Forbidden Love: Stepbrother Romance

by Amy Faye

  Hopefully, being the operative word. Amy let her eyes fall to his big, mannish hands that seemed to engulf the shifter between them, though it wouldn't need working. He caught her looking a moment later and moved his hand over to the steering wheel quickly, like he was worried that she was trying to chide him about keeping both hands on the wheel.

  But she wasn't his mother–it wasn't her job to correct bad habits. She turned in her own time back to facing the road, and the three of them rode in silence. A thought struck Amy and she leaned over to see if Dani were still awake.

  She wasn't surprised to see the girl's head drooped in what looked like sleep.

  "Your sister's asleep," she said softly.

  Brett didn't make a reaction. "Yeah?"

  "Looks like it."

  "It's late for her," he said, halfway thoughtful. "And it's been a big day, I suppose."

  She thought about keeping her questions to herself, but they had another fifteen minutes on the road before they'd be back to Brett's house. She might as well.

  "Where were you headed?"

  He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance in her direction. She felt her skin prickle even under that casual gaze. "What do you mean? I'm going home."

  "Earlier."

  "I don't know what you mean," he told her, but he did little to hide the lie in his voice.

  "Don't give me that," she said, her own voice teasing. "I know you were heading out. Where were you going?"

  "I didn't have a plan." That was a lie, too. But if he really didn't want to tell her, she wasn't going to push it. The car let out a beep, then, one that she immediately recognized as being low gas. He pinched his lips together before clicking the turn signal, and then he was off the freeway and a minute later he'd pulled into a gas station in an area that Amy didn't recognize. It was well-lit, though, and there was a big Barnes and Noble across the street.

  Amy turned and looked into the back seat as Brett got out, checking on Dani. She was asleep, still, for which Amy was thankful. It could have been trouble to try to calm her down. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

  Brett had been wearing that bag when he was heading out. Wherever he was going, she thought, he had planned to bring this. She looked out. He leaned his back against the car, not looking. If she was quick about it, then maybe… just a little peek.

  She kept her eyes up as she reached, waiting to see if there would be any sign that he might turn and catch her snooping. If he caught her red-handed, then she would deal with that. But she'd rather not get into a shouting match if she could avoid it. She had to reach with her other hand to steady the bag as she pulled, but the zipper came apart easily.

  It was too light to have school stuff in it, she thought. Though, she'd seen what he kept in that bag during class, and maybe it was actually too heavy for him. She sucked in a breath and finally took her eyes off his back long enough to look inside, and for a moment she was confused.

  A stuffed toy? Why? And a book. Some kind of book, though she couldn't say what it was exactly. Neither seemed like his kind of thing–if he was leaving with these, then he'd wanted to give them to someone. And he had been avoiding talking to her about it.

  Which meant, in spite of what she might have liked to hear, in spite of how she might have felt–in spite of how she thought Brett might have felt before they'd gotten into this whole mess with their parents–he didn't intend any of it for her. She set her jaw and ripped the zipper back shut, tossed the bag back into place, and she was back in her seat by the time she heard the gas pump clunk to signal a full tank.

  The whole thing had barely taken two minutes, but she could feel her whole body tensed up like a compressed spring, ready for a fight that she knew wasn't going to happen. If she wanted to confront him about it, then that would mean telling him that she'd been snooping, and she wasn't going to admit to that.

  Which meant that he would only have to explain what he'd done if he wanted to, and he clearly didn't want to. She understood, of course. If she'd flirted with some guy for a while and then started dating someone else–well, she imagined, anyways, since dating hadn't exactly been her thing in the last school–then she would probably avoid talking about it, too. So she couldn't exactly blame anyone but herself.

  He looked over at her with a halfway smile that would have made her melt if she wasn't braced for it. "You alright?"

  She shrugged and looked out the side window at the darkened stores across the street. "Fine."

  He didn't bother her about it again, which suited her just fine. She didn't have to justify herself to anyone, but she had to justify herself least of all to him, when he'd been out sucking on some hussy's face. Maybe that bitch that was cruising for a bruising–Carly something. It would explain why she'd been such a power-bitch.

  They got back on the freeway, and by the time they took the 275 to 96 interchange, she'd settled into a mood that she knew was going to stick with her for the night.

  18

  Brett

  Present Day

  Brett wished that he seemed cooler, more casual, more distant. It wasn't as if it were his audition. He hadn't even been there–though if he were allowed in, he would have found the time. But the way she told it, the job was as good as hers.

  He felt drunk on the news, giddy and surging with energy even after a long day. Her lips tasted like wine on his when he grabbed her and lifted her feet up off the floor, falling backwards over the arm of the sofa and sending them both falling into the cushions, her on top.

  "God, I'm so proud of you. I knew you would get it."

  She smiled at that, pulling back just enough to get a look in his eyes.

  "What are you going to give me as a present?"

  "What do you want?" Brett's hips rolled forward, giving a suggestion of what he might be thinking about, his hardness pressing deliciously into her hips. The hitch in her breath told Brett that he might have stumbled onto an idea she liked.

  His lips pressed into her throat and she bent her head to allow him easier access. Her hips spread a little.

  "You know we shouldn't," she purred, in spite of herself. "You're my brother."

  "Not tonight," he growled, his teeth showing with a smile. "Not ever again, if you're back in town for good."

  She propped herself up on her hands and pulled away from the kiss, and for a moment he thought she might be serious about her protests, until she shifted her hips back a little and he could feel himself pressing against a warm spot between her legs, the warmth bleeding through the fabric of his trousers.

  "You're sure, then," he said, his voice halfway between asking and agreeing. But with a roll of his hips, he pressed up against her, and she moved her own hips to match. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment and her breath came in a sharp gasp. "I guess you're right. You're my sister, there's just nothing for us."

  "Yeah," she agreed, her mind too occupied to give a better response. A moment later, another move of their hips in unison, and she collapsed her weight onto her arms, pressed into his shoulders. "Why don't you just shut up and fuck me?"

  He smiled at that, his grin wolfish. "I think I can do that."

  He pulled her in close, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of her throat even as his fingers worked the delicate zipper of her dress. The dress shimmered in the light as she moved, his hips moving to press into her most sensitive areas again.

  The skirt was already ridden up over her hips, but as the zipper reached the bottom of its track, the bodice slipped down her shoulders, revealing more and more of her milk-white flesh, and his hands wasted no time in exploring her sensitive areas that his cock didn't reach.

  As much as Brett would have liked to take control, to take her, and as much as he suspected she would have liked it, she didn't give him the opportunity, slipping lower still, her hands grabbing at his wrists and forcing them away.

  He pretended to fight her, but as she pushed his hands together and held them both with one, freeing her other to move
down his body, he let her win. She pressed down against his hard shaft through his trousers, sending a pleasurable shock through his body.

  She struggled to open his belt one-handed until he pulled one hand free and worked it open for her with a quick motion. She took his hand and playfully guided it back into her waiting grasp. "No cheating, big brother."

  "Oh no," he said, in mock fear. "Don't hurt me."

  She had an easier time with the clasp on his trousers. She undid the fly slowly, her head dipping close enough that he could almost feel her lips wrapping around him before she'd even pulled his manhood free of where it strained against his boxers. Then she pulled back away, leaving his fantasies as only that, and he let out a soft groan.

  "God, please, Amy–don't tease me."

  She pulled the waistband on his boxers down, his hardness arcing upwards underneath. She wrapped her soft, slender fingers around him and gave a jerk. Just the feeling of her skin against his sent a shiver up his spine, threatening to overwhelm his senses before they'd even come close to approaching the main event.

  "You're a pervert," she said, lowering herself back down again until her face was halfway covered by his cock. "Getting this hard just from your sister."

  "Step-sister," he corrected her. It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to croak out to words "We can stop, if it makes you uncomfortable."

  She smirked for a moment, and then her lips opened and she took his cock between them, warmth and wetness engulfing him and sending any thought of any more witty comments running out of his mind.

  His fingers entangled her hair before he even knew what he was doing, guiding her head as she bobbed it up and down. She started slow–too slow for him, his body tensing as he forced himself not to thrust at his own pace into her soft mouth.

  She sped up, his breath speeding up to match her pace. His hips moved gently to move against her, need threatening to overwhelm him, and then all too soon she was pulling away, climbing off of him. He blinked and tried to calm himself, tried to force himself back under control.

  "You feeling alright, cowboy?" The twinkle in her eyes told Brett that she knew exactly what she'd done to him. When she let her dress fall away from her body completely and shift down her hips, showing the lacy black panties that covered only the bare minimum of skin, and a bra that matched, though, he silently agreed that it might have been worth it.

  He let the smile touch his face, enjoying as she slowly, sensuously reached around behind her back, her hands unseen as her fingers pinched to split the clasp on her bra–

  The ringer on her cell phone startled them both. He could see the frustrated exasperation on her face, but she ignored it. She shifter her shoulders forward and her generously-sized breasts spilled free, topped with pretty half-dollar sized aerolae and nipples already stiff from arousal.

  "If it's important then they'll leave a message," she said, lowering her hips and hooking her thumbs inside the waist of her panties, slipping them down her smooth hips. She stepped out of them and tossed them aside, and something in the action set Brett on edge, made him want to get up and grab her and take her.

  But he didn't. He let her climb back onto him, let her line his shaft up with her waiting entrance, and then her hips dropped until she'd entirely engulfed him. He let out a long breath as the warm wetness set his mind buzzing with pleasure.

  "Fuck," he breathed. His hands found a comfortable place on her hips, guiding her as she moved. Her hips rolled comfortably, his hips rising to meet her own. She moved slowly, luxuriously. He could feel every bit of her, could feel the way that her insides gripped at him as she pulled her hips away. He pulled her hips down and moved his own up to meet them, enjoying the gasp that came from Amy's lips.

  An urge struck him, and he decided to follow it, reaching up and wrapping his arms around her even as they remained connected, her hips still trying to press back and away. He thrust up to meet her once again, a loud 'clap' ringing through the house.

  Then he turned, rolling over until she lay on her back, and held her hips up as he started to move, hard and fast and violent. Amy let out a yelp at the first thrust, and the second struck again before her voice had faded, turning it to a moan.

  He hooked one ankle on his shoulder, moving harder, faster. He needed more, needed something that he was just on the edge of finding. Her body was still under him, her voice coming out in ragged bursts when she paused to take shaky breaths.

  "Is it safe?" his voice sounded thick and low and dangerous with arousal. Amy's face twisted up, tense and tight and he could feel her pussy squeezing him with all the strength in her body.

  "Fuck! Fucking–" He could see her jaw get tight, her fingers digging into the thick fabric of the sofa. Her head halfway-shook, and then she nodded vigorously, her teeth taking her lower lip between them until he worried that she was going to hurt herself.

  "Then I'm going to fill you up," he growled. His hips rammed home again, his orgasm fast approaching as she continued to spasm around him, until he buried himself deep inside her, letting her leg slip down until she wrapped it around his hips. He leaned in, pressing a kiss against her lips thick with need as he spent himself inside her for what seemed like an eternity.

  He pressed a line of kisses down her throat to a nipple, taking it between his lips and rolling his tongue along it.

  "Congratulations," he sighed. His hips moved again, experimentally, as he felt himself going soft inside her.

  She looked at him like he'd gone crazy, just for a moment, before she remembered. Then she let her head lay back and smiled. He loved that smile. Loved everything about her, if he were being honest.

  But eventually, in spite of himself, he had to withdraw from inside her, and then it was a slow, casual effort for both of them to get dressed enough to finish the night. She pulled on her panties, leaning over and peering at something on the floor.

  "You alright, babe?"

  She looked confused. Then she reached down, and when she stood again, she had her phone in her hands. She turned it on, pressed a few buttons, and held it to her head. He watched her, leaning back against the arm of the couch. It couldn't be the Orchestra–good news or bad, they wouldn't contact her the same night. Would they?

  Her face darkened. Whatever she was hearing, it wasn't what she wanted to hear. Bad news. But still, that made no sense. They wouldn't make a decision so quickly, and they certainly wouldn't make calls so quickly.

  When the message she was listening to had finished, she dropped the phone; it must have landed on top of her bag, because it didn't make the clatter of having landed on the hardwood floor.

  "Something wrong? Amy?"

  She laid down on the sofa, her head resting on his chest, and for a long time she didn't say anything. Brett kept himself entertained, between palming her full, soft breasts and teasing her hair out of her face, watching it fall back down to places that looked as if they should have tickled her skin. Then he'd move it back behind her ear, and it would fall back again.

  For a long time they laid like that. Whatever the news was, if she didn't want to tell him, then he didn't want to ask. If it involved him, then sooner or later, they would call him, too. Since they hadn't yet, he had to assume that it didn't involve him in the least bit.

  That, at least, was some sort of comfort, he supposed. Nobody was hurt. Mom's passing had been a long time coming, long enough that he'd made his peace with it. He didn't have much choice in the matter. But if someone else were to move on, so soon after… he pushed the thought out of his mind. No need to dwell on things that weren't going to happen.

  Finally, though, he spoke, as his fingers brushed the hair out of her face for the fifteenth time. "You alright?"

  She buried her face in his chest, but she answered him all the same. "I don't think we can do this" was all she said.

  Brett waited for her to explain further. When she didn't, he asked. "What was that call about? What's that got to do with us?"

  "That–
" She let out a breath. "That was Daddy. He's coming into town."

  At that, Brett's heart started to thump. No, he supposed. If Jerry were coming back into town, then they probably weren't going to be able to continue their little charade after all. He hid his frustration, brushing a hair out of Amy's face.

  He'd figure out what to do about it in the morning. Right now, he had something more important to take care of. His arms tightened around the woman in his arms. Possibly, he thought grimly, for the last time.

  2003

  Brett didn't like the way that the tuxedo fit. He'd eaten right, avoided fast food and everything. He'd even laid off extra workouts, all in an effort to avoid changing his size any more than necessary. None of that seemed to matter, though, when your thighs were as muscular as his. When you were two-twenty and squatted twice that regularly, there were certain advantages and certain disadvantages that went along with that.

  One of them was the way that pants fit, and the tailor had done everything that he could, but it didn't quite manage. The same could also be said for his lats. None of it felt natural or right, and to make matters worse, he looked like a baboon in these clothes.

  He didn't want to admit it, but Jerry didn't seem to have any of those problems. He was good to Mom, sure, but there had been plenty of guys who were good to her, for a while. A year wasn't enough time to trust anyone. It certainly wasn't enough time to think of the man as his Stepfather. He'd always be Jerry.

  He let out a long breath and shut his eyes for a moment, and then relaxed. Amy came next in the procession–he'd wondered what she would be wearing, and he supposed when he saw her that he wasn't surprised.

  She a dress that fit well, accentuated her hips and her slim waist, and the two of them together only served to draw a young man's eyes upward, where her breasts were stiffly wrangled into a tight bodice. He was thankful that it covered the cleavage that was almost certainly created by the fit.