Stepbrother UnSEALed

by Nicole Snow

  “No, no, no, no.” It comes out like a mantra, perfectly timed to his next four thrusts, body shaking strokes that leave my clit humming and breasts flopping. “We're meant to be, baby. I don't give a shit if it's crazy. I've never fucked anyone like you. Never wanted to spend time outside bed with a woman 'til you got your little nails in me. I'm never letting go of this, and if anybody wants to pull you away, I'll fucking kill them.”

  Holy shit! His cock sinks deep, and he holds it there, then pulls back and begins power fucking me in quicker, shallower strokes.

  There's no holding back. He jerks my hair tight, pulling my lips to his, swallowing the pleasure that comes screaming out of me when my pussy clenches a second later.

  Soon, I'm not the only one screaming. Chris buries his length to the hilt and explodes, pouring his essence into me, pumping so much come into me I wonder if my pill will even protect us. In the moment, it's not such a sick thought. I'm thrilled by him knocking me up, taking full possession, owning me the same way he means with his words.

  I know, I'm crazy. I know I'll feel something different once the spell is over, but maybe someday, we could have kids together. Maybe I could call him my husband. Maybe the whole world won't wag its finger at us for kissing, passion, making love...

  We come together, locked like animals, thrashing in the stray sand that's blown up from the beach on this high cliff. I'm grateful for his strong arms holding me down, or else I might roll right off it. It's not the widest space, but it's the most amazing place we've ever done this.

  Or maybe it's just his body digging into mine, filling me completely. I come so hard, I see stars in the rolling, red blackness my eyelids have become. There's a current flowing through both our bodies.

  I've never been into supernatural crap, but it's almost mystical.

  His kisses soften as our bodies stop convulsing. His cock tips into me, forcing out a few last strokes of pleasure, the last of his seed. I can already feel it running down my ass, onto the ground below us like some kind of ancient mating ritual.

  “I love you,” I moan, when he finally lets me come up for air. Why is it still so hard to say it?

  “You'd better. Whatever shit you're gonna say about me in your college paper's gotta be flattering.”

  I laugh, and once it starts, I can't stop. He hasn't even pulled out of me yet. Something about the scene is quintessentially Chris, and my heart throbs, finally understanding his strange, magical enigma.

  It's everything I can't keep myself away from. Everything that's pulled me into his embrace, so tight and deep I never, ever want him to let go.

  We kiss a few more times before he pulls out and cleans up, before he straighten our clothes. I carefully stand on the cliff, wiping the dirt off my butt. I'm about to roll my panties back on when he grabs me, fisting my hand by the wrist that's holding them.

  “Save yourself some time and leave those fuckers off. You ought to know by now I'm not a once-a-day kinda guy. Let's go get some dinner, and then we'll pick up right where left off.”

  I blush, smile, and don't fight as he pushes the panties into my purse. I feel so vulnerable out here like this with nothing on underneath my skirt. But if there's any man who can make me feel secure, it's him, and tonight he's going to get whatever he wants.

  Later that week, I'm eating with Evie and dad for the first time in forever. It's an awkward, tense dinner.

  Nobody's talking since he tried to tell her about the latest crap with the airlines, some ups and downs in the stock prices making the shareholders nervous, all the worries I've heard a million times since I was a little girl.

  Evie mutters incoherently and picks at her food. I down some extra wine so I don't explode, grab her by the hair, scream at her until she acknowledges my poor father fucking exists.

  He's dying a little more day by day, and it's awful to watch. It's been months, and their relationship is already on fire. He can't take another collapse – I just know it. I look on sadly, feeling as if I'm replaying the last days of our family life before mom walked out and moved east, running off with her fitness trainer.

  “Ladies, I'm going to be gone next week at the North American division conference I told you about. I trust you'll both be able to make do without me. I've got all the usual arrangements in place for the staff. And Cordelia, if you're going to have people over, please respect Evie's space. I don't want anyone coming upstairs to –“

  Suddenly, the bitch slams her fork down, giving us both a look like a scolded cat. “Do you ever shut up and stop worrying, Bruce? You really think she's going to drag one of her little friends upstairs to disturb me with her fucking? She's too busy riding my son for that, and they like to keep it away from the house most nights.”

  I almost drop my empty wineglass. Dad gives me a look of total horror. It's the first time since mom walked out that I've seen him looking like he's staring down a ten ton train, heading right for him, ready to obliterate what's left of his miserable world.

  “I don't know what she's talking about,” I say weakly, clearing the nervous lump in my throat.

  “Evie, Evie, Evie,” Dad shakes his head, fighting off the nightmare image she just painted so vividly for him. “This is stress talking. You need to eat. Don't worry about these things, they aren't even real. Please, baby, do it for me.”

  He stands up, walks over, and throws an arm over her shoulder. It's such a pathetic scene my heart would've melted in my chest, if only it wasn't too busy pounding like a hummingbird on speed.

  They almost caught me. And I hate the way I'm reacting, ice in my blood and cotton in my mouth. I thought I was ready to say fuck everybody, to bring my love for Chris out in the open.

  But when I saw that look on dad's face...

  My own fork slips and clatters, causing my parents to look up. Evie gives me another look, a cruel focus filling her eyes, all directed at me.

  “I suggest you have a talk with your dear daughter, Bruce. She's going to slip up one day, and then you'll see the truth. I'm not imagining anything.”

  “I'm sure if there were anything untoward happening, Cordelia would let me know,” he says softly, brushing aside her mad concerns.

  He doesn't believe her. Good. Too bad lying is the only thing holding me back from total disaster.

  Evie grabs his arm and throws him off. She staggers up, throwing her napkin down over her half-finished food, and glares at my poor whipped father.

  “Your little slut has some backbone, I'll give her that. She's woman enough to go after a man, even if he's the last boy in the world she ought to be with. That's better than I've gotten, I suppose.”

  “Evie...shut up.” Dad's eyes narrow. “If you call my daughter a slut again, I'll drag you back to that goddamned doctor's office, kicking and screaming if I have to. You've been through hell, and we're all here for you, but that doesn't give you the right to be such a...such a...”

  Evie cocks her head and purses her lips. “Bitch? Oh, Bruce. I would've given you a kiss if you'd had the balls to finally say it. Whatever's left of that pathetic shit between your legs will just have to crawl up your stomach when you finally see the truth. I'll let you find out the hard way. You won't have to hear it from me, hubby. Good fucking night.”

  My eyes are on my food. I've totally lost my appetite, but it seems safe, just in case I decide to grab the nearest thing within reach and throw it at her vicious face.

  Dad sticking up for me lends a shred of hope, but he can't hold her off in the end. He rips out a chair and sinks angrily into his seat. We both listen to her heels clacking away, loud and lonely, like the hooves of some creature that just dragged itself out of hell.

  With anybody else, I would've been exaggerating, but my stepmother really is a crazy bitch.

  “Dad, it's going to be okay,” I whisper, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tight. “Don't listen to her. You defended me when she was accusing me of all that crap. You put her in her place.”

  Well, almost,
I think to myself, but of course I don't say it. I'm not sure he'll survive another blow to his fragile ego.

  “I just don't understand why they all go crazy in the end,” he growls, pulling his hand away from mine. He pushes both across his tense forehead, ruffling his salt and pepper hair. “This is worse than with your mother, honey. At least her affair...well, I saw it coming. I worked too many hours. I ignored her too much. I screwed up.”

  I shrug. He's beating himself up again, and I'm not going to hear it. Maybe there's a grain of truth to everything he's saying, but mom walked out on us both, and I haven't gotten more than a Christmas card from her and the new dick she's attached herself to every year since the divorce.

  They moved across the country my last year of high school. Since then, it's always been dad and his favorite daughter. I know I'm the only thing in the world he can count on.

  For a long time, that went both ways.

  We were happy. We were one little, imperfect, happy family.

  Until Evie. Until Chris.

  Now, she's tearing out his heart in slow motion a few centimeters a day, and I'm lying to my own father for the last man in the world I should be falling for.

  Jesus, what the hell is happening?

  I shouldn't have had so much wine trying to ignore the tension over dinner. I start tearing up, and next thing I know, I'm blotting at my eyes with my napkin. Dad looks more shocked than me, wounded because he sees me hurting.

  It's strange, guilt inducing, when I know he's bleeding rivers inside. He's just too proud to show it. However weak he is about calling her out, he keeps a shield around his own agony. The only times I've ever seen him cry are at funerals.

  “Dad, you haven't done anything wrong here. It's all her baggage, and she has way too much of it. I'm surprised you want to keep fighting it...isn't the writing on the wall?” I'm too gentle.

  Another lump forms in my throat. I can't bring myself to take him by the shoulders, shake him, tell him to divorce this fucking woman.

  It's his decision to make. But it's also dishonest for me to want her gone when I have a very handsome, painfully emotional conflict of interest.

  Chris keeps running through my mind now, even when I shouldn't be focused on anything except dad's screwed up relationship with his mom.

  “I can't give up yet,” he says coldly. “The only thing worse than a middle aged executive whose name gets dragged through the mud every time the airline cuts costs is a middle aged executive with mud on his face and two divorces behind him.”

  “I just want you to be happy,” I say softly, and I really mean it. “I'm serious. You've done so much for me, and I'll never forget it. Not as long as I live.”

  Dad gives me a big smile and wraps his arms around me. “You're so sweet, Cordelia. Thanks for being my rock, like always.”

  I slowly let go, feeling him pull away. He looks past me, staring down the hall.

  “Well, I guess I'd better go see if she's going to keep me locked out tonight. Or she would, if I hadn't had the locks removed on our bedroom door while she was in rehab.” He shrugs. “They said it'd be a long road to getting all the junk out of her system. Please don't be too hard on her, honey, whatever nonsense she says. She's not in her right mind. She can't tell right from wrong, fantasy from what's real. It's my job to help her out.”

  My fists tense at my sides, so hard my hands start to shake. He doesn't even look back as he walks away, and I let out a heavy sigh, offering him one more burst of encouragement.

  “Whatever makes you happy, dad.”

  Happy. There's that word again.

  It's like a bullet to the heart. My happiness will never be compatible with his – not when he finds out about Chris and I. And he's going to, sooner or later. I'm going to slip up and spill it, or Chris' SEAL courage will get the best of him, and he'll march right up and tell our parents himself.

  I'm not ready for that. I'm not sure if I'll ever be.

  Fuck. What does that mean?

  It's like I've just stepped out of a time machine. Marnie insisted on costumes and formal wear for the mid-summer party, and the entire house looks so elegant. Bows and bells are all over the place, orange-white stripes and red-white-and-blue, the wholesome décor of a simpler time.

  The staff helped me set things up only hours ago, and the guests are already filing in. Dad's going to be away over the weekend at his conference, just as planned. I struggle not to step on my long, flowing blue dress that reaches to the floor.

  I'm anxious to see what Chris looks like. He's supposed to wear something military, and I'm sure he'll be dashing. Of course, the finery and pretend manners won't last once the dancing starts and the liquor flows. I expect it'll be about thirty minutes before people start to lose the costumes and disappear across the property, filling every little nook and cranny with their own private fucking.

  It's my last year of college. I'm almost ready to move on from this wild, free spirited stuff, but going out with a bang a couple more times won't hurt, right?

  There's a loud chime as I'm taking the stairs gingerly, one at a time, careful not to trip on my skirt and break my neck. I get to the door ahead of any staff.

  When Marnie shows up with her tangerine man, she throws her arms around me, wearing something that looks it belongs in a lounge from the roaring twenties.

  “Delia, darling!” she says in her best aristocratic accent, pecking me on each cheek. “Where's that handsome soldier boy of yours?”

  The warm smile I greet her with vanishes. She's still eyeing my sexy, badass stepbrother a little too close for my liking, and tempting me to pull the big secret out of the closet too.

  She knows we're doing more than just having drinks and taking walks as siblings. I force my sweetest smile, greet the gorilla next to her, and then lean in.

  “He'll be by a little later, Delia. Why don't you go mingle with everybody else and get your man a drink for a change?”

  “Fine, we'll do it your way.” She rolls her eyes, walking past me without so much a second glance.

  I'm about to head after her, hoping I can change the subject and smooth things over, when somebody grabs me by the shoulder.

  I know it's Chris before we're face to face, and his lips are on mine. Nobody else puts his hands on me like this, like he already owns every inch of me. Nobody kisses like he does.

  “Sneaky jerk,” I whimper, when his tongue glides off mine. “Do they teach you that stuff in SEAL training?”

  “Nah. Handling my woman comes naturally. I came ready for you tonight, babe.” He steps back so I can get a look at his costume.

  I almost faint on the spot like some goofy nineteenth century romance heroine.

  Swoon-worthy is the only word that fits. His clothes cling tight to the hard, tattooed muscle underneath. He's wearing an elegant white uniform that almost looks like a tuxedo, studded with more medals on one side than I can count.

  The buttons part his magnificent chest neatly, and when I look up to his face again, I notice the final touch. I can't stop myself from laughing, more amazed than anything else.

  “A bow-tie? Are you kidding me? Don't tell me – you added that yourself!”

  He smiles and shrugs. “Guess you've never seen a SEAL's dinner dress before. You told me to look like a prince, yeah?”

  “I meant something a little less modern.” My hand flows out instinctively, flattening on his chest, slowly creeping down it. “I guess this'll do.”

  Yeah. Understatement of the century.

  He makes me think of a sailor, a knight, and a classy billionaire all at once. If it wasn't for the tiny splash of ink sneaking out one cufflink, nobody would ever know about the animal underneath, the one I've met night after night, and desperately want to meet again.

  “You said prince, beautiful. I figure this shit's about as antiquated as royalty. Not really my style, but orders are orders, and you're the CO of this bash tonight.” He winks.

  The heat between my legs offici
ally goes nova.

  God. I already want him to rip it off. Something about the thick, formal layers only accent the perfection underneath. It reminds me what he can do when he's got me under him, between his legs, fucking me with those powerful, unforgettable strokes that take me to another world.

  “Shit, woman, sometimes I think you're hornier than I am.” His eyes tell me I'm not the only doing the eye-fucking here.

  With a growl, Chris takes me by the hand, and sneaks in a rough pat on the ass. I can barely feel it through the thick dress, but it's just enough to get me moving, gladly holding him by the arm.

  The doorbell keeps ringing behind us, letting in more of Marnie's crowd. She handles all the party planning crap. I trust her because she sticks to the good kids, the ones who just like to drink too much and get down with their boyfriends and girlfriends. Nobody truly harmful who'd steal from us or light the house on fire ever gets in.

  We saunter into the big dining room off the kitchen. The doors are propped open, leading out onto the pool deck. Frowning, I look through the window, and see several people have already lost their tuxedos and dresses, stripping down to bare essentials for swimming instead.

  “That didn't take long,” I say, tugging on Chris' arm and pointing.

  He grins and laughs. “What? You expect people to wander around out there in these getups and bake underneath the sun? Stripping to cool off comes with a high summer party's territory, Delia.”

  I elbow him gently. I don't like it when he chides me, even though he's completely right. He's so damned bossy and sure of himself. He knows it doesn't take much to get me wet, and I hate it almost as much as I love it.

  “Aw, don't give me that sass,” he growls. “Let's stop worrying about everybody else and enjoy ourselves.” Before I can say anything else, he jerks me over to the alcohol, where I let him serve me a glass of punch.

  He's strangely lit today, humming to himself as he does. It's like the weight of the world is off his shoulders. Or is it another kind of tension? Something I'm seeing underneath the surface, but can't quite pin down?

  It's hard to study his face without feeling everything below my waist go hot. This damned dress makes me like a dozen times more hot and bothered too. It won't be long before I'm begging to lose my panties if this keeps up.