Stepbrother's Secret

Bursting at the seams with happiness, I throw myself into his arms, my tears of joy soaking into the shoulder of his sweater. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

His arms come around me slowly, holding tight. And when he speaks, his tone is thoughtful. “You like this a lot more than the apartment, don’t you? The jewelry, the—”

“Yes.”

This swing was always there. No matter who came and left or how I spoke or dressed. It was always right there. I want to say these words out loud to my stepbrother, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. Don’t want to come across unappreciative for what he’s done.

So I kiss him instead. Soundly.

I cinch my thighs around his hips and urge his mouth to open and accept my grateful tongue. And it doesn’t take much work to make him kiss me back. No, he takes control in a snap, his body bowing over mine, our lips frantic, frantic to taste. His hands grapple with my dress, yanking it up to knead the cheeks of my bottom, ride me up and down his lap. The appearance of the tire swing has brought the unruliness back inside me. The way I used to live, full force, in the fields and backwoods of my home. Unrestrained. And I pour all of that into the kiss, tempting Tristan to join me in my breathless freedom.

“Fuck,” he grits out against my mouth. “This is why I didn’t want to show you until morning. Never going to make it to the bed now. You’re always so goddamn hot for it.”

“Be inside me, Daddy,” I mewl against his mouth, rubbing my sex on top of his.

Tristan shudders, dropping to his knees and laying me down in the grass. His chest heaves, fingers uncharacteristically clumsy as he unfastens his jeans, tearing down the zipper. I sit up halfway, long enough to strip the loose dress over my head, baring my naked body to the moonlight, to my stepbrother’s eyes—and at the very same moment, we seem to recall how forbidden this is. That he’s stolen me away under the cover of night, unable to wait, unable to go another hour without having our bodies fused.

“Last time, I was so desperate…I swore someone was going to interrupt us or try and take you away from me.” He rakes a hand down between my breasts, belly, sliding a thumb between the folds of my sex, rubbing the sensitive button at the top. Slowly, sensuously, his face shadowed thanks to the moon at his back. “Can’t leave my stepsister’s little pussy unlicked again. It’s been too good to me.”

The sight of this powerful man, a governor, getting on his belly in the grass between my spread thighs robs me of breath. His broad shoulders bump my legs farther apart, pin them open, his warm breath coasting over my damp flesh.

“So sweet,” he mutters, kissing my mound, dragging his lips lower, lower down my slit and back up, kissing me again. “So precious.” He parts me with the tip of his tongue, gripping my hips roughly. “And yet, it brings me to my fucking knees, doesn’t it, baby?”

My stepbrother eats me alive, right there in the grass.

Turns his mouth sideways and slants French kisses between my parted flesh, tonguing me hungrily and groaning, pumping a long middle finger into my opening, pressing it in and out, summoning forth even more wetness. So much that I’m almost embarrassed and try to close my legs, but he laughs darkly and pries them open, lapping at me greedily, rubbing his lips side to side over my bundle of nerves and finally, finally, licking me in earnest. Laving me firmly with his tongue, directly over that spot, that spot that arches my back and makes me rip grass out of the earth.

“Tristan,” I scream through clenched teeth. “Don’t stop.”

He bears down with that tongue, sawing over that swollen nub, the epicenter of feeling, until I’m straining, bucking, forcing him to pin my hips with a forearm. A scary, wonderful collecting of lust in my center implodes—and then I quite simply fly. I grind up and down on Tristan’s pleasure-giving mouth, inciting my body further, extending the flight up, up, up until I finally come crashing down, tears rolling down my temples, my muscles in a fit.

I’m not sure where I get the strength, but I’m moving before my orgasm is even finished cresting. Pushing my stepbrother down onto his back in the grass and taking his fat organ inside of me, pumping my hips on it eagerly, riding him the way I’ve watched rich people ride horses.

“Oh Jesus,” he rasps, yanking me up and back on his lap with big hands, his eyes devouring my breasts, my face, that place where we connect. Become one. “Jesus Christ, yes. That’s my horny little sister. That’s my wet little plaything.”