's still screwing his way through a slew of girls. He has to be.

It shouldn't bother me. He's leaving for boot camp in three weeks and tonight is his graduation party.

He should never have kissed me. I should have never kissed him back.

And I should be able to stop thinking about that kiss.

I push my way through the bodies of people from Hendrix's high school, all of his friends, stopping when someone asks for a photo or begs me to squeeze into their graduation selfie. The whole time, I'm scanning the crowd in our house, looking for Hendrix, before I finally give up and head outside. There are kids in the yard, stragglers, but most of the crowd is inside, and I round the corner of the house before I take off my heels that are digging into the lawn and just walk barefoot in search of someplace quiet.

I stop short when I see Hendrix and his friends, passing a bong back and forth as they lean up against the guesthouse. I almost say hello, and then I hear my name, and freeze, standing out of sight.

"Addison is a hot piece of ass. That's all I'm saying," one of Hendrix's friends says. I don't think I've ever met these friends, although I recognize a couple of them.

"I hear she screwed one of the producers on that show she was on," another says. "It's how she got on the show in the first place. I knew she was a slut."

My cheeks flush warm. Hendrix is standing there, letting his asshole friends talk shit about me like that, when he knows none of it is true?

"She was like twelve years old when she was on that show, you idiot," Hendrix says.

"I'm going to tap that as soon as you're out of here, you know," one of them says.

"Whatever," Hendrix says. "I'm sure she's not going out with your dumb ass."

"Who says I'm going to take her out anywhere?" he asks. "She has a great voice. I bet she has an even better mouth."

"Gonna give her some vocal lessons with my dick, dude," the other guy says, and they hi-five each other and bust into raucous laughter. My face is burning hot, and I stand there with my feet rooted in the ground, listening to the exchange instead of walking away, because apparently I'm some kind of masochist.

"Yeah, I understood what you were saying," Hendrix says. "Well you're too late, because I already tapped that."

My heart races, my blood pumping so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear what they're saying. I'm leaning against the house listening to Hendrix tell his friends he fucked me.

"You're a lying sack of shit, dude," one says.

"Don't believe you."

"Believe me or not, I don't give a shit," Hendrix says. "You want my sloppy seconds, go right ahead."

"I'm not sticking my dick where you've been. She was a fucking great lay, though, yeah? Someone that hot has to be."

"One of the worst," Hendrix says. "Dead fish."

"Maybe cause you weren't doing it right."

"Or cause you're her fucking brother, man. That's pretty foul, even for your low standards."

"Stepbrother," Hendrix says. "We're not related. But you want to take her for a ride, be my guest. Just remember what I said. Cold fucking fish. And she has cellulite on her ass."

I stumble away from the house, walking through the grass in my bare feet as quickly as I can, before I break into a run across the lawn behind the house, one hand clutching the fabric of my dress and the other holding my shoes. I'm breathless when I reach the trees on the far side of the property, and I stand with my hand on the trunk of a tree, my chest heaving, feeling like I'm going to vomit and trying unsuccessfully to choke back the tears that begin to run down my face. But once the floodgates open, there's nothing stopping them, and I sink to the ground.

* * *

"Hendrix." I'm trying to open the stupid umbrella while I totter on my heels. Meanwhile, Hendrix is storming across the backyard with a purpose, and I know where he's going. He's headed straight for the grove of trees. My grove. Our grove. The place where he kissed me.

It's the last place I want to follow him. I don't want to look at it again. I don't need reminders of the past. And in the pouring rain, no less.

"Fuck." The stilettos on my ankle boots sink into the grass. "These are brand new shoes, Hendrix. Two thousand dollar shoes. In case you care!" He doesn't respond, and I yank my boots out of the stupid grass and peel them off, one at a time. Then I throw them as hard as I can, and watch them bounce on the lawn.

I should just finish dinner. I should ask the too-handsome Tustin about banking and investments and whatever the hell he does in his suit and tie, buy companies or fund movies, or order people around all day. I should find a normal fucking boyfriend.

I shouldn't traipse across the lawn in my bare fucking feet in a downpour, chasing after a ghost from my past.

But I don't turn back toward the house.

When I reach Hendrix, he has his back toward me. "Will you just stop for a second?" I yell. "You're soaking wet."

"Can't I get five goddamned minutes of peace without you coming after me?" he asks, not turning around. "Go back to your dinner, Addy."

"It's not my dinner," I say. "You're the one who dragged me to it, not the other way around."

"It's your date," he says.

"You're jealous," I say. I'm standing behind Hendrix. I want to reach out and touch him, spin him around to look at me, but I don't.

"Is that what you want me to say, Addy?" Hendrix growls. He finally turns, grabs my arms, and I drop the umbrella. I want him to kiss me the way he kissed me before he left for the Marines. But he doesn't. His grip tight, he pushes me against the tree, and the rough bark digs into my skin. The rain pummels us, and Hendrix's clothes are completely soaked through, his t-shirt half-transparent, the fabric clinging to his skin, outlining every inch of his muscled chest.

"It's the truth," I say. "You're jealous because someone else is interested in me. Say it."

"No shit I'm jealous," he says. "Some douchebag in a suit doesn't get to have you, Addy."

"Oh, but you do?" I ask. His hands on me, my breath comes in short gasps, my emotions confusing and overwhelming. I want him, but I can't forgive him. I want him to leave, and I want him to stay. "And if you don't have me, you'll just pretend you did, right?"

Hendrix furrows his brow and steps back, but his hands are still on my arms. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," I say. "Forget I said it." Suddenly, I want nothing more than to get out of here, but Hendrix doesn't move.

"Screw forgetting," he says. "Say what you have to say."

"I heard you that night." I blurt it out, feeling shaky and vulnerable.

"Heard what?" Hendrix looks confused, rain running down his forehead. I realize how stupid I am, standing outside in the pouring rain, drenched from head to toe, barefoot and mud-splattered. Even more stupid because I'm fixated on something that happened five years ago. "Goddamnit, Addy, say it."

"I heard you talking about me," I say. "That night. Your graduation party."

"So?" Hendrix asks. "I'm sure you've heard me talk about you all the time. I don't get it."

"I heard you tell your friends you fucked me."

A look of realization passes over his face, and he lets go of my arms. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." I cross my arms over my chest, and wipe water off my forehead, which does me a fat lot of good. I can see black smudges on my hand, and I realize my mascara must be running down the sides of my face. I probably look like a clown.

"And you've been angry about this for five years?" Hendrix is smiling at me now.

"Stop laughing about it, you asshole." A surge of irritation runs through me. I could slap him right now for being so smug and obnoxious, but instead I step forward and push him as hard as I can. He grabs my wrists and I struggle. "Let me go, you...jerk-face."

"Jerk-face again, huh?" he asks. "You get so obscene when you're angry."

"I tell you that I know you were a total asshole, and you make fun of me," I say angrily. "Not a damn thing about you has changed, Hendrix."

"No," he says, his gaze intense. "Not a damn thing has changed."

"Let go of me."

"No."

"Screw you."

"I said I fucked you, Addy."

"I know you did," I say. "I just told you I heard you say it."

"You knew me, though," Hendrix says. "You knew me more than anyone else in the whole damn world, but you didn't think to maybe ask why I would have told my friends that? You didn't think I maybe had a reason?"

"The things you said were crude."

"They were supposed to be," he says. "High school boys are douchebags, and one of them wanted to bang you."

"So you had to what, let them know you marked me as yours?"

Hendrix pulls me against him, his arm sliding around my lower back, and his hardness presses into me, sending a surge of heat through my body. "You are mine, Addy. It's a fact. But when I mark you as mine, you'll fucking know it."

"You want me so you can have bragging rights," I say, but I don't move away, either.

"Any man who wouldn't want to brag about being with you is messed up in the head," he says. "But I don't intend to say anything to anyone." He moves a wet tendril of hair away from my forehead. His hand follows the tendril as he tucks it behind my ear, and then, as if he's unable to control himself, he grabs my hair just like he did in the hallway, yanking my head back. Then he brings his mouth down on mine.

My resistance fades away, and I feel myself melting into him, into the kiss, as his tongue finds mine. And I don't feel the rain anymore. I only feel Hendrix. His hands sliding along my arms, his lips pressing against mine, his tongue finding my tongue, tentative for a second and then hungry.

His hand is under the fabric of my shirt, and then his palm is on my breast, and my nipple hardens against my bra. I want to feel his hands on my skin, and the thought makes me moan.

It seems like forever that I'm lost in the kiss, until I pull away, gasping for a breath. My lower lip feels swollen, bruised from his kiss, and I run my tongue along it, tasting blood.

Hendrix reaches up and presses his thumb on my lip. "I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay. It's just a little blood."

He tilts my chin up and looks at me. "Not that. For before," he says. "For the graduation party."

"You said I had cellulite on my ass."

Hendrix grins, and he moves his hand from my face, running both of his hands down my body and over my ass. "Have I told you how hot I think cellulite is?"

"Funny."

"I was a stupid kid, Addy," he says. "And I didn't want my asshole friends to get near you."

"Because you wanted me."

"Because I wanted you more than I could fucking breathe, Addy."

"I thought you hated me."

"I hated that I couldn't have you."

"Why didn't you ever...?"

"Because you were my stepsister. And you were a year younger than me," he says. "And I was..."

"A jackass."

"That part hasn't changed, Addy-girl."

"We should -- go back in, Hendrix." I'm standing here, pressed up against his hardness, the throbbing between my legs insistent, but I'm telling him we should go inside.

"You're right," he says, tracing his thumb along my lip. My lips part, and I touch my tongue against his skin, tasting salt. "I should definitely not do what I want to do to you right now."

"Wh- what do you want to do?" My voice cracks, and I can barely get the question out. I shouldn't be asking this question. I shouldn't be standing here, with Hendrix's thumb on my lips. I shouldn't kiss that thumb, the way I do now. I shouldn't watch his expression change to one of unbridled lust and listen to the way he groans, the slow rumble of desire under his breath.

I shouldn't do any of those things. Hendrix touching me is dangerous. This isn't a game, not with my career at stake. Not with everything I've worked for at risk. I know that; I tell myself that; yet I don't move. Every cell in my body is on edge, waiting for him.

"I want to taste you," he says. "I want to pull those pants of yours down, and I want to kneel right here in the rain and put my tongue inside you. I want to feel you come on my face, Addy. I want to plunge my cock inside you and feel you come around me." Hendrix's hand is on my back, pulling me to him, and I can feel his erection hard against my leg. If his words didn't tell me he wanted me, that would make it perfectly clear.

"I --" I start, but his hand is fumbling with the button on my jeans. "Shit, Hendrix."

He slides his hand down the front of my pants, underneath my panties, and I grip his biceps as heat runs through my body at his touch. "You are so fucking wet," he says.

I can't speak, can't make anything more than a strangled cry as he touches me, his callused fingers rough against my clit. Desire runs through me like electricity, and every part of me feels like it's on fire. "I want you," I say. I speak the words. Out loud. Finally. "I want you."

Hendrix lets out a growl under his breath, primal in its intensity, and I think he's going to rip my clothes off right here outside in the pouring rain, and I don't care. I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone. In five years, nothing about that has changed. That desire has only gotten stronger.

Lightning cracks, illuminating everything with bright white light for a moment. "We should go back, before we get struck by lightning," I say, and when Hendrix slides his fingers from between my legs, I'm crushed by disappointment.

Then Hendrix is pushing me against the tree, peeling my pants over my hips and yanking them, over my thighs. Before I can say anything else, he slides my panties over my hips. "Did I tell you how much I like this ass?" he asks.

I grin like an idiot, and I must look like one, out here in a damn storm, with my back against a tree and my pants pulled down around my knees. But I don't have time to think about what I look like, or about the way we're both soaked to the bone, before Hendrix drops to his knees between my legs and covers my pussy with his mouth. He explores me with his tongue, licking me and sucking my clit, and I let out a loud moan that gets lost in the noise of the storm.

He doesn't take his time eating me out. This isn't slow and languid. He eats me like he's been thinking about this for years and he can't get enough, and I close my eyes and let go. I pull his head against me as he sucks my clit into his mouth, running his tongue in circles over and over it. When he slides his fingers inside me, I'm already so close I nearly come at the sensation, and I know I want more. I want all of him.

I moan his name, not caring how loud I am because it's carried away by the wind, urging him to fuck me harder with his fingers, when what I really want is his cock. When he groans, the vibration reverberates through my pussy, bringing me higher. I run my hands over my breasts, barely covered by the sheer fabric of my shirt, and the stimulation practically sends me over the edge. I want to wait, to savor him doing what he's doing between my legs, but he has me so far gone, I can't. When I come, I cry out his name, my hands gripping his head as my muscles clench around his fingers. The release is so intense, and I've waited so long to be with him, that I cry when I come. I fucking sob, the tears intermingling with the rain.