Pregnant by My Stepbrother

by Cassandra Dee

  “I’m absolutely not interested in drugs, and if you’re a pimp, then I’m out. I don’t do that either. I’ve survived on the streets this long without getting into that, and I can survive another day.”

  At that, Tate throws his head back and laughs.

  “No sweetheart, you’re reading this all wrong. I’m not looking to use you as a mule, nor am I seeking to pimp you out. Although, I am interested in your body,” he says, his voice dropping an octave.

  I stare at him, my cheeks going scarlet. OMG, this isn’t the dungeon full of sex toys that I imagined, but it’s not that far from it either.

  “What do you mean?” I ask in a trembling voice.

  Tate grins and it’s positively wolfish.

  “Well, you have something that I want, and I have something that you need. You could stay here in the townhouse if you’re interested, so long as my needs are met in return as well.”

  My eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of my head.

  “Meaning?” I ask in a choked voice.

  “Sex,” Tate answers immediately. “I want you to take care of my sexual needs. Your body, in my bed every night. Wanton and horny. In the mornings and afternoons too, if I need it.”

  To my credit, I do not spit out my soup, but I come very close to it. After all, the feminist, the advocate, and the decent human being inside me is throwing a fit. Who the hell does this guy think he is? Does he think he can just take advantage of a homeless girl and bribe her into being his sex-doll-upon-command? Does this really happen in real life?

  But obviously, this is real life, and Tate doesn’t look startled at all. He looks infuriatingly calm and handsome, in fact, a lock of dark hair dropping in a comma over his high forehead.

  I could kill him. I could strangle him right here. In fact, I could do a dramatic reveal and tell him that I’m actually Laurelin Saint, his friend’s little sister. That would be a shock, wouldn’t it? It would be even better if I made a grand exit, swooshing my ball gown behind me, as if I’m too good for the likes of him.

  So why am I still sitting here, staring at Tate Connor’s gorgeous mien?

  Boredom. It’s that again. Boredom with my life, with my situation, with how so little seems to matter. Maybe it’s time to do something risky, and something my family wouldn’t approve of. Maybe it’s time to be the rebel. It’s not like I’m really homeless--if this arrangement goes south, I’ll have somewhere to go, and people who will take care of me. Hell, I can easily pay for a year of therapy afterwards, if I get mentally twisted from the experience.

  So I stare at Tate Connor. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. A cocky asshole, yes. But not someone who’s doing this to exploit, or shame, or mortify a defenseless woman. He’s doing this, I can already tell, purely for the animalistic need of it. Because’s attracted to me and because he wants my body.

  Deep in the pit of my stomach, something unfurls. The tendrils coil around my pelvis and my thighs clench as I look at him with half-shock, half-desire.

  Then I swallow, hard.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Tate asks, smirking a bit. I want to slap him but maintain my composure.

  I shake my head slowly, putting my spoon down. “You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you.”

  “For what? Offering you shelter in a safe, beautiful home? Promising you three meals a day and all the free time you want?” He shrugs, unconcerned. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, Laurie. I’m offering you something that could be very enjoyable for the both of us. Don’t you agree? You’d get a warm, safe place to live, and I’d get a way to release myself in the arms of beautiful woman as much as I want. It’s a fair trade.”

  I cross my arms, feeling stubborn despite myself. “You know what? You’re a sick-o.”

  He raises a single brow. “Really? But think of all the women who stay home while their husbands go out to work. Is that trade-off really any different from what I’m offering? Without the wedding ring, of course,” he adds easily.

  My mouth dries, and I’m unable to speak. There’s some truth to his words because a stay-at-home wife provides domestic comfort for her husband as he goes out to earn a living to support the household. It’s as if Tate can read my mind, and a smile quirks the corner of those knowing lips.

  “That’s what I thought. We’re attracted to each other, Laurie, so why not? We can help each other, and be there for each other. Trust me, I’m not proposing a romantic relationship by any means because I don’t have time for that, nor am I interested in that. It’ll just be sex.” When I don’t respond, he continues, “I realize that this is an untraditional proposition, but again, is it really that strange? Are traditional relationships really that different from what I’m offering?”

  I have to jump in.

  “Yes, because traditional relationships are based on love.”

  Tate looks thoughtful.

  “Ah, I see you’re a romantic. Well, I have to be honest, Laurie, but that’s not on the table. No love. Only sex. I’m sorry, honey, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “No, I’m not!” I say quickly. “We don’t even know each other.”

  Tate smiles knowingly.

  “Then we’re on the same page, aren’t we? We’re in New York City, sweetheart. Trust me, what we’re doing isn’t bizarre or dirty or bad in any way. Stranger arrangements happen every day.”

  Don’t do it, a part of my mind yells. Leave now and don’t come back.

  But a different voice is whispering, Give it a try. Why not? What do you have to lose?

  I jerk, surprised at myself. I could lose my sanity! I could catch an STD from this guy and his corrupt ways! But to my surprise, my voice answers on its own.

  “Okay,” I say simply.

  Tate blinks, looking amused. “That’s it?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll try it. But how long will this arrangement last?”

  The handsome man shrugs with a smile.

  “You’re free to leave at any time,” he says. “It’s completely consensual, sweetheart. I don’t need to beg women to get in my bed.”

  Then, he stands and whisks our empty soup bowls away, whistling jauntily like this is totally normal. My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest, and I suddenly realize that my hands are trembling. Am I making an idiotic mistake? What if someone who knows us finds out? My brother would be enraged, not to mention disgusted.

  But again, that flame of desire has begun to curl in my pelvis, and as I watch Tate’s muscular back move, my mouth goes dry. What if I love every minute of being with this man? What if he fucks me senseless twice a day, and I can’t get enough? Because that’s what it would be: pure sex, and not love.

  But sometimes a girl needs a thorough bang, and when I look up, Tate’s watching me like a predator stalking its prey. Those blue eyes are intense, his jaw firm, and suddenly I realize just how male he is. But when he speaks, his voice is deceptively light.

  “Good Laurie,” he says. “I’m glad you said yes, because we’ll start tonight.”

  I blink startled. Tonight? But then a warm wave washes over me and my thighs clench again. The truth is that I can’t wait for a night of pleasure in his arms.

  * * *

  To be continued …

  My Accidental Sugar Daddy is now LIVE! Pick up your copy here.

  Sneak Peek: Falling for My Beautiful Ward

  Tristan

  Daisy is curvy and irresistible, but I’m also the sweet girl’s legal guardian.

  * * *

  I wasn’t wrong when I said Daisy had plans. It all came out at dinner one night, over some medium rare steak. Chef had done well, the beef juicy, red, and so tasty it melted in your mouth. I could feel Daisy watching my every move, those brown eyes warm and luscious.

  But I kept cool, eating like nothing was wrong.

  “How was school?” I asked casually through a forkful of the good stuff, chewing thoughtfully. Before she answered, I glan
ced over at Daisy’s plate, steak untouched, growing cold. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Something wrong with your food?”

  The girl bit her lip slightly, that pout pillowy and soft. How I’d love to take them between mine and taste the sweetness, run my tongue along the seam before thrusting inside, sampling the hot heat within. But I shook myself. How fucked-up was that? I was twenty years her senior, and it was so damn wrong.

  Daisy’s shake of her head was silent, her eyes nervous.

  “No, the food’s good,” she said softly, looking down at her folded hands. “How was work today?” she asked.

  I kept eating.

  “Fine, I got out early and decided to come home instead of heading out to a client dinner. You can’t eat every meal out, it’ll kill you,” I said smoothly, forking up some mashed potatoes. It was rare that I indulged in any type of carbs because carbs aren’t great for maintaining muscle mass, but hey, every guy’s gotta have weaknesses, right? And the brunette smiled.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been showing Mrs. Potter how to cook healthy, even those mashed potatoes you’re eating are better for you than you think,” she said with a playful smile. “They’re not made with butter, they’re made with extra virgin olive oil instead, it cuts out a lot of the saturated fat. Can you tell?”

  And I groaned, closing my eyes for an instant. I hate health crazes, I hate cutting out butter, sugar, all the good stuff. Everything in moderation is my motto, and there’s no need to go wacko eliminating this and that entirely because it’s so fucking extreme. Can’t a man just enjoy a hearty meal?

  So I shot Daisy a sharp look.

  “You fucked with my mashed potatoes?” I growled.

  But Daisy wasn’t intimidated at all.

  “I did,” she laughed, “And you couldn’t tell either, you wouldn’t have known unless I mentioned it. Besides, the EVOO is imported from a special place in Italy known for the creaminess of its olives, that’s why the potatoes taste exactly the same. It cost a pretty penny, but I know you can afford it,” she said cheekily.

  And I let out a big breath. Seeing that dessert was a decadent flourless chocolate cake, I was almost dreading hearing what it was made with, how Daisy and Mrs. Potter had tampered with the recipe. So I changed the subject abruptly. Better than having my taste buds shrivel off from despair.

  “Tell me about school,” I ground out.

  Daisy looked up at me surprised. I don’t think I’d ever expressed interest in her studies or any part of her life for that matter. But since she’d come onto my radar, I’d found myself drawn to her, thinking about what she was up to, what she did with her time, and who she hung out with, although I’d never voiced any of it.

  So Daisy began slowly.

  “Well, I’m taking a couple great classes,” she said tentatively. “English, Algebra, Biology, and History, among others,” she said, licking her lips nervously.

  My attention was distracted by the flicker of that pink tongue but I forced myself to focus.

  “And which is your favorite?” I said calmly, turning back to my steak.

  Here, the girl flushed again, still not touching her plate.

  “It’s English,” she murmured, looking down. That was certainly an odd reaction to being asked your best subject in school. Most times I’d expect a person to go crazy, babbling on and on about themselves, using the invitation to spew. But Daisy was different, quiet and contained.

  So I pressed forward, intrigued.

  “And why is English your favorite?” I asked casually, leaning back in my chair although my body was tense, watching her every move.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “we have a really great teacher.”

  I relaxed momentarily. An instructor can make a difference, it’s true. I’ve had more than a few mentors in my career and they’ve been life-changing, helping me see things from a different perspective.

  “And who is this teacher?” I asked smoothly, expecting a woman. I dunno, I guess I’m backwards or something. I always think of teaching as a women’s profession, many of my favorite teachers have been Misses this or that. But evidently it’s a modern world now and Daisy’s teacher was a guy.

  “Mr. Ranger’s my English teacher,” said Daisy softly. “Mr. Ranger’s new to the district, he’s a vet, did some time in the military before taking up teaching. But it’s fine because we’re reading Victorian literature and he knows his stuff.”

  I sat back. What the hell? An ex-military dude was teaching my little girl about Jane Eyre and all that shit? Who the fuck was this asshole? But I didn’t let it get away from me, keeping my face impassive.

  “Mr. Ranger?” I inquired. Even his name was a fucking joke, like a GI Joe. “Tell me more.”

  “He’s really great,” said the brunette quickly. “We’re talking about Pride and Prejudice in class and he’s so knowledgeable. He reminds me of Mr. Darcy, a character in the book, except not stuck up at all.”

  And I searched my memory banks. Wasn’t Mr. Darcy the hero of the book, the tall, dark and handsome guy? Why the fuck was Daisy was comparing her high school teacher to Mr. Stud? I could feel my hackles raising, bristling even, the threat of another alpha male making me growl subtly. But it’d do no good to give it away so soon, so I schooled my face into impassiveness.

  “I see,” I said casually. “This guy seems pretty well-educated. He something special to you?”

  And Daisy blushed again, her rack rising and falling with excitement.

  “Oh no,” she rushed, waving her hand, “Mr. Ranger’s just a teacher at school. But…” she said tentatively.

  “But what?” I asked.

  “But he’s coming over next week and said he’d like to meet you, maybe talk about a donation for Central Prep,” she rushed out, looking at me with embarrassed eyes. “Would you mind meeting him, maybe just for five minutes to chat a little?” she asked in a small voice.

  I almost laughed internally. Because sure, I’d love to meet this dude. I’d love to beat the daylights out of him if he was indeed a hot stud, scare the bejesus out of him. But I played it like I’d need a favor in return.

  “This is kind of out of the blue,” I said, looking off in the distance while chewing my steak. “I’m not sure if I have time in my schedule. Which day was it? I dunno, I’m traveling to Italy and Venezuela next week, it’ll be tough,” I said, lowering my brows like I was visualizing my packed schedule.

  Daisy was silent for a moment.

  “Please Mr. Marks,” she said. “Just for a little bit.”

  I turned to look at her, that caramel gaze filled with sincerity, lips pouting, expression hopeful. But I didn’t become CEO without honing my negotiation tactics.

  “What’s in it for me?” I asked nonchalantly. “People are always looking to get a slice of my money, what do I get for meeting with this asshole?”

  Daisy bit her lip.

  “Well, maybe he’d give me a better grade in class?” she said in a small voice.

  I snorted.

  “He better give you a better grade,” I ground out. “That’s the least he could do for five minutes of my time. No, little girl,” I said gently. “Tell me … what will you be giving me?”

  And here, Daisy bit her lip.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said tentatively, the heat rising in her cheeks again, squirming a bit in her chair. We were alone in the big dining room but she looked around as if searching for some help, an out somewhere.

  “I’m sure you know what I mean,” I growled, leaning back in my chair, a relaxed male animal, dangerously predatory. “You haven’t been wearing panties Daisy, you’ve been flashing that cunt all over the house, trying to tempt me.”

  Daisy let out a sharp gasp then, eyes wide with shock.

  “Mr. Marks, it’s not like that,” she breathed. “I swear.”

  “Not like what?” I drawled, big body relaxed although energy jolted in waves through my frame.

  “It’s
just that,” she said slowly. “My body’s changed and I didn’t have underwear that fit anymore,” she said. “My hips are a little wider now and my old panties, I bought them when I was built like a rail,” she said shyly, almost embarrassed. “I used to be a size zero but now I’m a twelve and the last time I tried to get my old stuff on, they …”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “They what?” I pressed gently.

  The brunette looked down, embarrassed, completely still.

  “They ripped,” she almost whispered. “My panties didn’t fit anymore, they tore right in two.”

  My cock jumped out at full mast then. Oh fuck, oh fuck. The little girl was a curvy one, hips wide and sassy, with a rack to make a man cry. The thought of that sweet, soft cotton squeezing her waist, the fabric straining and finally snapping made my cock jerk to attention, and suddenly I couldn’t resist anymore.

  “Show me,” I commanded harshly, eyes glued to her figure. The air between us was electric and tense with sexual energy. Clearly, the steak was forgotten.

  “Show you?” she repeated in a small voice, shaking her head, confused. “I can’t Mr. Marks, I threw those panties away. I threw all my panties away,” she confessed. “None of them fit anymore.”

  The thought made me spurt a bit into my pants. Holy shit, this was dangerous territory, but I had to keep going. I had to.

  “Not that baby, I’ll get you new panties,” I rasped, eyes hot, dick on fire. “Show me that beautiful pussy. It’s bare and wet isn’t it?”

  And with wide eyes, Daisy nodded, squirming slightly in her seat again.

  “It is,” she murmured. “When I’m around you it is, Mr. Marks.”

  And I fucking couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Up,” I commanded. “Bend over, skirt up.”

  Trembling, the brunette stood, sliding her chair back.

  “Right here? In the dining room?” she whispered, chin trembling.

  “Right here,” I growled, eyes glued to her voluptuous curves.

  And slowly, the girl turned and bent over, the hem of her skirt rising inch by inch, meaty thighs coming into view, pale, creamy and oh-so-tasty, like ham hocks you could bite into, get a huge mouthful and enjoy.