Stepbrother's Secret

“I’ve told you it cannot,” he fairly heaves.

But he’s looking at my mouth.

I try not to be obvious about scooting closer.

“Cate, our parents are married. I’m twelve goddamn years older than you. Everything I’ve worked for, everything my staff has worked for, would be gone in a blink if I pursued this…thing between us and we were found out. These affairs never stay hidden. Not in politics. And worse than my own downfall…” He’s still staring at my mouth, the black of his pupils bleeding into the forest green of his eyes. “Much worse, you would be dragged through the mud. You’d be labeled as something you’re not. And I wouldn’t be able to stand that.”

“I don’t much care what other people think of me.” I swallow hard, disappointed in myself from trying to tempt him into something that could ruin his life. “But I don’t want to hurt your career, Tristan. I would never want that.”

I stand up from the couch, my intention to show him out, but when I try to walk past my stepbrother, his hand shoots out, gripping my waist. Stopping me in my tracks.

Conflict wages a war on his face.

I don’t breathe. Don’t move.

I should walk away, but his big hand sears my hip in the most delicious way. And up close like this, I can smell his expensive cologne, I can see the shadowy growth of his beard, hear his rasping inhales, exhales.

Slowly, he corrals me closer, into the V of his thighs, so I’m close. Facing him. My breasts become indecent things when they’re this close to his face and he’s baring his teeth at them. As if they’re offensive and beautiful and dangerous to behold. Both of us struggle to breathe.

Tristan leans close and presses his open mouth to my right breast, squeezing his eyes closed, and I feel his fingertips dragging up the curve of my calf. Those fingers move as if they have a mind of their own, passing the back crease of my knee and traveling up my inner thigh.

“You…and this body…” Tristan sais thickly. “Completely rob me of common sense.” His fingertips are moving closer and closer to my private flesh, slowing but not stopping their progress. “You were designed to torment my cock. Each and every part of you. That sweetheart voice coming from that perfect pink mouth, these little round tits…” His fingertips brush my sex and I whimper, my hands flying to his shoulder for balance. “Don’t get me started on this virgin cunt. It has my goddamn name stamped all over it. All of you does. So we’re not going to speak about kissing other men ever again. Ever. Again. Are we clear, Cate?”

His demand is galling, since he’s refused to kiss me himself. But that doesn’t stop my legs from threatening to give out. Doesn’t stop the thrill sparking inside of me. “Yes.”

My stepbrother’s middle and ring finger tease my dampening slit, moving back and forth. Back and forth. “One kiss and then you’ll behave?”

I nod—too fast—eagerness exploding inside of me. “P-please.”

My agreement has barely been given when Tristan pulls me down on the couch.

And his body rolls on top of mine, strong and heavy, his elegant suit rasping against my cheap, threadbare dress. I cry out his name, my nerve endings coming alive at the sensation of being pressed down, pinned, held captive beneath this man, his erection flush against my naked sex. Above me, Tristan groans, his jaw loosening with the sound, his left hand scraping up the outside of my thigh, his palm testing the flesh of my backside roughly.

“Oh fuck, little girl.” He rolls his hips, moaning. “You fit me so well.”

I don’t know what comes over me, but my hands are suddenly so bold. They mold to the contours of his pectoral muscles and drag down his drum tight abdomen. They unhook his belt buckle, some deep, natural part of my womanhood understanding what happens next. What is inevitable when an aroused man is on top of a woman. I want him to rut me, the way I saw Daddy do to Mama. I want to make him grunt and sweat, just like I remember from that night. Except I’d be the object of that hunger, that frustration.

I’ve almost got the zipper of Tristan’s pants lowered when he reaches down and snags my wrist, pinning it above my head on the couch cushion. “No, Cate. Bad girl.” With the opposite hand, he roughly yanks down the top of my dress, exposing my breasts. “Might be a virgin, but she’s hot for dick. Aren’t you? Look at those horny little nipples.”

“C-can you go inside me, Tristan?” I arch my back, reveling in the way he ogles my breasts. “Please. Please.”

“One kiss.” He seems to be reminding himself, instead of me. “I said one fucking kiss.”