by Lana Fox
STEPBROTHER BLOOD LOVER – BOOK ONE – BY LANA FOX
1.
Darren
I only remember fragments from the first night. I knew she was a woman with teeth that felt divine and ravaged my neck, filling my body with ecstatic darkness—a riot of release. It was a feeling of being fused with the earth, as if I’d become the soil, the roots, the buried depths of everything. I remember her long, soft hair, her breasts against my chest, and her thighs sliding bare against my own. Her scent was everywhere. At one point I howled with absolute bliss, my body so brimming with pleasure-charged power that my cock seemed to explode into the night, climax after climax hitting my trembling body. I drank from her throat too, deeply, powerfully, so that every mouthful delivered me to heights of pleasure. Even though her hands were on my chest and her fangs were at my throat, my cock responded sexually as if it was deep in her cunt, and that’s how it felt. These were the deepest set of orgasms I’d ever experienced. Pure bestial glee.
After that, I have only flashes of memory. So much new information was forming in my mind—I was understanding the world in dark new ways that seemed to sabotage my brain. I was unconscious for a while after the frenzy. When I woke I was alone, and I think I walked home. I didn’t care about the rough neighborhood because I was rough now, with the moon overhead and violence thudding behind my eyes.
I craved and I knew I could take. My prey was all around me. I could smell every human, their skin, their desires.
When women passed me, they craned their necks, staring at me thirstily through made-up eyes. Even those with a man draped around them sent me hankering gazes, as if they sensed what I’d give them if they surrendered. I could smell them, every inch of them: their perfume, their fears, their scented hair, their sweet, beating blood. This was suddenly a world of thirst, of flesh to bite, of perfect scents, of hands that clung to me desperately, and palpitating veins. I could bite with new teeth or stare with new eyes and orgasm deeply from that alone. So what would happen when I really fucked? I needed to find out.
Power rushed through me. I was hungry for my fill.
But the one I wanted most was Helene.
Helene always felt like a sister to me, not a stepsister—stupid word—but flesh-and-blood family. That’s why my cravings had scared me in the past. A couple of years before, when she’d forgotten to lock the bathroom and I’d stepped in to find her standing there, eyes wide with alarm, I was nailed to the spot with lust. Nineteen years old, she was wet and naked, her ivory skin beaded with water from the shower, and I could only stare down her glistening body—her breasts so big and pale with plum-colored tips, and her hips the kind that could rock you to heaven. I hadn’t known my cock could get as hard as it did then.
Hard as steel.
That’s how it felt.
I was sixteen at the time, and my body was a constant surprise. Back in my room, I shocked myself by coming so hard that I covered the wall with come, just from one lustful sight of her naked body, just from the thought of her breasts, damp in my hands, so weighty and full as she moaned beneath me. I imagined my cock buried in her cunt, lunging into her over and over, as she called me brother. Oh yes, I could see that cock of mine so buried in that perfect cunt, unleashing stream after stream until her pussy was brimming….
I masturbated several times in a row. The whole house must have heard my cries.
After that, there were too many incidents to count. Once, she was leaving for a party, wearing a stunning blood red, backless dress. I hugged her goodbye and she smelled sublime, as if she’d rubbed lotion all over her skin, as if she’d bathed in cream and dusted her skin with powder. I pressed my hands onto her back, running them up and down her flesh. “You look stunning,” I said.
She clasped me close. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, as serious as ever.
I pressed my lips to her neck—oh God, her skin was so warm!—and ran my fingers down her arms, still drenched in her scent. My cock was hard and I knew it. Fuck, my cock was hard. And standing in my arms, she gave the tiniest moan, as if she really wanted me, as if she could feel my hard-on. When she pulled back, ready to go, I moved with her, unable to resist, but with a swish of her hair she left me there in a cloud of scent, her sublime hips lilting as the door closed behind her.
After that, I stood on the spot for a good, long time, letting the fierceness of my arousal burn right into me. My lips felt wet, and when I touched them I realized my mouth had watered so manically, like a meat-craving animal, that my bottom lip was glossed in saliva. I’d been foaming at the mouth like some kind of beast to have my own sister’s body warm in my arms. I was a pervert, a sorry excuse for a human. My body felt thick with my need to come. I felt this arousal too deeply.
No sooner had I returned to my bedroom than I pulled out my cock and came, spurting out over my bedclothes, groaning like a lunatic. I cried her name—not that I meant to—and my climax was so deep that I stumbled forward, catching the wall to stop myself tumbling over the bed, my cock still shooting off, my groans still filling my throat. I was lucky our parents weren’t home because they’d have heard the whole thing.
All my cock wanted was Helene.
After that, things grew worse. On Helene’s twentieth birthday, she moved into the bigger room next door, which had been the spare room up till then. She wanted to move out, but her job didn’t pay her enough, and I used to pray she wouldn’t ever go. I’d think of her at night, sleeping next door, her long naked limbs so ready to be clasped, her wet pussy waiting to be plundered. Had she fucked other boys? Did she touch herself? Did she ever think of me when she did?
I started to buy porn mags, imagining the bodies were my sister’s. She had breasts like theirs, except hers were natural, but her body was curvier, paler, more voluptuous. But I’d never seen her cunt close up, so I’d watch porn stars’ cunts dreaming they were hers. Thanks to this, I’d spend whole nights jerking off, biting my hand to stop myself from yelling. Sometimes, I’d watch Helene through the keyhole as she undressed, her clothes falling from that perfect body, revealing so slowly the curve of her ass, the fullness of her breasts, her shapely thighs—so long, so pale—and the way her long, auburn hair shone in the evening light. I longed to sink my teeth into her body, run my hands over her every swell and slope.
I’d never wanted a woman like I wanted my sister, and yet I believed I could never have her. When we passed in the hallway, I’d almost lose my mind. When we watched television on the same couch, I’d try so hard not to stare down her body, to dream of licking, biting, fucking—always fucking. I’d have come on every inch of her, believe me, if I could. If I could have fucked Helene for a night I’d have happily died the next morning. I longed to bury my cock deep inside her, to make her moan with bliss, to make her plead with me to go harder. I wanted to fuck her and never, ever stop.
But I was her brother and it would have been wrong. That’s how I felt back then, before I was bitten. After the bite though, I coursed with such power that I could see the truth.
I was an animal.
And animals were hunters.
Helene
Before he changed, I’d always fancied Darren, but I knew it was wrong so I stayed away. The way I saw it, I deserved a real boyfriend who’d take me out for romantic meals or go on double dates with friends—not a twisted younger brother who wants to do things that brothers don’t do. Anyway, I did all right with boys because I have big tits and an accent. Being a Brit living in America makes the sexy boys pant for you. Just one “Bloody hell” and they’re asking you out.
But after Darren changed, everything changed.
He was utterly magnetic.
Before the change, he’d alway
s been a perv with me, thinking I didn’t notice. Once too often he’d hugged me with wandering hands, and sometimes I’d even sense him watching me through the keyhole while I undressed. Grossly, I liked all this, and even dreamed about it, touching my clit too often, imagining he’d take me hard. But I also hated liking all this. After all, I didn’t want to be a perv like him. So I pretended I didn’t know his tongue was hanging out. I pretended he wasn’t sexy at all.
Like everyone in Lavender, I knew a lot about pretending. Many folks—my parents included—pretended vampires didn’t exist. Those of us who believed they were real just whispered about them, afraid to speak aloud, as every week, bodies were found drained and friends mysteriously disappeared. Yet we’d rarely grieve for those friends for long, or panic for our own lives—looking back, we were incapable of grief or fear when it came to vampires and their kills. Of course, that’s how the vampires wanted it. See, in spite of these deaths, we still went out at night, hardly realizing we were their prey. Frankly, everyone in Lavender was vampire-numb.
Of course, looking back now, I can see why.
Another thing I knew from the whisperings in Lavender was that vampires were wildly attractive and were powerful in the sack. But it wasn’t until Darren entered my bedroom that night, completely changed, that I felt the truth of this.
It happened just two years after we’d moved to America. When my bedroom door started to open, I’d just changed into a T-shirt, ready for bed. I was sitting there about to take my sleeping pill and turn off my bedside light, when suddenly there he was stepping into my room.
My jaw dropped. My pill rolled to the floor.
It’s hard to describe in words just exactly how he’d changed. It wasn’t to do with his height, though he did seem taller somehow. It was more to do with his energy. He glowed slightly, like a dimly lit bulb. If you’d walked into a busy bar, he’d have been the first thing you’d see because he’d occupy the space like he alone was in it. He was strong, mysterious, and surging with sexual energy. I stared at him, agog. It was as if he was filled with moonlight, as if his whole body carried something cool inside that belonged to the night. What’s more, his eyes were this alarming color, so powerfully dark, while the pupils at their centers were blacker than black. I could feel them swallowing me up, pulling me in, making my flesh creep hungrily towards his.
“Darren,” I said, “oh God, what happened?”
But really, I knew. My brother was a dead man walking.
He kicked the door shut behind him and the noise made me jump. My pulse beat even harder in my head as he started to walk towards me, saying nothing, just watching me intensely, and it seemed for a moment as if he was my pulse, as if the thumping inside me was coming from him. I felt stalked, preyed on, owned. I longed to give myself to him. I could feel his stare all over me—on my arms, throat, collarbones, and inside my T-shirt where my nipples stiffened, and lower in my knickers where I was so wet that I was ready to be taken. My knees parted of their own accord, aching to reveal my thirsty pussy.
“Helene,” he said, his voice far deeper and richer than it used to be. “Turn off the light.”
Without even thinking, I reached for my bedside lamp, flicked the switch, and plunged the room into darkness.
Darren still glowed. I’m not kidding. And it was as if twice as much power coursed from his body. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, and my cunt felt so heavy, so wet with lust that I writhed in my seat, arching towards him. He stepped in close so he stood between my knees, but I didn’t dare reach up and touch, much as I longed to. He was the one with the power. And that’s how I wanted it.
“Helene,” he said again, his voice smoldering with depth, as he reached towards me and traced my jaw with his fingertips. It was like being touched by desirous static—where the pads of his fingers touched my skin, electricity thrummed, painful but beautifully exciting. I gasped, stung, trembling from the energy and parted my thighs even more, my lust strengthening by the second. I’d never felt this kind of hunger. It was all consuming. Controlled by my desire, tortured by it, I made to thrust my hand between my legs.
“Stop,” he told me, his voice strong and sure. “Don’t.” And just like that, I was frozen, unable to touch my aching clit, unable to sate my hankering self.
He had me in his thrall.
His stare burned on my skin and it felt like fingers touching me—like actual, physical fingers. When he stared down at my left breast through my T-shirt, I felt as if his hand was cupping the flesh, pressing against my stiff nipple. When he gazed down at my thighs, it felt like his lips were brushing against the skin. “Respond,” he said, his eyes pulsing as he glared down at me, and suddenly I could move again. I groaned out loud, arching towards him, begging him to touch me, to touch me right now.
“Please, Darren!” I gasped. “Oh God, touch my clit.” Yes, that’s what I said to my brother—not, Oh my God, they’ve killed you and you’re now possessed by darkness, but Do things to me that a brother never should.
I was shuddering with longing, my pussy so ready that I’d never felt so slick. I knew he was a vampire, but that wasn’t my priority. My priority was fucking him as soon as humanly possible—giving myself fully to his every dark desire, having him take me in whatever way he would.
I felt his fingertips brushing down my throat, the energy tingling like static at our contact, and it was as if the burn of orgasm touched at my flesh, pleasuring my throat, provoking my clit, making me whimper with longing. A tide of longing crashed inside me. I had to have his mouth on my throat, his teeth buried into my flesh.
If I didn’t, I feared I’d die.
Only now did I realize my fingers had leapt to my clit and I was rubbing myself frantically. “Darren,” I cried out, thrusting my hips towards him, my pussy so close to exploding into bliss. And knowing that having your blood drunk was second only to screwing a vampire, I cried out, “Drink me, Darren! Drink me!” As he watched, unanswering, his piercing eyes staring down at me, my pulse raced with blood for him to claim.
He rose to his feet, stood in front of me, pressed one hand onto the crown of my head and tipped it to one side. Energy tingled wantonly where his fingers touched my skin, as he leaned right over my body. He stood right between my thighs, unzipped his jeans, pulled out his already hardened cock. I was shuddering with longing, gasping for him to do me, my orgasm threatening so hard as I plunged my hand inside my knickers and kneaded my slippery cunt—my slippery, desperate cunt. Why wasn’t I coming? I rubbed hard and fast, consumed with need, trembling with yearning. I was so damn horny that I kept thinking I was tipping over the brink, ready to climax, but then the desperation would grow tighter and tighter until the nearing orgasm was like an orgasm in itself.
“What’s going on?” I cried. “Just standing here, Darren, you’ve got me going crazy!”
“I have what you want,” he said, as he brushed aside my hair, clearing the skin on the side of my neck. I felt his cool breath on my skin as he bent over me, his lips so close to my aching skin. There, covered in the soft light he gave off, I felt his fangs drop, no longer hidden, as he bit right into me, moaning as he did, his lips so cold that they felt frozen. For a moment, I felt just a pinch of pain, and then, suddenly, I was seized by an ecstasy deeper than I’d ever known. My cunt seemed to cry out and I could hear blissed-out screaming. It took me a few moments to realize I was the one who was screaming, overcome by such glorious power as he drank my blood that my pussy was surging again and again in a series of orgasms that were beyond human. He was so carnal that he was groaning at full volume, drinking me as a predator, his hands on my shoulders, controlling me hard. He was a fierce and hungry beast that was no longer tethered. I felt filled with his light as I climaxed with my whole body, my fingers plunging up my ecstatic cunt as I came and came and came. Oceans of pleasure billowed inside me, hurling against not only my cunt, but my clit, my nipples, my neck, my throat.
At one point, I felt hi
m reach for his cock and start to jerk off with a single hand. I yelled, “God, brother!” And that made me come even harder, because this really was my brother—my stepbrother with his greedy fangs and his long groans of pleasure that I could only echo. He fucked my flesh with those teeth, warm blood running down my shoulder onto my chest, his right hand pleasuring his cock, while his left hand grasped my breast through my T-shirt. At last, he gave an almighty groan and sank his teeth in hard, as if he was in the delicious throes of a blood-sucking climax. Only later would I find that he’d come all over my T-shirt, covering the swell of my breasts with streaks of his own come.
Finally, he collapsed over me, groaning like a man who’s just had the fuck of his life. As soon as his fangs were no longer in my neck, my climax died, and I felt empty.
When he lifted his head from my shoulder, his eyes glared vividly into my own. His bottom lip was covered in my blood. It trailed greedily down his chin. “Just a little taste,” he said, desire seething in his pupils, “of what we could have if you gave yourself to me. But you’re not ready, are you, Helene? You’re not strong enough to give yourself entirely.”
“Give myself?” I gasped. “You mean…be your slave?”
He was doing up his jeans—his favorite, battered jeans that seemed so human, so familiar. He was my brother all right. Clearly he was. And yet this man spoke so grandly, so darkly, and acted like someone I’d never met. “Once you swear to be mine,” Darren said, “your blood will receive the pact of slavery and will keep you to it. You’ll obey me in everything—erotic or otherwise. Your soul will be mine.”
This sounded so erotically exciting that I writhed, touching my body…but it’s one thing to be excited by a notion, and quite another to agree to it. My brother was dangerous now, in that beautiful, tall, pale body. So magnetic, so blood-driven, so chillingly profound. When he wiped the blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand, I mewed like a kitten, desperate to be bitten again—to achieve those ecstatic heights. “If I was your slave,” I managed, “would I fuck you forever?”