Stepbrother: NO BOUNDARIES
By Amber Branley
Copyright, 2015, Amber Branley
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
Miranda
I don’t know how he’s managed to make me feel this way. I feel sick, like there’s something wrong with me. If I told anyone they’d probably never speak to me again. Even Amy, my best friend… But I can’t control myself anymore, I can feel my mind slipping if I avoid this topic any longer; this urge. I’m such a pervert for him, and he doesn’t even know it yet. Or maybe he does, since we have been flirting quite a bit over the last few months. Son of a bitch, he’s got me right in his hands and he knows it. He probably wants it just as bad as I do.
Get yourself together, girl! Hell, what’s wrong with me? The man I want so bad, the body I lust after… It belongs to the man I grew up with. We shared a bedroom for Christ’s sake and I watched him grow into the man he is today… The gorgeous, rich, and arrogant businessman I know as my stepbrother.
His name is Scott and he’s richer than anybody I know. The bastard runs his own company doing god knows what. My mom always tells him he doesn’t even need to work anymore. She wonders why he stays in the city at all considering he’s earned upwards of two billion dollars. He could retire at this point if he really wanted to, go build a tropical resort style mansion in Bora Bora and live there like a king.
But he’s a workaholic, and a damn successful one. He was always smarter than me in school, but I was lucky if the asshole would ever help me with my homework. Needless to say, if it weren’t for his good looks I don’t know if I’d want the prick at all. He’s a handful when it comes to dealing with him. Say one wrong thing and he throws it in your face like the prick he is.
But I can’t help myself. I want his body. I want his lips pressed against mine. I want to feel my tongue sliding down those washboard abs and landing on his crotch… And feeling that big dick I caught a glimpse of during college to be inserted right between my legs.
Oh my god, you’re disgusting. I feel like crying as I go over the scenario in my head… The nasty fantasy I have about him coming onto me. Maybe if I get him drunk he’ll loosen up and admit that he wants me just like I want him. I roll my eyes and laugh to myself. Yeah. That’ll be the day.
“Miranda? Hello, earth to Miranda.”
Oh yeah. That’s right. I’m at my job right now staring off into the depths of my computer screen daydreaming about my stepbrother when what I should be doing is working. My boss hovers over my cubicle and stares down at me with the douchebag expression he always wears. He’s got on the skinny tie and the slim fit trousers and he’s wearing a polka-dotted button up. He smiles when I finally make eye contact with him.
“Yes?”
“You getting anything done? I’ve been standing here for five minutes and you haven’t even moved the mouse.”
“Sorry sir, I was concentrating on something a little too hard. Sort of zoned out for a minute.”
“Concentrating on work, I presume?”
I smile and feel flustered, “Yes, yes. Of course.”
“I hope so. Cuts are coming.”
He walks off and glances back at me for a split second before shaking his head. Hands in his pockets, head looking towards the ground; it’s a classic moment of disappointment. Ugh, I hate him, but he’s right. If he knew what I’d really been fantasizing about he’d probably have asked me to leave right away. Maybe he’d have called the psych ward, too.
I don’t blame him. This isn’t right. I sigh, and it sounds pathetic. Leaning back in my computer chair, I stretch my arms out then place them casually behind my head. Goodness, I’ve really got to get my act together. This is becoming, um… Weird. These thoughts have been eating at me for the past three months and other than a bit of mild flirtation (which Scott probably thinks is totally innocent), I haven’t brought it up to him or given him any hints.
Now I feel like if I don’t then I’m going to be fucked. Not literally, but I wish. I just feel like he’ll get with someone else and then there’ll never be a chance. Not that there should be, I remind myself, and take a deep breath before leaning forward and finally getting to work.
“Scott… You’re killing me.”
No, a voice says. You’re killing yourself. Forget about it.
Chapter 2
Scott
Hop into the cab, head down Broadway to the village, and throw the driver a hundred. That’s how my Friday nights usually are, and tonight’s no exception. I step out into the brisk air and survey the scene. It’s busy tonight, just how I like it. I’m with my friend Brett and we decided to change things up for the evening. Rather than go to the boring clubs in Midtown East, we thought we’d try a more juvenile crowd for a change.
In other words, we thought we’d mingle with girls who don’t have that much money. Might be fun to be with a chick who’s not a stuck up brat for a change. Hopefully they’re more fun in bed.
“Drago’s?” Brett asks.
“Sure. They’re all the same, aren’t they?”
Bret fires up a cigarette and slings his arm around casually between puffs like he’s trying to look cool. I feel like we overdressed for this area, but oh well. I’m not wearing a suit or anything, but my sweater alone cost two grand if that gives you any idea. Maybe no one will be able to tell, at least I hope not.
The clubs jam packed with ravers and drunk college girls. It doesn’t appeal to me, but Brett’s a moron and he might like that sort of thing. I glance over at him and judging by the big grin on his face and the ‘it’s Christmas!’ excitement to his eyes, he does. I smirk and head to the bar.
“Whiskey sour.” I say loudly, but the bartender winces and cups her ear. She’s cute – mid twenties and looks like she works out. She’s got a sleeve of ink and it looks well done. I’m not one for tattoos, but occasionally I get the itching for a freaky chic. Perhaps this girl’s the one I should be focusing on laying tonight.
“What?” She winces harder.
“Whiskey sour.” I practically scream.
She brings out the liquor and makes the tasty concoction, and then mumbles something to me, probably the price. I don’t pay much attention to prices anymore. I hand her a hundred and wink at her, then walk off.
“Did you use the line?” Brett asks excitedly. He’s standing in the corner puffing on an electronic cigarette. He’s fidgety and shaking. He gave up alcohol two weeks ago because he was a drunk. Rich or poor, a drunk’s still a drunk. And Brett was the biggest rich drunk I’d ever seen.
“What line?” I pretend not to know what he’s talking about.
“Keep the change.”
“No, I’m not a douchebag so I didn’t say that.” I smile and sip the whiskey sour. It’s damn good and I close my eyes before downing it and letting the alcohol take its effect. After a few seconds I open them and see the bar in a whole new light. I’m not a lightweight, but I haven’t had a drink since last Saturday and the bartender must have made it extra strong for me. I glance over in her direction and see her smiling at me. I wink at her and raise the glass, but she shakes her head and looks away, still smiling.
“Too easy.” I say.
“Who?”
“The bartender. I could fuck her in a second if I wanted to.”
“Bullshit.”
“Try me.”
“Prove it, then. What are you waiting for?” Brett laughs and puffs on his e-cigarette like some kind of massive addict. He blows out the vapor and stares at me before raising both hands palms out, “Well?”
It is too easy, but what the hell? She’s got a gorgeous ass on her and some meat on her bones. I like that. She reminds me of my stepsister.
Fuck, did I really just think that?
I shake my head and sip my drink. Brett throws his hands down and mumbles something like ‘whatever’ and resumes his search for a girl with his hungry eyes surveying the scene. I just stand there and think about the thought I had. The one about my stepsister. The thought that simultaneously made my cock hard and made me feel like I was going to spew my dinner all over the nice sweater I was wearing.
What the fuck is wrong with you, man?
I’ve been lucky. Blessed with a lucrative entrepreneurial career and a good social life, other than the times I get in my weird loner spells. I’ve got a shit ton of money and could spend it like a mad man if I wanted to. I could rent a private jet every fucking day of the week. But I’m not going to sit here and brag to myself silently. I just… I just need to get myself together and remind myself to live in the moment, conquer these nasty perverted little thoughts…
Fuck’s sake, I can’t help it. I want her and she wants me and we’ve both known this for months now.
I lean up against the wall and take a deep breath. I’m not the anxiety-prone type, but this is one of those rare situations. My glass is empty and I wish it was still full. I don’t feel like walking over to the bartender because I feel like she’ll see the weirdness in my expression and somehow be able to read me. She’ll be able to read my thoughts and get into my head and see that I want to fuck my….
My stepsister.
Christ, she’s so sexy. I can’t stop lying to myself, and it’s not that big of a deal… I guess. We’re not blood related or anything, so it’s not that weird… But we grew up together, lived in the same household… I don’t know if I’ll be able to just be so… Casual about that. How would I even bring it up to her?
I take another deep breath and nod my head. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m just hot for my stepsister – the girl I’ve known for-fucking-ever. What’s not to be attracted to, anyway? She’s got the plumpest ass, the nicest breasts… Her skin’s like porcelain, so smooth and perfect. And that hair? Fuck, it’s like looking at silk.
“Dude, check out that one.” Brett eyeballs me and then quickly jerks his head back toward the direction in which he’s not so discreetly pointing.
I glance up without an ounce of interest. Still lost in my thoughts, the promise of the night has turned sour and all I’m left with are filthy forbidden thoughts of the girl I was brought up with, and just when my eyes lock into the position in which Brett is pointing, I see her. My stepsister, dead center of the room.
“Oh… Um… That’s, uh. That’s off limits man.” My voice is shrill and I clear my throat, “Yeah, buddy. That’s the stepsister right there.”
He looks back at me with wide eyes, “No fuckin’ way. Dayummmmm, my friend. She is nice. She’s a real peach.”
“Off limits, Brett.” I rasp.
He takes a step back, “Okay, okay,” He mumbles defensively, puffing like a madman on his e-cigarette, “Just had to check… I mean… Shit. Dude, you guys aren’t blood related, her being step and all… Level with me, pal. You ever….?”
My eyes bore a hole in his face. He shuts up immediately and gulps softly, then turns his head and changes the topic of conversation. Whatever he’s talking about, I don’t hear it. It all sounds like mumbles to me blended in with the heavy thump of the bass. I stand up instinctively and feel like I’m in a dream as I walk over to Miranda. I pass through the crowd of people dancing drunkenly as she grows closer and closer… She’s wearing an outfit I haven’t seen, but that’s not surprising because I don’t usually go out drinking with her.
Cute black skirt, tight around that big ass of hers, and showing off her ample cleavage. Nice. I see she’s getting hit on by a big guy and that isn’t nice. No, it actually makes me really mad. Time to play the defensive brother, although that’s not my real end game here….
“Hey sis.” I say loudly, making sure the big juiced out bodybuilder can hear me. He’s got a horrible spray tan and his teeth are bleached white. She didn’t look interested to begin with, but this isn’t about her. It’s about this asshole and me. I glance up at him and smile really wide, almost psychotically. He looks at me and then back at her, and then back to me. He frowns and walks off.
“Scott!” Miranda’s voice sounds hoarse and nervous. She wasn’t expecting to see me and I’ve startled her. Is she nervous for the same reason that I am?
I nudge her on the shoulder, “You look good. Buy you a drink?”
She blushes, “Thanks. You’ve been working out hard, haven’t you? Your shoulders look big in that sweater. Which, itself, looks like something a seventy year old man would wear.”
“Come on… You know I’m stylish.”
I order her a drink after we walk over to the bar and when the bartender hands it to me she rolls her eyes like ‘Oh, you’ve got a girlfriend. Scumbag.’ I wish I could tell her it’s not that, but honestly at this moment I could care less. All I care about right now is my stepsister who’s standing right in front of me looking up at me with those ogling blue eyes of hers. She already seems kind of buzzed and I’m wondering how long she’s been here.
“Thanks,” She says with that cute little high pitched voice of hers. The voice I used to always tease her about back in high school and college. I wish I could go back now and erase my asshole self, and just…. Tell her how gorgeous everything about her is. That face, and everything on it – the lips, the smile, the perky little nose, the eyes…. The way her dimples twitch when she’s excited and can’t hold in laughter. I want to tell her how much I want her but…
Shut the fuck up, Scott. Man up. You’re being a little bitch. My conscience is my biggest bully and my biggest motivator, and in this case he’s right. I know she wants me, and she might know by now that I want her… But I’m not going to let it happen… I’m not going to let my stepsister do this to me.
****
Three hours later and the two of us are nice and toasty sitting by the faux fireplace in the back corner of the club, which has all but died. Save for ourselves and a few punk rockers yelling loudly at the bar as they slam shots on the table, we’re all but alone. Brett skipped out an hour after arriving here because he was down on himself. He must’ve approached twenty girls as Miranda and I watched, and each one of them rejected him. Money doesn’t always talk, I learned.
She’s staring at me now with slightly drunken eyes and then she looks away bashfully. There’s some weird sexual tension going on and finally I say, “You want to get a cab?”
I hail us a cab and we head towards Miranda’s apartment. She lives in a shithole apartment (by my standards) in a good neighborhood. Suddenly she lets out a shrieking noise that almost gives me a fucking heart attack.
“My keys, oh fuck, Scott. I lost my keys.”
“Dumbass.” I laugh.
“Asshole! Don’t belittle me, you dick! You always, always, always do that!” She starts hitting me with the back of her fists and I grab her wrists and laugh.
“Whoa, little lady… Calm yourself.”
“Shut up… Jerk.” She huffs.
I sigh and shake my head, and then give the driver my address. With my stepsister sleeping over amid all the sexual tension between us… Tonight might end up interesting.
But I have to keep my guard up. I just… I can’t let this happen.
Chapter 3
Miranda
He’s showing me all the new paintings he bought at an art show. The grand total was five hundred thousand for six pieces, and I can’t help but roll my eyes when he throws out that number. He’s trying to impress me but he forgets I’m already used to him having money and it doesn’t impress me anymore.
We’ve had a few glasses of wine since we got back and although I’m feeling pretty drunk and calmed down from the mini panic attack I had in the cab, I still feel that nasty cold sweat dried over my skin. I need to shower or else I’ll feel filthy all night. Scott’s drunk off his ass at this point and he’s
flailing his arms around telling me to come check out his view.
“Already seen it… How many times have I been to your apartment?”
“I dunno. Come on, sis…” He holds his arms out with his head tilted back. He’s wearing that arrogant grin, but he’s drunk so his lips are curved funny and his eyes look droopy. Despite all that, he’s just as gorgeous as ever. Ugh, I really need to get him out of my head. This is sick shit I’m thinking of, but there was some major flirtation going on…
“I’m going to take a shower, Scott.”
“You just got here.”
“We’ve been drinking for like two hours…” Grumpy is the definition of how I’m feeling at the moment, and I roll my eyes and head towards the bathroom. I hope he has some pajamas I can throw on, but if I know him good enough he still sleeps in his boxers and probably doesn’t even know what pajamas are.
The water feels hot and rejuvenating. I stand back for a moment out of the spray and let the steam rise over me and open up my pores. I hate drinking because I’m such a lightweight. I also hate drinking because of all the losers that come up and hit on me. Are they really so confident in themselves? Some of the pickup lines I’ve heard…. Jesus.
Scott’s got an open shower so there’s no curtain or door. When I hear soft footsteps I freeze for a second and then slowly turn my head. He’s standing there, my stepbrother, in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. Leaned up against the stone wall, he looks like some kind of Greek god. He’s so beautiful, and for a moment I forget that I’m naked.
Stepbrother: No Boundaries Page 1