Step Dancer

“That’s my girl,” he told her, kissing her cheek. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear you say.”

Claire smiled. She knew she was going to enjoy carrying her stepfather’s baby. Even better, she knew she was going to have one hell of a good time making him put one in there.

In a way, she realized, her stepfather had been wrong. Stripping had turned out to be a good thing. It had ensured they were both happy and that she’d never want for anything in her life. With her billionaire stepfather taking care of her and the baby, she would have everything she ever wanted, just like the spoiled little brat she was.

She didn’t tell him that, though. There was no need to ruin the moment. She’d let him think he had the upper hand, but in the end, she knew she’d get her way. She always did.

Dear reader, did you think I was done with you? Just for my loyal fans, I’ve included an extra bonus book to whet your appetite. Keep turning pages for STEP GUARDIAN!

Thank you for supporting an independent author! Just for my naughty readers, my entire catalog is now FREE TO READ to anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

Be sure to check out my entire naughty Nikki Wild catalog by clicking RIGHT HERE!

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I’m Nikki Wild, and I live in Southern California with my cat, my loving husband, and a genuine creeping fear of bad wine. I’ve been writing independently for three years now, and I’m in love with my readers every bit as much as I’m in love with my words! Every story I release brings me joy and pleasure, and knowing I’m able to spread a bit of that happiness to others makes every day of my life just a little bit better.

Thank you for giving me the chance to live my dreams. Thank you for giving me the chance to be an author. I owe everything to you, dear reader, and I hope in repayment, I can excite your senses and make your every night just a little bit better.

– Nikki Wild

Step Guardian

Nikki Wild

Although I hold the copyright to this naughty story, this ebook is completely DRM-FREE copy and you can read it on any device you wish to with zero restrictions. You paid for this story, and you deserve to be able to enjoy it on any device you see fit. THANK YOU for supporting an Independent Author.

–Nikki Wild

STEP GUARDIAN

(TABOO Bareback Billionaire STEAMY Romance)

What’s inside this very naughty taboo story?

After finally being released from rehab, 22-year-old Colette DuBois falls into the custody of Kennith, her sexy and incredibly wealthy stepbrother. As they return to the home they once shared, Colette has doubts about whether or not she’s truly ready to leave the facility. Freedom has never felt so stifling, so overwhelming, and she’s certain that she’ll never be the person she was before she was sent away.

When she discovers that her ex, Caleb, has already become engaged to another woman, Colette is convinced that nobody will ever love her again... But Kennith wants to change that, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make her see her worth… including taking her hard and without protection. Will Colette find forbidden comfort in his powerful arms?

Turn the page, and let me sweep you away into a world of dirty fantasy… - Nikki

Thank you for supporting an independent author! Just for my naughty readers, my entire catalog is now FREE TO READ to anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

Be sure to check out my entire naughty Nikki Wild catalog by clicking RIGHT HERE!

STEP GUARDIAN

I sat quietly in the backseat of my stepbrother’s town car, curled up against the window with my head resting against the cool glass. The leather, buttery and unbroken, smelled like brand new, a side-effect of the seat warmer enhancing its aroma, I supposed.

It had been six long months since the last time I’d seen him. Beside me, he sipped a bottle of water—not his usual fare, but he was trying to be sensitive—and stared at me in the way people do when they’re trying to look like they’re not staring. His eyes kept fixing on my face, but would for a moment deviate to my body, my thin frame and the gray cardigan hanging listlessly from it. The last time he’d seen me, I’d been heavier, fuller. Now I was a shade, a shadow, a fraction of the woman I used to be.

This wasn’t what he imagined I’d look like once I got better. He hadn’t been prepared.

Well, tough shit. Neither had I.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my stringy blonde hair fall in front of my face. As much as he didn’t want to see me, I didn’t want to see him. It was too much too soon. I felt like I was exposed, a live wire sparking in the street ready to burn away anything I touched. I wasn’t ready yet. No matter what anyone said, I wasn’t ready to come home.

They don’t prepare you for leaving rehab. Not really. Sure, you get some technical training, some “career-oriented” skills and counseling. You’re encouraged to “make amends,” which honestly just makes everybody feel like shit and only vindicates the facility itself. Everything about it is awkward, dredging up shit that everyone involved would just rather forget. Our friends and family hate taking the calls as much as we hate making them.

But the counselors insist. So we do it, hoping that it’s just one more step toward earning back our freedom. Independence becomes a romantic notion when you’re locked away from the rest of the world. At first it breeds rebellion, then determination, yearning, resolve. It’s something to hold onto, a sh

ining star in the twilight that you wish on as you recall only the good things about what being outside those walls was like. But as you move closer to it, you understand it’s all just a burning ball of gas that consumes everything it touches. You’re heading toward a light so bright it’s a wonder it hasn’t made you blind already. And once you realize what freedom is—a crushing aloneness, even when you’re surrounded by people—you start to avoid it. You adapt to your walls, your cell, your enforced routines.

And that, the facilities decide in all their learned wisdom, is when you’re ready to go home.

The car stopped and I opened my eyes again, blinking against the sunbeams filtering through the canopy of trees above. They were old oak, gnarled and reaching, their boughs plagued by Spanish Moss that stretched toward the ground like giant tears. They had deep roots in the land that spread like a vast ocean on each side of the unpaved drive past the wrought iron gates and wrapped around a manse that looked more like it belonged in Antebellum Louisiana than it did anywhere else.

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