Chapter 16 – Hearts

Rating Reminder : M

Shannon stared at the screen door, watched it pivot back and forth, slower and slower, until with one resounding bang, it stopped. Brian was talking, but Shannon wasn't paying attention. She didn't know how long she had been sitting on the floor, just looking at the door, but then she heard Brian yell, "Shannon!" right in her ear, forcing her out of her reverie.

"W-what?" she said quietly.

"I can't deal with this!" He roared. "I'm not going to do this, Shannon! I can't condone this kind of behavior!" What. The. Fuck. Was he not going to take the money? Okay, Andy, maybe, but Brian?

"What do you mean?" she said, a hitch in her voice, as she stood up. "W-what?"

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. You know what I'm talking about, and you're a bitch just like he said you were, you're lucky I stood up for you – I didn't have to do that, you know!" Unlike Boone, when Brian tried to be intimidating, he was.

"I – You – Oh –"

"Can you talk normally, please? You're pissing me off, Shannon, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"You didn't have to beat him up!"

"Did you hear what he said to you?"

"Yes."

"It's disgusting, you know, about you two."

"It's not like that!" She cried in disbelief, "You have no right to say that, you don't even have any proof!"

"I have enough, Shannon. We were just using each other anyway."

"Speak for yourself." She said, even though it was true.

"This is over!" He bellowed. "Go pack your stuff,"

"What about the money?"

"Well he said he'd pay me to leave, so that's what we're going to do."

"You – what?"

"Your pretty little plan isn't going to work out this time, yeah?"

She was too stunned to respond, but two hours later she was sitting in the bar at the hotel where Boone was staying, drinking vodka at a counter numbly. She wasn't counting shots – she had probably had somewhere between zero and a hundred, she knew that for sure. She was all alone, it was the image of a stereotype, the epitome of a poor little rich girl alone in the dark. How dramatic, how tragic. All she cared about was Boone and how much she had hurt him and how incredibly much she wanted to fuck him. And her alcohol-addled mind didn't have much logic to try to prove this theory. Even an hour ago, though, she probably subconsciously knew that she would end up here. Maybe that was why she was wearing his favorite top of hers, the halter that provided easy access to her breasts.

I'm going up, she thought. Shannon slapped down some money on the counter, and with that headed towards the elevator, punching in floor 15, as he had told her, and waiting the long, lonely wait as the elevator ascended. She tore down the hall, but as she got closer to his room, 1542, she slowed, and hesitated, each step harder and harder to take. It wasn't like they hadn't done this before… but he had never been this angry with her, and she had never felt so guilty. Which didn't fully explain why she was doing this, as if it was some important step in their relationship – she didn't know what he would make of it, he could just think she came there to get a bed for the night. She scoffed – he was so wrong.

But damn! She couldn't believe Brian had taken the money for himself! Shannon was little surprised how little she cared, but then she realized that it wasn't about the money – had it ever been about the money? Oh, she was such a walking contradiction, she didn't have an alibi for anything she did – she was so fucking lost! And no one could figure her out because she couldn't even figure herself out… she stopped in front of his door, waiting. To show him that she was prepared to stay, she started to remove her three inch heeled Miu Miu heels, which were beginning to ache anyway, and tried to knock casually. But that was difficult to do when her mind was already groveling with him – please, please forgive me, please, please touch me… but Shannon wasn't going to grovel with Boone – she was still consistent in her insistence of I'm stronger, I'm stronger. As she continued to struggle with her shoes, he opened the door, and she stood there rather pathetically.

"What do you want?" He said, sounding tired. Fatigued, from all the effort and emotion he had wasted on her all these years. He had an ice pack up to the area on his cheek where Brian had slugged him, and Shannon had an urge to trace her fingers over the bruise, softly, just to feel the warmth of his skin against her hand. But there was no warmth in his voice. She stepped closer to him, but not having enough courage to look him in the eye, stared at the lush carpet of the room.

"Brian took the money," she said in explanation of her presence. "He's gone." She practically pleaded. He wasn't buying it, so she turned to him and lightly took his arm, tickling him with her touch, but to her surprise, he pulled away – reluctantly but firmly. He had never, ever refused her touch before. Never. She stayed in her place and put her shoes on the chair as he walked away from her. Smirking, he noted,

"So the player got played. It's poetic, don't you think?" Oh, he was going to put up a front, was he? Going to make this hard! She followed him, standing closer to him, it made her feel more powerful, more like she was in charge – she was the vixen, and he was the waif, (or maybe she was both?)and she was sure as hell going to keep it that way! Especially now, when she needed her title and influence the most.

"I knew you'd bring the money, I knew you would!" She cried, slurring her words a little thanks to the vodka. She was standing right over him now, as he pretended to busy himself with a suitcase, but she knew that he was feeling tense thanks to her vicinity to him.

"You're drunk," he said, disguising his anxiety with a half-laugh as he concentrated further on said suitcase. She leaned over him, brushing against his back so that it was hard for him to stand up to her.

"You wanna know why?" She slurred in his ear, her breath catching, breathing tiny baby's breaths – the ones she knew he couldn't resist.

He turned around, bringing himself up to his full height, which wasn't much different than hers, and quipped, "I guess it doesn't matter, does it? Because you're going to tell me." No sooner had the words escaped his lips, Shannon blurted out,

"Because you're in love with me." The words seemed to echo in the room – everything seemed new and distant now that she had put these words on the plate, straightforward, so that there was no getting around it. She wasn't just picking at it now; she was devouring it, binging on accusations and bare, naked words, his deepest secret out in the open for everyone to see. You're in love with me.

He was caught off guard. It wasn't like it was such a big deal, the fact that they had shared a bed numerous times made these feelings rather obvious, but somehow, this was different. It wasn't like they hadn't ever been in a room alone together, like they hadn't experienced tension between each other – but it hadn't been acknowledged before, not like this. All he could sputter was, "What?" She was already winning, she was clobbering him in their little game – he might as well just forfeit now.

"You brought the money because you're in love with me." That was Shannon – no apologies, no pleads of forgiveness… she always turned it around on someone else, and accusations worked better for her than "sorry." "Sorry" was so weak, so amateur, and just so generic. That was one thing that was similar about the way Boone and Shannon operated. He wasn't apologizing either; he was turning it around, just like she had to him. He gulped, shaking his head, before thinking of something to retort back, but she had already checked his king. He was cornered on the board, and there was some satisfaction in knowing that she had gotten him there.

"You show up here, plastered…"As if his words meant anything. She stepped a fraction of an inch closer – someone else wouldn't have noticed, but she knew he did. Every step she took, everything she did, was just another proof of his weakness.

"You've always been in love with me." Something flickered in his eyes, and his confusion, his complete lack of knowing what to do or say seemed to morph into anger – he was going to point the finger right back at her, but nothing he said could hit home as much as what she had said. She didn't know what had triggered his sudden change of emotion, and she longed she had enough courage to ask him what he was thinking. Even though it seemed brave, she was a coward doing this, coming here, when all she wanted to do was love him without being afraid. She didn't want to seduce him, but it seemed to be coming out that way.

"You've always been a self-centered little bitch, but now you're delusional." Delusional? When Shannon thought of the word delusional, she thought of herself in a room full of mirrors - those mirrors that distort your view and make you look fat or tall or stubby, make you lose yourself and where you are going, but Shannon knew exactly where she was going with this – and she was telling the truth. She was just leaving out the part about her feelings. He had loved her forever, since the first moment he had seen her, and she had always known it. She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the guts to say so.

"I've always known it." He shook his head, like she wasn't the girl he had fucked dozens of times, like she wasn't the girl he was madly in love with, did everything for. Now she was just the girl who had beguiled him and nothing else. Could he truly be that shallow? Truly think she was doing this just to break his ego further?

"You're sick." He said. She hated the way he was putting up a front, like people were watching, a juvenile high school clique was their audience, whispering and snickering about how disgusting they were – this had nothing to do with the fact that they were sort-of siblings, because they were behind closed doors, and no one knew what happened there.

She leaned in, but knew he wouldn't respond to her lips, not yet, and whispered, "No." She was many things – but sick was not one of them." Boone.." She touched his shoulder, pulling herself closer, and her lips brushed across his chin, so close she wasn't sure if she was touching his skin or merely hovering above it, and rested her cheek against his for a moment, such a fleeting second he didn't have a chance to pull back. Not that he would have anyway, she was like chocolate to someone on a diet – bad, but impossible to resist. "It's okay," she whimpered. And she could feel his eyelashes flutter down, his eyes were closed, like he was trying to picture someone else there, and if he closed his eyes, it wouldn't be his sister there. But she could tell his mind was spinning, screaming, Shannon, Shannon, Shannon.

"Stop…" he pleaded. She had stood in this position to him before, but there was something arid and eerie about this room, in all its darkness and grandeur.

"It's okay," she mouthed, and without even taking a break to breathe, closed her lips over his earlobe, pulling at it and licking it without asking questions. She removed her lips just millimeters away, and closed her mouth over his earlobe again. His ear was burning and frigid at the same time, funny how even his ear conveyed his feelings perfectly. She gently but firmly teased his earlobe with her teeth – her perfect, white teeth, her lip-gloss leaving a shiny residue on the cartilage of his ear. He was closing his eyes, and opening them, fighting with himself, but as her right arm tightened against his shoulder, it was obvious he had finally made the decision to forfeit…his chin was prodding at hers, and she kissed his ear once more, then touching his cheekbone, the dimple between his lip and his cheek, and he moved his head the most miniscule amount, so that her lips became victorious in their plight.

Their chins, their lips, their noses were touching, so close that you could barely make out where her flawless features ended and his equally pristine ones began. Except for the gap between their lips, waiting to be filled, each daring the other to seal the empty space. She bent down just an inch or two so that her top and bottom lip touched his top lip the tiniest bit, and they both seemed to pull back in unison, then repeating the cycle, except this time he started it. She brought her hands lower, around his waist, over his hips, pressing into the top button of his jeans, and she hoisted herself up a little bit, really challenging him to kiss her harder, but it was her who ended up using more passion, more effort, as he just caught her lips in his again, responding but not making an effort to go further.

Finally, after her fingers had tested him to satisfaction and she had felt his erection, he leaned forward a little, opening his mouth and reaching his tongue just between her teeth, but it wasn't enough. She brought her hands back up his body, quickly, and rested them around his neck, oddly chaste compared to where they had just been. But what she was doing to him now was far worse, her hands mussing up his hair, jamming her tongue down his throat, hoisting herself up so her feet were barely touching the ground anymore, and wrapped around his ankles, and he had no choice but to respond further. It was like they had never tasted each other's mouths before, there was something about this that made it seem like it was the first time. Then she released her feet from around his ankles, and lodged her fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging at it and running her fingers against the hairs on the back of his neck, and he was kissing her more aggressively now – good, this was the way she liked him best, and after each breath between kisses he kissed with more intensity until she was barely fighting anymore, and she pulled back his collar, exposing merely a centimeter of extra skin, and was surprised at how much of a difference it seemed to make. He wasn't shy now – his tongue was pressed up to hers with so much pressure she could barely breathe, and so that she wasn't sure if he had pushed her onto the bed or if she had pulled him. It seemed like the only time that they agreed with each other was when they were making out.

She kept one of her arms around his neck, another at his waste, prodding and teasing his skin through his shirt, and they organized themselves, and they were silently fighting over who was going to be on top. She let him – she thought she at least owed it to him. The hand that had been around his neck strayed, over his back, and he brought his arms up higher so that they were getting closer and closer to the next step, and she tugged at his shirt in anticipation, digging her nails into the area of midriff she had exposed. She desperately wanted him to go further, and the hand that had strayed ran down his arm, sending shivers through both of their bodies, and she pressed his arm down – could she be more obvious? And the power struggle had ended; he was on top, and made it clear that he was going to stay there by hoisting himself over her, continuing to kiss her with ferocity.

She brought both her hands to the lapel of his shirt again, running her fingers down to the nape of his neck and unbuttoning the first button, without even looking down or pausing to pull her lips back from his. She knew this shirt, she had helped him dispense of it before, she had told him that she liked it before – and she wondered if he had, like her, worn the clothes he was wearing for a reason. Now, however, the buttons felt slippery and difficult to pry from the other side of his shirt… even his goddamn shirt knew this was wrong, that this time it was different. But the shirt was more cautious then both Shannon or Boone and there was no denying the fact that they weren't going to let a stupid thing like an uncooperative shirt, or the fact that she had just conned him out of half a million dollars, or the fact that they were sort of related stop them.

Second button and he moved his hands to the seam of her shirt, hooking his fingers into the space between her underwear, which rested low on her hips. Third button and he was moving his hands up to her waist, massaging the concave indent of her waist. Fourth button and he was gasping as she undid the top button of his jeans. By the fifth button, he was untying the minimal straps of her halter-top, working it up over her head, and by the sixth, they he was stuffing his hands up her bra, feeling and groping and yearning and regretting. On the seventh button, he was unhooking her bra, his fingers lingering on the flawless skin of her back, and then they were both shirtless. There was nothing there to protect them from the ridicule of the other, and she traced her fingers over the waistband of his boxers tantalizingly. Her fingers lingered at the fly of his jeans, just for effect, as she unzipped them in a flurry, and he pulled away to shrug them off.

As he did so, she started to dispense of her own skirt, and flipped him over so that she was on top of him. She was teasing as she tickled her fingers down his stomach, enticing as she felt underneath his boxers as opposed to just taking them off, and cruel as she slid herself down his body and rested her fingernails on his upper thighs. And she was Satan when she touched her tongue to the tip, ignoring his pleas of "stop."

She paused as a tumultuous sigh escaped his mouth, and then opened her lips, encompassing him. She pressed into his thighs, her nails leaving imprints in the skin, and pulled at it until, try as he might, he couldn't control the reluctant noises coming from his mouth anymore. "Jesus," he was saying in bliss, forgetting that she had just tricked him, how wrong this was, as his eyes rolled back. It wasn't enough. She sucked hard, with as much force as she possibly could, until she was practically gagging. With anyone else this would be disgusting, she was trying too hard, but this was most likely to buy his forgiveness. This was Boone, so it was the fucking sexiest thing she had ever done. He was still trying to hide a moan, but it came, loud and unrestrained as she was almost choking, her lips swollen and drenched in spit. When she could barely even breathe, she pulled back, cautious and innocent in comparison to what she had just been doing.

He was on top of her again, and he captured her bottom lip in his, nibbling slowly, and rotated his hand on her bare back. He was sliding his tongue across her collarbone, kissing her cleavage until she couldn't take the anticipation anymore and they were fervid, and their tongues explored each other's mouths wildly. He ran his hand across her chest again, and then he moved up so that he was directly over her, waiting for a moment before he came down.

He came down, his hips gyrating against hers, and she pressed up on him as hard as she could as he thrust himself in and out of her. He did this for longer than he usually did – or maybe for some reason it just felt that way this time. She was trying to be strong, trying to keep herself as emotionless as possible, but she found herself begging, groveling with him, her words a jumble of please, Boone, and oh 's. He heaved himself into her again and she bucked him, with as much intensity as she could manage, and each time he entered it was harder, deeper – it felt so good and it hurt so much, and they both had tears in their eyes, unable to keep track of the volume or amount of noises that came out of their mouths. All she knew was that there was no silence in the air, reminding them of their sins. Their moans and groans were insatiable, unstoppable, and she couldn't even keep track of when her orgasms started and stopped they were coming so rapidly. This wasn't sweet, this wasn't "making love," this was selfish, quick, and tough. This was fucking and that is what Shannon and Boone did.

The tears were streaming down her face now as he got inside of her again, and she was pleading with him, but before she could even hiss out the word "deeper," he was, so vehement that the aching in her stomach would not subside. She saw his face, flushed and in agony, as he tried to go again in the darkness of the room. He scrunched up his face, panting as he willed himself to go one more time. There were tears in his eyes too, he was so worn out, emotionally and physically, and suddenly Shannon felt a horrible feeling of guilt shoot through her stomach as she watched him struggling. "It's okay," she whispered. "You don't have to." But he did, and she collided with him in such persistence that she bit his lip while kissing him. She tasted blood in her mouth, his blood, and the combination of that and another mind-blowing orgasm is what told her, it's time to stop. He removed himself from her, and she turned over, bringing the sweaty sheets around her, and tears rushed down her face, different tears, and shesobbed until she couldn't breathe. She could hear his breath, slow and troubled but constant from the other side of the bed, but restlessness hung over her as heavy as the guilt from what they had just done.