ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: Bad Boy Brother (Stepbrother Interracial College Romance) (Contemporary Stepsister Taboo Romance)

by Gillian Joyner

  “Turn around,” Rush growled, but before Ricky could oblige his hands were at her waist again, flipping her over. She lifted herself onto the couch, holding the back for balance. I never imagined my first time being from behind, she thought lazily, then corrected herself. She’d imagined her first time lots of ways, and all of them with a man like this: big, demanding, and all man.

  The sound of his zipper being undone lit a thrill in her tummy, her body waxing back to life as she thought of the words she’d always indulged in, those steamy scenes where the man took his woman ruthlessly, recklessly, taking his pleasure and giving hers. And here she was, living it; the head of his cock pressed against her slit, slippery with her juices. His hands came to her shoulders and he pressed himself inside slightly, making her moan as he began to stretch her.

  “This is going to hurt,” he said, simply, a statement rather than a warning. Yanking backwards as he pushed his hips forward, he plunged into her, tearing into her virgin pussy with a searing, ripping pain that made her whole body go rigid. She cried out, feeling herself split in two, the pain worse than she’d imagined, cunt sore and aching already.

  But he stayed inside her, his own cock throbbing, and within moments the pain had begun to subside, washed away by the wholly new sensation of being filled with his manhood, her well-lubricated pussy beginning to clench around him. Her pussy was so tight, he was almost afraid to move inside her, each inch of her hugging his cock. Slowly, he pushed himself deeper inside her, and Ricky’s mouth opened at the surprising pleasure, a silent moan as his hips slid against hers.

  He was reaching somewhere deep inside her, someplace she’d barely known existed, where no one had been before. It felt like being shown some glorious new landscape, and she wiggled her hips experimentally against him, feeling him slip further into that sensitive and needy place. As he began to pump in and out of her, Ricky’s breath quickened, growing shallow, her eyes wide open as her body responded to each thrust with its own tingles of pleasure, her hips moving against his, pulling and pushing in tandem. Every inch of him seemed to massage her tender, virgin pussy, her nerves lighting up like fireworks.

  Her fingernails dug into the leather back of the sofa, her face falling towards it, the material cool against her fevered cheeks. Slack-jawed and buzzing, she let him fuck her faster and faster, plunging himself deeper inside her with each thrust. She began to cry out each time his cock hit that special place inside her, and wiggling her hips backward yearned to feel him go even deeper. Feeling her need, he lifted her hips slightly, and when he plunged himself into her again she felt her thighs clamping tight, the final empty space in her filled at last.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned as he moved his hips in a circle against her ass, keeping himself deep in that one glorious place. One hand slipped around her hips and, finding her clit, gently brushed it. The sensation was almost too much; he pulsed inside her, his fingers brushed her clit, and as her ears rang and back arched she came again, now bucking and spilling herself over his massive cock. The teasing contractions of her cunt were too much for Rush to ignore, and he began to fuck her hard once more, fast and deep, pistoning into her with abandon, no longer trying to be gentle.

  “Are you on the pill?” he growled, and in the midst of her ecstasy Ricky could only nod and murmur the affirmative.

  “Good,” he said, holding her with both hands once more, keeping her still as he fucked her like a stallion, slamming his hips against her ass, his balls slapping against her thighs. “Because I’m going to fill you so deep with my cum, you’re gonna drip for days.”

  “Yes,” Ricky moaned, wanting it, wanting it worse than she could ever have imagined. She thrust herself against him as best she could, wanting to feel his hot load filling her pussy. “Please, Rush, come in me, I want it…”

  “Such a good little slut,” he snarled, and with a final thrust and roar he burst inside her, filling her slit with his cum, thick warm spurts of semen pulsing against her still-sensitive pussy walls, making them quake and clench in gratitude. His cock pulsed in her as he released rope after rope of cum into her, more than he could ever remember unloading into a woman, and when he finally pulled out he could see the white creamy liquid beginning to leak from her.

  “Holy shit,” Rush groaned, collapsing beside her onto the sofa, where she remained in place, too tired and sore to move. Seeing her predicament, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down so that she was lying on her back, her head in his lap.

  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured, eyes closed, body vibrating with bliss. He chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch.

  “Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” he agreed.

  Before they even knew it, they were asleep.

  ***

  When Ricky woke up, it was just past 3am. Her first feeling was cold. She was still naked, and Rush wasn’t there to warm her with his body heat. Shivering, she righted herself. Then, feeling the sticky substance between her thighs, she smiled. Vaguely, she wondered if anyone had woken yet to see the broken lock, the bare tree, or see that she wasn’t in her room. In a distant room, she heard a toilet flush.

  Rush entered scratching his head. Seeing that she was up, he stopped for a long moment, their eyes locked together. When he moved forward again, he dragged the bag of stolen gifts towards the couch and sat down heavily.

  “I’m gonna take you home soon,” he said. “But we gotta make a stop first. And you gotta help me with these.”

  He pushed a brightly wrapped box into her hand. She looked at the tag; this was one of Trevor’s gifts. Eyeing Rush curiously, she wondered if he was actually going to make her even more complicit in robbing her family’s Christmas.

  “Just take the tags off,” he said, and taking a gift from the bag showed her what he meant, ripping off the “To/From” tag.

  “What’re you gonna do with all these,” she asked. “Want me to unwrap them too?”

  “No,” Rush said, doing the same to another gift. “You’ll see what we’re gonna do with ‘em.”

  Shrugging, Ricky got down to work. They didn’t speak, but it wasn’t awkward. It could have been, had either of them really cared what the other thought, but they were a perfect pair in that regard, both having gotten what they wanted from the night and content to leave it at that. With two hands working on the large bag, the job was done in fifteen minutes. The gifts were thrown back in, and Rush rose to his feet.

  “Get dressed and meet me at the car,” he said, and Ricky nodded, shivering as the cold air blew in when he opened the front door. Pulling on her panties and leggings, she indulged in a secret smile over the fact that those panties would soon bear evidence of her deflowering. Once she was as dressed as she’d ever be, she slipped out, closing the door with a click behind her.

  She saw Rush’s bike parked in the driveway of the shotgun, his car running out front, and trotted towards it, wrapping her hands around herself for warmth.

  “All set?” Rush asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before peeling away.

  “What are you gonna say if they’re up when I drop you off?” he asked. “You know, I’m dropping you off a block away.”

  “Of course,” she said. “And…I don’t know, I’ll say I was sleepwalking. I used to do that as a kid, you know.”

  “Convenient,” Rush said, and Ricky laughed. It sure was. They drove past the bar where they’d met; it still had the lights on, bikes out front. Ricky assumed that was where his club was spending their Christmas Eve, going through their haul.

  The town rushed past, all silent and sacred in the early dark. A large, well-lit building loomed at the end of the block; Ricky had never noticed it before, but Rush was pulling the car to a stop as they approached it.

  “What’s this?” she asked, craning her neck to try and see. The building announced itself readily enough:

  Crestwell Home for Children.

  “An orphanage?” I said, shocked that such things still existed in the modern age. Lookin
g at Rush, he nodded. He pulled the car to the curb but kept it running.

  “Wait here,” he said, and exiting the vehicle he ran around back, opening the trunk. She watched as he brought the huge bag of pilfered gifts through the first set of double doors; the second set must have been locked, because he left the bag there, then pushed his finger repeatedly against some button or bell that she couldn’t see. Faster than her mind could even process it, he was beside her again, peeling away into the night.

  “You’re not serious,” she said, dumbfounded. He shot her a sideways glance.

  “What?”

  “You seriously just gave all that stuff to an orphanage? What is this, a Dicken’s novel?”

  “What? Would you prefer it to stay with your brother, or any of the other rich kids who’ll be up to their ears in replacement gifts by tomorrow night?”

  She shook her head no, but still couldn’t drag her eyes from Rush’s profile as he drove, or get over the fact that he was some sort of real-life Robin Hood. Laughing, she finally turned away, a warm feeling spreading through her. He shot her a look.

  “No,” Ricky said, “I’m not laughing at you. I just…wow, that’s, like, it’s cool.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  True to his word, Rush pulled the car in around the block from Ricky’s house.

  “You know,” she said. “Maybe I should pretend like I was up, and saw the robbers, so that, you know, I can lead the cops or whatever on a wild goose chase. You know, say it was three Asian dudes in a Subaru.”

  Rush gave her a serious look.

  “Don’t joke about that shit now,” he said. “If anyone does question you…”

  “I wasn’t joking,” she said, flashing him a look of her own. “I could say it was anyone I wanted – who didn’t fit your profile at all.”

  He seemed to consider this.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” he said. “But I hate to think of some poor jackasses getting fingered for what we did.”

  “But I could just shoot down anyone they brought in for a line-up,” she countered. He looked at her and seemed to appreciate what she was saying.

  “Whatever you think is best,” he said finally, and she felt sort of a warm pride to think he actually trusted her.

  “You know,” Ricky said again, in the same tone, one hand on the car’s handle. “I’m home from school for almost another month.”

  At that, he finally laughed, the first time he had all night.

  “God strike me dead, but I fuckin’ hope you call me, you psycho,” he said, shaking his head, a smile on his face. “Just no more playing kidnapped, alright?”

  “Not even a little bit of playing?” She asked with a pout, trying to get a rise out of him. From the way his eyes sparked, she saw she did.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” he said, and she obeyed, jogging through the brisk night. To her gratitude, there were no police cars at the house, no lights on, no sign of life at all. Letting herself in through the broken door, she took a moment to go into the living room. The tree still looked beautiful; it looked even more beautiful without all the damn presents under it.

  She warmed myself up, helping her body regain its core temperature by remembering the way Rush had made her scream and buck in pleasure. And then, with her story straight in her mind and her lungs full of air, she balled her hands into fists and screamed as loud as she could.

  THE END

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  The following pages contain the story you just read, but in foreign languages. To read other bonus content, please return to Table of Contents by clicking the following.

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  Bad Boy Agreement

  (Foreign Translations)

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  Ricky suckade, om hennes mage, hennes ögon drifting lazily wildflowersna nedåt på sidan. Dels stödde hennes haka medan andra var markerat under hennes, mjukt böljande fingret runt hennes clit. Orden var smutsiga. Cunt. Dick. Brösten. Låren. Tunga. Läppning. Pulsering. Flämtande.

  Hon var skön i en av hennes favorit guilty pleasures", delving in i hennes till synes oändliga katalog över smutsiga biker romaner på sin dator. Männen var alltid varma, starka, hänsynslösa och passionerad. Kvinnorna? Tja, vem brydde sig om kvinnor; de var platshållare för Ricky's fantasi, en karaktär som hon kunde glida sig, fantisera om det var hennes bröst som fondled och Silvertungförsedda av en skäggig stud, hennes fitta är borrade i ofattbar glädje.

  Hennes finger flyttas snabbare som scenen kommit. Hjältinnan var om på henne över ett biljardbord, hennes hjälte tunga flyttar ner hennes mage, hennes kropp koger och värm upp med varje fallande tum. Och sedan hans tunga var rullande över hennes clit och Ricky's ass lyftas ur sängen, hennes finger doppas ner i hennes egen värme fuktighetsfel som smörjolja som hennes finger efterhärmades den imaginära tunga, Läppning och sugande.

  Hjältinnan's höfter huvudinriktningen uppåt och hon kom, Ricky kände sin egen passion peaking, hennes kropp suget släpper nu, men hon redde sig själv, att vilja förlänga njutningen, i vetskap om att snart…Oj, ja, hjälten vill stoppa hans hanen till hjältinna, fyller upp henne, sträcker sig henne och då ...

  Ricky kropp knäppte med en coursing våg av njutning som hon själv till orgasm över ord, hennes sinne fantisera själv liggande över som biljard, hennes egen kropp offrade gillar en leksak för användning av vissa muskulös, Tatuerade, odjuret i en människa. Inte för att hon egentligen visste vad det skulle vara, och hon var fortfarande en jungfru, aldrig funnit en man i verkliga livet som metadon hennes motor gillar ganska männen i hennes fantasier.

  Nästan omedelbart, Ricky klickade ur hennes e-läsaren inte längre intresserad av grunt berättelse eller svaga tecken. Det var bara en anledning att hon gillade dessa historier: de var varma, de fick av henne och fick henne en kort respit från fullkomlig ledan av hennes existens.

  Rulla över på hennes rygg, Ricky låt henne fortfarande våta fingrar faller på hennes mage, känslan av hennes hjärta återgå till en normal takt. Hon ner hennes ögon och mused någonsin, vad skulle hon göra om hon faktiskt ges möjlighet att leva ut sin fantasi? Det fanns ingen ifrågasätter att Ricky's fetish var stark och singular. Vissa människor var verkligen cowboys. Vissa människor oförklarligt fick fötter. Vissa människor var hopplöst enamored med cheerleaders. Ricky förlorade sitt sinne för cyklister, bad boys och brottslingar av alla typer.

  På nedervåningen, hon kunde höra tinkling av julmusik. Hon hatade att hennes mor spelat musik hela dagen och natten under helgdagar. Bara så någon som råkade falla vill veta att deras familj var en bra kristen familj med en sund amerikansk uppskattning för jul. För en politiker, den sortens bild kunde göra eller bryta en karriär och Ricky's fader hade ingen avsikt att hans karriär har gått sönder.

  "Är du säker på att vi inte ska lägga en menorah i fönstret", Ricky hade en gång frågade sneeringly. "eller en Kwanzaa...sak? Du vet, att visa hur all inclusive vi? De gör det på köpcenter".

  Som hade gjort henne en hemsk blick från hennes pappa och en plånbok tystlåtna svar från sin mamma.

  "Real funny, sis", Trevor hade hissed i hennes öra, sparka henne under bordet. Ten-year-old boy var apple i föräldrarnas ögon, odiskutabelt "bra kid" i deras familj. Ricky var inte så älskvärd, enligt hennes föräldrar. Att vara rättvis, hon var mycket mer rebelliska än Trevor.

  Helvetet hon ställde var obetydligt jämfört med vissa andra ungar; hon hade färgats gröna strimmor i hennes hår, en annan gång hon skulle komma hem med henne septum punkterad. Mestadels, men problemet var att hennes politik. Hon hade aldrig kommit överens med hennes ultra-konservativa faders hållning. Om någonting. Hon trodde att han var en skurk, grym och uncompassionate. Han stödde beskära välfärden och sänka skatterna för de rika, förnekade klimatförändringarna, och i
allmänhet gjort det uppdraget att hålla pengar precis där han trodde det tillhörde: i hans ficka och fickor av hans vänner.

  Ricky hade lärt mig för länge sedan att tala ut var inte hennes bästa intresse, men det betydde inte att hon var tvungen att le vid foto-ops eller delta i politiska blandare eller stödja hennes faders politik. Hon behövde bara stå runt på fester utan att orsaka en scen, och att hennes mun medan hennes pappa och hans kompisar drack champagne och åt kaviar och skrattar åt de fattiga folk bara tvärs över stan. Åtminstone är det vad hon trodde de gjorde när de gick bakom stängda dörrar av hans studier. Hon egentligen inte vet, aldrig har inbjudits till att sacred space.

  Just nu, på nedervåningen, hennes föräldrar var förspilla mer el på påkostade garneringar och juleljus än de flesta människor används i en månad av normal levande. Det var en veritabel Christmas wonderland. Och bunten med presenter under granen skulle sätta Santas verkstad på skam. Det var gåvor för Ricky ner bland dem, naturligtvis, påkostade, faktiskt. Hon visste att, trots hennes roll som svarta får i familjen, föräldrarna fortfarande önskar köpa hennes samarbete och stöd. Vad hennes mamma tillbringade varje år på julklappar kunde ha matat en familj av fem för ett år.

  Nåja, hon var bara hem för några veckor, ändå, efter som hon kunde återvända till college, där hon hade vänner som höll med henne politik och inte försöka tysta henne vid varje varv. Hennes första terminen hade varit så magiskt frigöra att hon skulle nästan vägrade att komma hem, hade nästan dras från hennes sovsal med buller och bång. Men campus skulle ha varit ensam, ändå, och minst hemma var det...

  Hennes telefonen ringt precis som hon trodde att hennes bästa vän. Med ett leende, hon såg att Sasha hade texted henne.