“Oh, god,” she yelled out. “I’m coming.”
As if on command, my cock writhed and wriggled inside her like a wild snake. I dumped my load inside her heaving-on-earth pussy before falling on top of her in a sticky, heaving mess.
I pulled myself out of her and carefully peeled the condom off, wrapping it in a handful of tissues from a nearby tissue box.
“What the fuck, Xavier…” she sighed, attempting to catch her breath.
I slipped a hand between her legs, inching up to her wet, gaping hole. “I told you, it’s mine. For the next three months, you belong to me.”
THREE – HARPER
There was an ache between my legs the rest of the night, but not a bad ache. Not a soreness. More of a longing. I wanted more. Xavier, my stepbrother, had just fucked me in the backseat of a limo, and already I couldn’t get enough.
Did I like it? Yes.
Did I want it to happen again? Yes.
Was this part of the plan? Not at all.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be fake. Like in the movies. He wasn’t supposed to give two shits about me, and I wasn’t supposed to be daydreaming about his cock at all hours of the night.
I woke up the next morning to find Xavier passed out in bed next to me, fragments of the night before starting to play in my mind as I realized we’d fucked not once, not twice, but a total of three times the night before. It was as if we’d unleashed years of pent up sexual frustration into one, champagne-fueled night of guilty and forbidden pleasure.
I pulled my phone off the charger. Text messages from Elijah and Jenny as well as Google alerts notified me there was more dirt out there about us as people tried to figure us out.
It was funny. I thought I knew exactly what we were, and now I was right along with the rest of America, trying to make sense of it all.
I pulled up an article on a gawker website where a photo of us leaving the premier the night before rested front and center. My back was to him. My arms crossed. We were fighting. It was right before we got into the limo. Right before he fucked me.
783 comments!
I read through them all. Some people were appalled. Some disgusted. Some intrigued. Some even turned on. A handful of people were gracious about it with a live and let live message. It was a grab bag of a thousand different emotions – all of which I was certain I was feeling at the same time.
The doorbell startled me into an upright position. It rang again. And again. Over and over. My heart raced as I flung the covers off and ran toward the foyer as Xavier gently snored away under a mountain of covers in my bed.
Standing with crossed arms and a look that could kill was my mother – the incomparable Sharon Bliss.
“Hi, Mom,” I said as I pulled the door open and rubbed my eyes. “It’s really early. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Do not play dumb with me, young lady.” She whipped her oversized sunglasses off like an overly dramatic soap opera actress as she stepped past me. Her Louboutin shoes clicked on the wood floor of my entryway.
“What are you talking about?” I was still half a sleep, and most of my mind was still in Xavier mode. It was too early to have to think.
She untied the silk Pucci scarf from around her head and let her blonde curls loose, shaking them out a bit. She walked around my house like she owned the place, which was funny because she’d never given me two cents her whole life. Countless times I’d started writing my own “Mommy Dearest” memoir about her in my head. I’d never publish it though because I wasn’t like that, but man, I had some stories.
Sharon Bliss only cared about what happened in my life when it directly affected hers. And that’s when I realized why she was there. Xavier. Me. The gossip.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She held her phone up inches from my face where a picture of Xavier and I kissing at the club was plastered across the screen. “Is this some desperate ploy to get my attention? Because if it is, it’s working.”
I laughed to keep from crying, though the tears would’ve been more from embarrassment than anything else. “If I told you, Mom, you’d never believe me. Let me just tell you it’s not real. It’s all staged. Publicity.”
“Oh, my god,” she groaned, covering her eyes with her manicured fingers. “Please tell me you’re not that big of an imbecile.”
I scrunched my brows. “A little early in the day for name calling, isn’t it, Mom?”
“There are a million other tricks you could’ve pulled to get publicity. Dating your stepbrother is not one of them!” Her voice reached a high fever pitch like I’d never known before. It was almost cartoonish. I could practically see the steam escaping her ears.
“I asked for your help,” I said, crossing my arms and peering over her shoulder into the crashing blue waves that lined my sandy backyard. “You didn’t have time for me. You were too busy polishing your Oscars.”
She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands in the air for an extra, added dramatic effect. “For the love of God, Harper Elizabeth, you are not the only person in this world going through something right now. It’s not all about you.”
“It’s never been about me, Mom.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I am my mother’s daughter.”
“Do you realize what this is going to do to our family? Our reputations? Our careers?”
“You mean, your reputation and your career?” I brushed past her and headed outside, pulling the slider and relishing in the fresh, ocean breeze that kissed my face. I couldn’t stand inside with her a moment longer or I’d suffocate. She followed me outside. “And what family? You and Conrad are divorcing anyway. It’s not like Xavier will be my stepbrother much longer anyway.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointing daughter to you.” My hands clenched the smooth balcony railing as I watched the ocean waves. “But you haven’t exactly been thw world’s greatest mother either.”
I heard her gasp, but I couldn’t look at her. I knew my dig wasn’t going to go over well with her. She was in utter and complete denial about any and all of her imperfections. Her entire career was spent honing and shaping her public persona, and over time, she’d come to believe she really was that perfect image she so carefully crafted.
“Harper Elizabeth Bliss, you are forbidden from seeing him.” Her words hung low and carried more weight than anything I’d heard her say before.
My fingernails dug into the railing until they began to bend back and send waves of pain up my hands.
“Oh, hello, Xavier,” she said, her greeting as fake as the implants holding up her 45 year old breasts. I spun around to see Xavier standing in the doorway to the balcony, shirtless with a whole mess of sex hair going on. My cheeks flushed. There was no getting out of this.
FOUR – XAVIER
Fuck.
“Uh, hi, Sharon,” I mumbled as her blue eyes burned holes into my naked torso. I glanced over her shoulder to where Harper stood, red faced, and gave her a quick wave. “Good seeing you guys. I’m just on my way out.”
No amount of skilled wordage could’ve gotten me out of that situation, so I had no other choice but to get the fuck out of there and deal with it later. Not many people could put the fear of God into me the way Sharon could with one look, though I suspected she’d cultivated her villainess expressions from years of stage and screen acting.
It could’ve been an act. It could’ve been real. There was no way to know with her, so I had to play it safe. I’d have to reconvene with Harper later, at a more convenient time.
***
The second I got back to my apartment, I checked my phone. Four missed calls from Conrad.
“Nice.” I shoved the phone on the edge of the kitchen counter and stripped my clothes off, making my way to the shower. I could still smell her on my skin. I could still feel her on my cock. I could still taste her on my tongue. A smile curled across my lips
as I mentally calculated how many times she’d made me cum the night before as the water rinsed her off me.
I dried off a few minutes later and changed into jeans and a t-shirt before heading out to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. All night rolling in the sheets with Harper had left me starving. I’d intended on taking her out for breakfast that morning until Sharon showed up.
“Holy shit. How’d you get in here?” I about had a fucking heart attack when I saw my mom sitting on my sofa.
“You left your door unlocked.” She didn’t look happy, which was rare for her. She was usually an effervescent energy of happiness at all times. My own personal ray of sunshine that loved me with a kind of unconditional love I didn’t deserve most of the time.
“What’s going on?” I tried to play dumb, but I knew it was coming. I’d seen that look on her face only once before, when I was eighteen and got caught getting lit in the back of the school auditorium with some friends which resulted in a two week expulsion.
“Why, Xavier?” Her black hair hung in her face and her honey brown eyes, which matched mine, flashed with a heavy disappointment that punched me straight in the heart.
“Mom, I can explain.” I took a seat next to her as I tried to gather my thoughts and form them into sentences that would remotely make what I was doing palatable.
“Please do. I’m dying to know.”
I stared into her eyes once more. The same ones that had nurtured me my entire life and loved me without pause. The ones that would do anything to see me succeed in life and believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself. “Harper is paying me to pretend to be her boyfriend for three months.”
Her hands flew to her lips, and I immediately saw she was shaking.
“Three months, Mom. When it’s over, she’ll give me the money I need to open my shop.”
“Xavier, I told you I would help fund your shop.”
“I don’t want to touch your money. I told you that. You worked hard for that money, and that’s what you live off.” Society had been unkind to an aging super model like her. She’d once walked runways in Paris and Milan, and now she just walked her two Yorkies down the streets of our quaint little neighborhood in Brentwood. She lived off her earnings from her younger years. I wouldn’t have touched those if my life depended on it.
“This is just very embarrassing for me.” Her bottom lip trembled as she blinked away tears. “The ladies in my Bunco group are starting to ask questions, and I don’t know what to tell them, Xavier.”
Fuck. I never meant to hurt my mom.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really sorry.”
“Please end it, Xavier.” She stood up, her dark hair falling into her face as she headed to the door. “Please.”
With that, she was gone, and I was officially the world’s biggest asshole.
My phone lit up on the counter. I fully expected it to be Conrad calling again, as I was quite certain he was chomping at the bit to rip me a new one, but instead it was Harper.
Maybe she was calling to tell me we had to end it. Maybe I wanted to end it too. Maybe I didn’t.
All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I’d royally fucked up. I had to make a decision, and someone was going to be supremely disappointed in me. I needed more time to think.
Ignore.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rossi St. James is a twenty-something young woman with a passion for Oreos, crazy, twisted stories, and hiking trails with her two yellow labs, Sunny and Cloudy. When she’s not writing, you can probably find her scouring Pinterest for inspiration for her next book. (That’s pretty much all she uses Pinterest for anyway, as Rossi St. James cannot cook, sew, or craft).
Email me anytime at [email protected]. I’d love to hear from you!
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LETTER / THANK YOU FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
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xoxo,
Rossi
PS – If you haven’t yet read BIKER STEPBROTHER, please page ahead for a little sample!
PROLOGUE - EVERLY
PAST
“Shh…”
I peeled my eyes open. A shadowy figure lurked over my bed, arms outstretched and pulling me out from under the warmth of my covers.
“Mom?” I whispered.
“Hush.” As the figure pulled me closer, I recognized my mother’s scent: cigarette smoke, Charlie perfume, and the permanent cheap beer smell that was always on her breath. “Be quiet, Everly.”
The moon shined in through the paper-thin curtains of the tiny trailer bedroom I shared with my two stepbrothers, Gray and Little Nash. Space was at a premium in the vintage blue singlewide the five of us shared, but home was home. It didn’t bother me as much as it bothered Gray, but he was older. He knew we deserved better.
“Where are we going?” I whispered as my mom set me down. At twelve years old I was too heavy for her to carry me very far. I glanced back at my brothers, the only siblings I’d known for the bulk of my existence. Little Nash was ten and Gray was fifteen.
My hand reached out in the dark as I followed my mom out of my room, and it stopped as it found the splintered hole in the door where the knob used to reside. Big Nash had kicked the door in the night before in a drunken rage. Gray moved the dresser to block the door to protect Little Nash and me, but it only served to make Big Nash even angrier. Little Nash and I hid in the closet, behind the broken door that was barely hanging on its hinges, and when it was all over, we emerged to find Gray perched on the foot of my bed, catching his breath and holding a shaking hand over his purple, swollen eye as blood trickled from his left nostril.
He always took the beatings for us.
I planted my feet in the hallway, demanding an answer from my mother as my heart raced with the jolt of adrenaline still coursing through me from being woken in the middle of the night. “Where’re we going?”
I glanced back toward the bedroom where my brothers were quietly sleeping, none the wiser.
“I want to say goodbye,” I said, crossing my arms. Mom grabbed the crook of my elbow and yanked my arms apart, jerking me so hard my arm nearly came out of the socket.
My eyes struggled to adjust to the dark of the window-less hallway. Mom lowered her face to mine and gritted her teeth. “We’re leaving. Do not make a sound.”
The bone-chilling look she gave me was the kind I knew I’d never forget as long as I lived. I knew she and Big Nash were having problems, but it was nothing new. They fought like cats and dogs since the day they met. The constant screaming and yelling in our trailer was normal. It was the way we lived. Big Nash was a drunk with a temper, and when he was done beating on her, he’d always come looking for Gray.
Though Gray was just a kid of fifteen, he was already taller than his daddy. He was going to be a behemoth someday, and I just hoped one day he’d get to clock Big Nash so hard it’d send him sailing across the room. Maybe then Big Nash would never touch him again.
My mother’s long nails dug into the flesh of my arm as she led me towards the creaky screen door. Two packed bags rested against the wall. She hoisted one over her bony shoulder and shoved the other into my arms.
I turned around, scanning the dark living room and trying to take a mental snapshot. We weren’t coming back, that much I knew. I inhaled the scent of the place I’d called home since I was seven years old. Stale cigarettes. Cheap, cinnamon candle. Dirty carpet.
Snoring in the broken armchair in the corner was Big Nash, passed out drunk. I glanced back at my mother who studied him for a second, as if she were wondering just how passed out he was. He’d been known to come flying out of a dead sleep and start wailing on whoever was in his vicinity before. Mom called them his night terrors. They always seemed to happen the most whe
n he was drinking Jack Daniels. She took a deep breath and opened the screen door with a painfully slow-motioned push, and then she nodded towards our old Buick that was sitting at the end of the driveway.
Orange glow peeked over the horizon and mixed with lavender clouds. I’d never seen such a pretty sky before. I turned to look at our little blue trailer with the leaky tin roof one last time, my eyes landing on the window to the bedroom I shared with the boys who were my stepbrothers, my family, for as long as I could remember.
“Everly! Get in the car!” my mother yelled, though her voice was still very much a whisper.
I threw my backpack over the back of the seat and shut the door. She popped the shifter into neutral and pushed the rusting Buick to the end of the street. She was a skinny little thing, but no one ever accused Tammy-Dawn Conners of being weak.
Only slightly breathless, she climbed in and started the car up. The muffler popped, startling us both, and my mother’s hands flew to her chest like she was about to have a heart attack. Her eyes darted to the rearview, as if she were making sure Big Nash wasn’t coming after us.
I stayed quiet, taking everything in. The night before, Gray had tucked me in with a promise that he’d take me to the municipal pool on Saturday. Had I known it would be the last time we’d be around each other, I’d have done something special for him. He was always thinking of us, and it occurred to me in that moment, as we drove far away from Bolton, Nevada, that no one ever thought about Gray.
My breath caught in my chest, and I stifled the sobs that tried to force their way past my lips as I mourned the loss of my big brother. My protector. My angel. The only person who ever truly looked out for me.
“Everly, stop crying,” my mom huffed as her bony hands gripped the wheel. “We Conners girls are tough. We don’t cry. We do what we have to do and we get the fuck over it.”
Step Scandal - Part 2 Page 2