Step Stalker

Vale seems to come out of a trance, swallowing hard and throwing himself back against the tile wall. Dragging a shaky hand down his face. The shower spray is landing directly on me now, so I sit up and turn it off, trying to piece together what just happened. “Be right down, Mother,” I call back, hurriedly pulling my panties back on. “I-I…better go change,” I whisper, positive I’m blushing to the roots of my hair. “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I know it’s just been a long time since y-you’ve been touched. Probably. I don’t know. Maybe you just needed comfort. But I’m not going to make a big deal out of it.”

“Lula, it is a big deal. I’m your stepbrother. I’m older and know better. I’m…”

“Living under a microscope,” I finish for him. “I get it.”

And I also know he probably regrets getting caught up in the heat of the moment. I just happened to be here when he needed a distraction. When his male needs were—and still are—at a fever pitch. There’s no way I can let him think I’ve gotten the wrong idea. That he likes me. How humiliating would it be if he was forced to let me down easy? That has always been my greatest fear. That I would misread a guy’s interest and force him into telling me sorry, I’m just not his type. I’d rather be alone than have that happen. To find out my mother is right and my body is going to prevent me from living life to the fullest. From being happy.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” I say, scrambling to my feet and booking it out of the shower, thankfully without slipping.

“Lula,” he grits out, coming to his feet.

But I’m already closing the door and working my way out of the wet clothes, a pain in my chest forming when I realize that might be the first and last time I kiss Vale. It’s obvious that I formed an attachment to him through our letters and now meeting him in person? There’s a whole new dimension to the breathlessness he inspires in me. The sense of rightness.

There’s nothing I can do about it, though.

So I better just pull my head down out of the clouds.

Chapter Three

Vale

Sitting at the table with my father and stepmother with a dick that could shatter glass is uncomfortable, to say the least. There is no help for it with Lula sitting across from me, however. She’s changed into another dress, and this one is tight, short and white of all colors, as if I need a reminder I almost fucked this innocent virgin on the floor of a shower. No condom, no foreplay. I would have burst her cherry and ridden like hell. After she was kind enough to fight my demons with me. Christ. I should be ashamed of myself. I should be more ashamed that I wish to God we hadn’t been interrupted.

I can already feel this getting dangerous.

I’m a man with lethal capabilities and the ability to surveil someone unseen. I’m already planning on watching her while she sleeps tonight, this sweet, loving angel who happens to be related to me by marriage. I’m itching to get my fingertips on her things. To go through her laundry and find the panties in which she had her first orgasm, so I can drag them all over my body, tie them in a knot around my dick.

I’m almost too horny to eat, but my father is watching me closely, as usual, so I manage to chew and swallow, my attention straying to Lula’s juicy tits. That dress is tight and worn, like she’s had it forever. Molding to her soft skin and making me insane. That mouth of hers closing around her fork and dragging turns my cock into a pulsing trunk, jammed up behind my fly.

You can’t have her.

I know I shouldn’t even be looking at Lula with these eyes that have witnessed so much horror. I’m too fucked up to be in her presence, let alone lay a finger on her. I haven’t even bothered being diagnosed with PTSD because it’s obviously one of my main problems. No doctor’s note required. What is the point of addressing what’s wrong with me when I know it can’t be cured? Nothing can erase the images from my head. Nothing can rip the shouts for help out of my head. Or this feeling of being useless now that I’m a civilian again.

She makes me feel normal. When I read her letters, when she held me in the shower, the storm inside my head devolved into a tranquil lake. But that’s not okay. It’s unacceptable. I’m not going to make this girl—and that’s what she is at eight-fucking-teen—with a normal life ahead of her become my cure. I have to stay away from Lula for the next three days and hope like hell I can overcome this growing infatuation once I leave for Coronado.