Seducing My Stepbrother (The Forbidden Fun)

The silence was ominous.

“Do … not … fucking … tell ... me… this,” said Jim slowly. “Not your sister. Not Janie. Anybody but Janie.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I mean, yes, Janie’s my sister, but we’re stepsiblings and our parents only got married recently. It’s not like we’re biologically related. That would be really fucked up.”

Jim lost it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screamed, this time really blowing a gasket. His face grew red and mottled and I thought he was going to have a heart attack, he was clutching his shirt like he had chest pains. “You go from a scandal involving a transgender woman to banging your stepsister? Really? You think the public is going to like this better?” Jim fell over then, huffing and puffing onto an armchair.

I rushed to get him a glass of water but he ignored it, as if all energy had drained out of him.

“Well, it’s not ideal, I admit,” I started, but Jim cut me off.

“You’re the only loser who would fuck his sister,” he spat. “That’s it. This is too fucked up. Starting now, you’ve got to find a new agent, Mason. I’m out. This is fucking disgusting.”

He got up slowly from his chair, quivering with rage, and slowly, majestically walked to the door before opening it.

“Get out,” he raged.

I snarled back at him.

“Fuck you,” I warned. “You’re a close-minded publicity hound who’s out of touch with the times. And oh yeah – you better not breathe a word of this to the press.”

“Don’t worry,” he spat. “I don’t want any part of this because you’re toast, Mason Phillips, gold medal or not. No agent will touch you with your fucked up incestuous transgender shit.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I roared as I slammed past him, tempted to knock the smaller man’s head against the wall on the way out. But I controlled myself. What I needed was to get in the water and swim off some of this rage. I’d figure it out because I had to. For myself, as well as Janie.

18

Janie

I packed my bags, but decided not to take anything Mason bought for me. As a result, there were no gowns, cocktail dresses, or fancy shoes in my suitcase. There were only the humble clothes I came with, many of them with holes in the knees. As I packed, my mind drifted back to our last shopping spree.

“Knock yourself out,” Mason had growled at the boutique, a huge male animal leaning back against a lounge chair with his arms spread. I’d smiled at him, growing warm because he looked so out of place, his massive frame dwarfing the pink plush cushions.

Yet I’d been proud to be seen with him. The saleswomen had immediately recognized him as Mason Phillips, Olympic medalist, and flocked to him like a crowd of chickens with a chorus of oohs and ahhs. They even asked for autographs and photos. Plus, it was with sharp eyes I watched as some of the younger salesgirls pressed themselves against his muscular form as the flashes went off, only too happy to rub their breasts against a strong man. One woman even went so far as to hook her high heel around his ankle, practically falling off-balance.

But Mace handled it with practiced ease, smiling but maintaining a distance. He let them take his picture while keeping an air of reserve.

It was a sign of things to come, I know now. My stepbrother will always be a magnet for women. He’ll always be a celebrity who draws eyes wherever he goes because of his looks and his accomplishments. Women will always throw themselves after him, and it was my responsibility to handle it with grace and dignity.

Yet, it’s harder than it seems. Shaking my head, I started packing again with a vengeance, cramming a red shirt into my bag. Yet the memories continued to flow, making me tear up once again. After all, I thought we’d had a breakthrough during the shopping spree. I believed we were finally going public with our relationship because Mason had hinted at the possibility, and my heart jumped.

“Buy yourself something that’ll knock the socks off the other Donkey girls,” he’d growled while I flipped through racks of dresses.

I’d had to laugh at that.

“Mace, the girls only wear the tiniest thongs, if even,” I’d teased. “You know that because you’ve been there.”

“Yeah,” he growled. “But I want my girl to be the best-dressed no matter what. Besides, we have that dinner at the White House coming up. There’ll be photographers, so everyone will see your picture in the papers.”

I’d gasped because it meant he was ready to go public, and to let the world know we were dating.

“Are you sure?” I asked quietly, my hand stilling as I browsed through a selection of evening gowns with four figure price tags. “You know there’s no going back once people see us together like that.”