It was a white lie, a harmless lie, and I knew it wasn’t likely to cause any hostile feelings. Nevertheless I wanted to start things right with him, on a clean slate and an honest foundation.
“How long?” He grinned, his eyelids tense.
“How long what?” I asked.
“How long have you been plotting against my better judgment?” He laughed.
“Oh I don’t know…I guess I hadn’t really noticed my feelings for you until two or three weeks after I moved back in. You were just so sweet to me, and generous, and, well, sexy as hell.” I admitted.
“And all the while, here I am, twice your age and full of so called wisdom, and yet I can’t even see the perfection of the one woman who is standing right here in front of me.” He chuckled softly. “Well, I forgive you for lying. Honestly, I should be commending you for your creativity… I’ve never had anyone spend two and a half months courting me,” his voice was light and playful now.
****
Time seemed to pass in a whirlwind of love and lust, happiness and tears, and all the while the bond between us only seemed to grow. I lived every moment of every day trying to please Bryson, and he made me feel like the most beautiful girl on the planet.
At one time in my life, I was afraid of my body, of my weight and my looks. But with him, every fear and insecurity crumbled away. I didn’t care anymore what anyone else thought of me, and I finally came to love myself completely. My curves were my strength, and I knew that with him, I never had to wonder if he truly found me beautiful.
I’d found throughout the months that followed, that Bryson was a very passionate lover. By night we made love. By day, we explored our fantasies, of which, Bryson had many. I’d been a milk maid, and a dominatrix, a damsel in distress, and a controlling boss, but there was one role I had never played, and it was the one I wished for with all of my heart.
“Bryson,” I said softly one night as he kissed my body, massaging me gently as he explored my curves.
His eyes flicked to mine and he paused, sensing the serious nature of my voice. “What is it love?” He asked with genuine concern.
“There’s something missing in my life.” I said softly.
Bryson cut me off, pulling his body up near mine and pulling me in to his chest. “I’ve been feeling the same way Ash,” his voice was strained and low.
In my heart, the fears I’d long forgotten had suddenly come back in full force. A million things shot through my mind. Was he unhappy? Did he no longer feel the way he once had?
“What do you mean?” I croaked, afraid that he’d construed my words to mean that I wanted to break up.
“It’s been over six months we’ve been going on like this. Something just isn’t right.” Bryson stood up and walked across the room.
My chest felt the weight of the world suddenly crashing down upon me, and I struggled and gulped at the air trying to calm myself. I wouldn’t let him know the truth about how I felt, or that he was breaking my heart with every word. My arms wrapped around my chest defensively and I fought back the tears that threatened to come.
Bryson had turned away now. “Yes, none of this is right. You’re a wonderful woman, and you deserve better than this.”
‘Better than a love unrequited’ I thought bleakly.
Bryson turned back to me and my eyes caught a glimpse of a sparkle, which took my completely off guard. Bryson stood before me now, dropping to his knees and staring up at me. I want to make you my wife Ashley, I want this to be forever, and more than anything, I want to start a family. His eyes seemed to outshine the diamond as they sparkled earnestly into my own.
I choked and wailed with a happiness that life had never before matched. “I will! “I cried! “I will marry you Bryson. You are everything I have ever wanted and you’ve just made me the happiest woman alive.”
Bryson slid the ring onto my finger and our lips met in a deliciously passionate kiss. I felt my entire body come alive with desire and we made love in the most intimate and devoted of ways. With every breath we became one. Every kiss, every joyous tear, every fervent caress, brought us to new heights. I was his, and he was mine.
Bryson slid himself from within me and stared me in the eyes. “No more of this,” he said firmly, tearing the condom from his stiff prick. “I want to feel you, flesh to flesh, nothing between us but love and trust.”
I stared back into his eyes with joy. He was asking for my devotion, and willfully giving me his. He knew that he would make me pregnant, and that our lives would be intertwined until death. I slowly nodded, giving him the confirmation that I too was ready to be entirely his.
“Take me Bryson, cum for me.” I whispered as our lips met.
Bryson thrust his hips against me once more. His bare cock was like electric and it shot through me with violent pleasure. Being this close, this naked, heightened the sensation of our lovemaking and sent us both into a delirious passionate rhythm of gasping and humping.
His body drew into mine and I felt the head of his cock pulse hard as his body grasped me in a desperate embrace.
“Oooh-ah, I screamed as my own body met his in sensual release.
I was breathing hard and my fingers grasped his back as my body convulsed around him. For the first time I felt the heat of his sex like never before. My body contracted harder at the sensation as my tummy drank in the life-giving gift of his sex.
Lying there in one another’s arms, we both knew that it was only a matter of time until my belly swelled with his child, and for the first time in my life, I felt utterly and completely whole.
Foreign Affairs; My Italian Step
Chapter 1
I grew up in a dusty little hamlet you’ve never heard of: Milson, Texas, a hundred-and-fifty miles north of San Antonio. There was only one paved road, very little infrastructure in general, and about the only thing to do on a Friday night was either hang out at the forlorn Chaparral Café on Main Street, where my mother worked, loiter in front of Bob Carlson's general store until closing time, or chat with passersby under the six unhappy street lamps that were interspersed throughout the town.
My mother had gotten pregnant with me at 23, and my dad hit the road soon afterwards, leaving her to raise me on her own. Life was a struggle during my early years, to say the least, and with there just being the two of us it was lonely at times. But there was always food on the table, a roof over our heads, and plenty of love to go around.
But then, shortly after I turned thirteen, we came by a stroke of incredible luck.
A local Milson boy, Robert Patterson, had struck it big in the oil business. He had come back to Milson to visit his parents and grandparents, and met my mom one afternoon as she was about to start her shift at the café. Long-story-short, they got married soon afterwards and my life practically changed overnight. Gone forever were the chintzy clothes from K-Mart and the thrift shop, as were the dinners of leftovers and soon-to-expire hamburger from the café. No more waiting outside the school for my mom to pick me up in her battered Oldsmobile, or saving change in a jar for our once-a-year vacation to Corpus Christi to visit my grandparents and see the ocean.
No, all of that was gone--and in its place was the hustle and bustle of effervescent Austin. Life was suddenly a whirlwind of lavish ski vacations and extravagant society functions. Robert even bought me a brand new BMW for my sixteenth birthday.
It would have been a charmed life and a happily-ever-after ending had my mother not died of cervical cancer three years later. Somehow I pulled through, though, and in the wake of it all I turned into a quiet, studious young woman who made the honor roll every year. Driven inwards by her death I devoted most of my time to studying, training for the cross-country running team, and reading in solitude. I hadn't the time nor the desire to spend every waking moment viciously jockeying for status and popularity like the other spoiled brats at the private high school I attended; I clearly didn't fit in there, obvious to myself and to my peers. All that being said, I felt f
airly content and sensed my life was productive and forward-moving. And thankfully Robert always treated me well and made sure I wanted for nothing.
Which wasn’t to say that my life was complete. It would have been nice to have had a group of friends who were more than study partners looking to keep up their grades and satisfy their parents. And it would have been nice to go on a date with a boy, at least once.
Mind you, my lack of dating experience had nothing to do with my looks; in fact, I was quite attractive, and I knew it. My body was lean, lithe and sculpted from running competitively, and I was intelligent, witty and, quite frankly, felt superior to the others despite my impoverished background (actually, come to think of it, maybe because of it). No, I received my fair share of advances from the popular jocks; it was just that I knew better than to take them seriously. They were after me because, to them, I was just another pussy they could put in their trophy case. And because, when it came right down to it, I was hotter than even the most popular girls who ruled the school.
If only I'd had the ditzy, superficial personality to match theirs. Too bad for them…
But enough about me. Let’s talk about what happened last summer, nine months ago when Robert got into his head to sponsor a Formula One auto racing team in Italy. Ever since he was a child he had been a car-racing fanatic. So naturally he decided to buy a North Carolina-based NASCAR team after he made it big in oil. Astonishingly his team won two Winston Cup titles, and from that point on Robert became mildly neurotic with regard to anything related to auto racing. After his success in the states, he thought why not try to dominate the European racing circuit?
So off to Europe he went, in search of a team. He found one soon enough, but during the process he stumbled upon Victoria, the gorgeous wife of an Italian industrialist who just happened to co-sponsor the same team Robert was interested in.
Needless to say, it was as if a bomb exploded when Robert came to my room one day last month to tell me he essentially stole a former fashion model from one of Italy’s richest men and was going to marry her. Her husband, Raphael Berlusconi, without batting an eyelash and in typical Italian fashion, gladly signed the divorce papers and started dating another model; he and Robert were now good friends, both wildly enthusiastic over the same team.
As I learned soon after my mother married Robert, life moves quickly for the 'rich and famous,' and in the case with Victoria it was no different: she obtained dual-citizenship and moved in to Robert's Austin mansion just twelve days later.
****
A couple of days after Victoria arrived the three of us were at Starbucks, waiting in line at the drive-thru. I was seated in the back and listened curiously as they once again talked irritably about her son, Luca, a year younger than me at 18; from what little I picked up from Victoria since I met her he always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. The latest morsel of bad news had to do with some kind of scandal at his boarding school in Italy. Victoria had been trying to get him admitted to another school but without much success.
As we pulled up to the speaker Robert asked, “Victoria, what do you want?”
“Oh, I do not know yet,” she replied hesitantly in her thick Italian accent.
“Amelia, you want the usual?”
“Sure,” I said absentmindedly, looking up from my phone; I always got the same: a double non-fat latte, extra hot. Luca had just added me as a 'friend' on Facebook and I was flipping through his pictures. If I hadn’t known he was my rich, well-to-do stepbrother I would have been totally intimidated by him. He looked big and tough, not the kind of boy one would expect the svelte Victoria to give birth to. Luca had a strong jaw line, a masculine face covered in stubble, and a broad, athletic build.
I flipped through his pictures with more than a passing interest. He was muscular, but not bulky like the meat-head jocks at my school. He was nicely proportioned. His black hair was a sexy, curly tangle that seemed to fall into just the right place, even if it was tousled in such a way that suggested total carelessness.
But none of that really seemed intriguing, at least not compared to his eyes, which were a piercing, icy light-blue. Even on the fuzzy screen of my iPhone they looked like they were burning with some kind of otherworldly force that demanded I keep flipping through his photos. I usually had zero patience for Facebook, but in this particular case I kind of enjoyed looking at Luca.
“I still do not know,” Victoria hedged. She turned around to look at me. “What do you usually get, Amelia?”
"A double, whole-milk latte, extra hot.”
“Amelia,” she said with astonishment, her eyes widening a little behind her oversized sunglasses. “Such an appetite! Just like my son, he has crazy appetite for everything.”
I rolled my eyes--was she serious? At that moment I realized why fashion models had the reputation they did for eating disorders. What did she expect I order from Starbucks? A cup of water?
“How about a double, non-fat latte?” Robert suggested with a wry smile.
“Well, okay, I guess,” Victoria acquiesced.
We got our drinks and drove back to the house. I wanted to take a dip in the pool and lay around in the sun before I took a crack at my homework. I didn’t quite know why, but I took a sort of sick satisfaction in working through a giant stack of AP assignments; the same feeling induced by a grueling workout on the track.
When we got back I sat down at the kitchen table with Robert and Victoria to finish up what remained of my latte.
“We’re going to go shopping this morning,” Robert said. “What’re you going to do today, honey?”
I shrugged. “Hang out by the pool a little, then get my homework out of the way.”
I finished up my drink and then bounced out of my chair to give Robert a hug. “Okay, well I’ll see you guys later. Have fun shopping.” I then gave Victoria a hug.
“Have a good day, Amelia, sweetheart,” she said affectionately, kissing both of my cheeks. "I wish Luca was more like you." She had the most charming accent!
I bounded up the stairs to my room and changed into the little red bikini that Victoria had bought me last week. I put my hair up as I scrutinized myself in the mirror. I had been freaked out about buying the bikini, but Victoria had insisted, then simply bought it for me despite my protests. Looking this provocative scared me: the way the thin straps and little triangles of fabric made me flaunt my figure gave me a nervous flutter in my stomach. Even if I was still a little on the thin side, I looked like a woman now: and a dangerous one at that.
If I didn’t have the house to myself this morning there was no way I would have ever walked around in it like this. I threw on the old straw Stetson I’d had forever, grabbed my favorite pair of cheap, neon-framed shades, and made my way down to the pool.
I splashed around a little then laid myself out on a deck chair to dry out. An hour of delicious laziness in the sunshine would feel great before I cracked the books.
Just as I settled comfortably into the lounger my phone buzzed indicating a new text message had arrived. I groaned and reached for it. Probably Julia. She was my closest friend, constant study partner, and a miserable depressive whom, lately, I couldn’t stand to be around for more than a few hours. She’d probably been eating her younger brother’s Adderall and was now eager to come over and study for our AP history exam. We talked about going to one of the trendy coffee shops downtown this weekend to do our homework there. But I didn’t feel like studying right at this moment; all I wanted was to just lie around and feel the hot sunshine on my body.
I reluctantly picked up the phone. It wasn't Julia after all. Instead I had a message from a number I didn’t recognize. Shielding my eyes from the glaring sunlight, I tapped on the screen to open the message.
Ciao. This is Luca, your brother from Italy. How are you doing in the USA?
Oh how exciting, I thought. I tried to think of something to write back that wasn’t totally banal.
Nothing...just hanging out by the pool
on a Saturday morning. What time is it in Italy? Ugh, so much for banal.
Maybe I should send him a picture instead--haha. Sure, my racy new swimsuit scared me when I looked at myself in front of the mirror, but viewed on a fuzzy phone screen on the other side of the world, it probably wouldn't appear all that provocative.
I held the camera above me, pointing it at my body sprawled on the lawn chair. I was new to this whole selfie-taking business, which had always seemed a little self-absorbed and stupid to me. I could barely see the preview in the screen against the glare of the sun. I snapped a picture and looked at the result. Not bad, I thought. I definitely looked...hot. And it was the kind of great picture you get every so often, just out of sheer dumb luck. The background, the expensive Mexican tiles that Robert had paved the deck with, was blown out almost too white, in a way that looked sort of artistic. The curves of my body were in shockingly high definition, and my bikini was bright, bright red. I looked at this gem of a picture in wonder, not quite believing the girl on the pool chair was really me.
Taboo Step Surrender (Steamy Twenty Book Box Set) Page 20