Stepbrother's Secret

He rolls me over onto my back, wrapping a hand around my throat.

His erection pummels me, stretching me with every violent thrust.

We’re animals. Filthy, desperate. Moaning.

I slap him across the face and he bites my neck, his fingers bruising on my thighs, my buttocks, his body driving mine into the dirt and grass.

“This isn’t even fucking,” he growls in my ear. “This is mating, baby. Daddy’s mating you so good.”

“Say it,” I breathe, burying my nails in his pumping backside. “P-please.”

Tristan makes a choke sound. He knows exactly what I’m asking for.

Wants to give it to me. Wants to be that much more depraved with me.

“Slut,” he rasps, bringing his mouth down hard on mine. Kissing me crudely, his tongue deep in my mouth, teeth clashing. “Wild, horny, little wildcat slut.”

Another orgasm slams me down onto the ground, pinning me as I shake, sobbing, sobbing his name. My tummy momentarily cramps, the climax is so intense, my intimate muscles are rippling so hard. And then I’m face down on the grass, butt in the air, Tristan’s palm cracking once, twice across my backside, before his manhood plows into me. With such force that it brings my knees off the ground.

They land again and I scream. Inhale loudly. Scream again.

My hair is wrapped in a tight fist and Tristan must have removed his sweater, because suddenly his chiseled chest is raking up and down my back, his hips slapping that hard, long part of him inside me, his ragged grunts echoing in the trees. “Now you say what I want to hear,” he says, his tongue licking a path up my spine. “Call for me, little girl.”

“Daddy,” I whimper, my cheek sliding up and back in the grass. “Fill me up, Daddy.”

“Ah God. Yes. Here it comes, baby.” Tristan jolts, groans and falls forward on top of me, flattening me on the ground, his arousal flexing and spurting inside of me. I bare my teeth at the night, writhing my hips, desperate to make him hot until the very end. To take every drop he’s giving me. He tries to pin me down and hold me still while he climaxes, but I won’t let him, spreading my thighs and ticking my hips back, riding myself on his draining steel, riding until he bellows my name hoarsely and drops, boneless, beside me.

I’m floating.

I’ve never been so weightless and it’s amazing, but it’s even better when Tristan anchors me, drawing me into his arms tightly, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth. “Look at me,” he says, voice serious. He doesn’t speak again until I manage to raise my heavy eyelids. “Like I said to you in the car, it’s not like this very often between a man and woman. Maybe it never is. So this…this is new to me, too, in some ways. Losing myself so…completely. When I’m inside you, we get a little crazy, and Jesus, I love that. I need it. Need you. But those things I say to you aren’t part of our reality. You understand? You’re a sweet, beautiful, perfect angel, Cate. I need you to look at me and tell me you understand.”

Until he says those words, I don’t realize how badly I needed to hear them.

There is no safer place than in Tristan’s arms, but he just made that even truer.

I nod, kissing him back. “I understand.”

His exhale carries the weight of relief. But he’s still tense. “Cate, I’m in love with you.”

My eyes fly to his and I see something there. Love, yes. But there’s more.

There’s obsession. The threat of madness.

And I love those things about him, too. I love everything about my stepbrother. So my voice is clear and leaves no doubts behind when I whisper, “I love you, too.”

Breath stuttering out, he can’t speak for a long time.

Long after he carries me inside and makes love to me in his bed until the sun rises.

Everything feels perfect.

But there’s never any telling what the night will bring.

9

Tristan

I adjust my tie in the mirror, trying to split my attention between getting ready for tonight’s party and the Zoom staff meeting taking place on my laptop. “Carolyn, reach out to Senator Wichowski. Make sure we can count on his social media support on election day. The numbers in his district could swing either way. Let’s swing them ours.” I add my grandfather’s gold tie clasp, which I only wear on special occasions. “And Joe? I wasn’t thrilled with the attack ad angle on the latest commercial. Let’s dial it back and let the guy bury himself. We don’t need to do it for him. The debate last month spoke for itself.”

“On it, Governor. Totally agree.”

“I’ll be away from my phone tonight. Let’s meet tomorrow in the afternoon. Take Saturday morning for yourselves.”

An electronic cheer goes up and I smile absently, clicking my laptop shut. Normally my staff would have weekends off, but the election is only weeks away, so it’s all hands on deck.