Romance: Stepbrother Passion

by West, Lara

  “I’m telling you now,” I retort sarcastically.

  “Whatever. Just get on with the story.”

  “Okay Miss Pushy. I had a fight with Tony and I was upset and Dylan was nice to me about it. End of story.”

  Mel eyes widen with suspense. “So did you guys kiss?”

  “No! We just talked.”

  “Boring,” she frowns, obviously disappointed. “I thought you were going to give me something juicer than that, Ell.”

  I poke out my tongue and turn back to the window.

  The brunette has gone.

  I watch Dylan disappear back into the pool house, secretly glad that he is single again. In my blissful tipsiness I fantasize about being one of those girls. I wonder what it would feel like to have his arms tight around me, to kiss his faultless lips, to stare again into those faraway eyes that always make me go weak.

  “You’ve got it bad, girl,” Mel chuckles, mockingly. “Crushing on your stepbrother, I’m sure that’s illegal somewhere. Besides, don’t you have a date with Tyler this weekend? That guy has loved you since like the fifth grade.”

  “Argh, don’t remind me,” I groan, breaking away from my thoughts.

  “Then why did you say yes?”

  “I did it out of pity. He was just so sweet when he asked. And we’re going soon, so it’s not like anything is going to become of it.”

  Mel fakes a smile. “Well, good luck with that.”

  For the rest of the night we finish drinking the vodka and watch Dirty Dancing.

  I have never really been into Patrick Swayze, and it could just be the vodka talking, but tonight I kind of dig him. He is strangely attractive. His butt in that leotard is… kind of hot.

  I kind of see what Baby sees now.

  But the harder I try to focus on the movie, the more my thoughts wander back to Dylan.

  I cannot help but think about all the girls I have seen him with and how I would measure up in comparison.

  Is this what I have come to?

  Is Mel right? Do I have it bad for Dylan McCormack?

  Chapter Four

  It is after midnight and the last box for college is all taped up.

  The date with sweet Tyler was over quickly. He smiled pleasantly, talked nicely and complimented me in all the right moments. He is a nice guy but the chemistry just wasn’t there. I made it clear to him that this was the end of any dating and wished him luck in the future. And I gave him a nice kiss on the cheek after he dropped me back at home.

  I think he almost melted in that moment.

  In all honesty, I just could not stop thinking about Dylan and our conversation on the stairs.

  There was something deeper about it all, something deeper about him.

  Outside, the rain heavily pelts against the house. Staring out my window, I see Dylan’s room glow like an orb in the darkness.

  I am surprised he is even home. Saturday nights are usually reserved for a party followed by a hookup. I think about the brunette with the denim shorts, sick with envy about the way Dylan probably thinks about her.

  But then again I have seen more girls traipsing through the backyard in the last few days than the entire time I have been living here. Something has to be up with that. I decide that tonight is my last chance to talk to him, my last chance to stop being the shy and insecure girl-next-door I have always been.

  I swiftly make my way across the lawn covered in darkness, my head tucked under my jacket to protect me from the pelting rain, and I reach his pool house in only a matter of seconds. Inside, I hear the muffled sound of music and realize that he might not be alone.

  Crap!

  How could I have been so stupid as to not think of that?

  I think about turning back, about my dry, safe bedroom back inside the house and all the other boys I will meet in college.

  But it is too late.

  Dylan opens the door.

  “What the hell, Ella? Get in here, you’re soaked!”

  He grabs me by the arm and pulls me inside.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, shivering. “I was going to knock and then I thought…”

  “Here,” he says, cutting me off. “Dry yourself off.”

  He passes me a towel and then turns down the stereo. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising hums faintly.

  “This song reminds me of you,” I say, smiling.

  “I heard you had a date?” Dylan asks me bluntly.

  “I did, but I bailed early. I had too much packing to do.”

  Dylan nods indifferently.

  I feel my chance slipping away.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” I say, fighting the nerves. “I mean, I just wanted to see you. I’m leaving tomorrow and if I never…if we never…” I expect him to start flirting in his usual Dylan-style way, but his expression stays solemn.

  “You shouldn’t be in here, Ella.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t trust myself with you.”

  “But I’m not asking you to,” I blurt.

  It comes out even as a surprise to me.

  But Dylan shakes his head.

  I feel my heart sinking.

  “Look, you can’t stay,” he says, firmer.

  “Why? Am I not pretty enough for you? Am I not slutty enough?”

  “No, Ella. That’s not it at all. I think you’re gorgeous.”

  “What then?”

  “If you stay I…” He pauses, looking down at the floor and then back up. “I might not let you leave tomorrow.”

  “Then I won’t.”

  “And what, Ella? Hang around here in this damned retirement village of a town? Get a job waitressing at some diner or my Dad’s donuts store?”

  I do not know what to say.

  Silence falls between us.

  “We’re from two different worlds,” he finally says.

  “That’s not true,” I stammer.

  “Look you’re smart. You have a future. You have the grades for college. You deserve better.”

  “But I want you.”

  The words just jump out of my mouth.

  And as soon as I say them, Dylan stares at me in shock.

  I can almost see the thoughts going through his head. He is considering my statement as his eyes wander over my body.

  “And I’ll only hurt you,” he turns away.

  “You won’t,” I protest, knowing that he probably will and yet still wanting him in all his shades.

  Rough, sensitive, confident and vulnerable.

  I get knots in my stomach just thinking about us together.

  “Besides, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to take the risk.”

  He looks me up and down like he is undressing me with his eyes. Then he closes the gap between us.

  Oh…

  My heart is pounding firm as he presses against me.

  His lips land on mine and he takes what he wants.

  He kisses me hard and fast, taking away my breath. I kiss him back with a mirrored intensity only to feel something in him shift.

  He changes, kissing me softer and slower.

  He leads me back toward the bed, sitting down so that I am standing in front of him.

  “Take off your clothes,” he orders. “I want to see you first.”

  I stare at him sheepishly yet find myself obeying, stripping down to only my underwear. The music stops. The rain drums wildly on the roof.

  “All of you,” he says sternly.

  “Can’t we just…make out for a while first?” I ask, fidgeting nervously.

  “I thought you said you wanted this?”

  “I did. I do. It’s just…”

  “What, Ella? I don’t have all night.”

  “I’ve never done this before okay!” I snap.

  The outburst unnerves him, his feet shifting uncomfortably on the carpet.

  “You’re a virgin?”

  I nod.

  Embarrassed.

  “Look, maybe I should just g
o.”

  “No,” he says, taking my hand as I turn to leave. “We’ll just take it slow. I don’t want some college guy to…”

  But he never finishes the sentence.

  Instead, he guides me down onto the bed and kisses me again, his hands wandering over my body. He lifts up my bra, cupping my small breasts softly, until he feels me flinching beneath his touch.

  He reaches around and unclasps my bra, draping it over the edge of the bed.

  “Close your eyes,” Dylan murmurs and I do, completely submitting as I revel in the sensation of his mouth around my nipples, sucking and biting them gently.

  I feel my pants dampen, an ache between my legs that I cannot control. His lips traverse lower, brushing over my navel before they stop to hover over my bikini line.

  He slips off my panties, looking at me as he slides them up and over my knees.

  “You smell so good, Ella,” he says breathing onto my clit, and then he engulfs it entirely.

  I cry out at how incredible it feels.

  It is like nothing I have ever felt before.

  He prods and swirls it around with his tongue, my climax building as he varies the pace.

  I moan when he grips my thighs tighter and I finally explode into ecstasy, gasping for air as the room becomes blurry and I am left shaking.

  “Dylan, that was…” I begin to say, but he is already taking off his shirt, his erection bulging toward me through his jeans.

  He takes my hands and helps me slide off his jeans.

  I see his cock in all its glory: long, thick and circumcised, a purple vein bulging down one side.

  Wow…

  “This might hurt,” he states.

  I nod and let him climb on top of me.

  I feel the weight of him, the hardness, the stinging each time he presses further in.

  I close my eyes and try to think of something else beyond the pain until finally he breaks through and the thrusts become deeper.

  “Are you all right?” he asks tenderly, the dark hazel eyes searing into mine.

  “I’m okay,” I breathe.

  “I’m going to keep going,” he states firmly.

  “Yes.”

  I feel myself tingling and relax.

  I let my pussy swallow him whole, enjoying the rougher pulses, the nerve endings bursting within. I see him change and flush.

  His breaths get louder, heavier.

  “Look at me when I cum, Ella. Don’t turn away,” Dylan huffs and then he is peaking, driving me harder one last time before he blows and collapses, breathless on top of me.

  We lie here for minutes, just stillness and rain.

  “That was something else,” he finally groans, moving to the other side of the bed.

  I smile proudly, still swooning over how amazing my body feels.

  But tomorrow looms ahead like an unsettled forecast and I cannot help but give fire to this love-like feeling.

  I imagine endless rainy nights enfolded in bed and silly things like holding hands down the street and kissing in public, announcing to everyone that we are together. Turning away I try to fight the tears.

  The thought of leaving tomorrow is almost unbearable.

  ****

  The next morning Dylan is gone.

  A note sits on the pillow along with my clothes: ‘Good luck with college. Come visit soon’.

  I blink in disbelief, turning it over again and again, expecting to find something more.

  I cannot believe that he did this.

  That he not even stay to say goodbye.

  That he could think so little of me, like I was just another one of ‘those’ girls.

  Does he realize how big this night was to me? Does he realize what it meant?

  What a jerk!

  I quickly swipe at the tear running down my cheek and vow that it is the last I will ever shed over a guy.

  Dylan was right when he said we were from two different worlds.

  I was just too foolish and love drunk to see it.

  Well, to hell with Dylan McCormack!

  And to hell with a visit!

  Who knows how many girls he will have had in his bed by then.

  Who wants a deadbeat for a boyfriend anyway?

  Chapter Five

  10 years later…

  “You know that book editor that you have been shamelessly flirting with for like the last month? Well, he made a special delivery this morning!” Mel says, smiling like a mischievous Cheshire cat.

  I walk up to the counter and look at her strangely, dumping my coat and handbag by the register.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, taking the envelope and peering inside. “Holy crap! Tomorrow night?”

  “What’s tomorrow night?” Mel asks excitedly.

  “Only the ballet!”

  “Get out! He’s taking you to George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker? My life officially sucks.”

  “Oh don’t be so dramatic. Want come with? I can ask Cole if he has a cute friend to double date with? NOT that this is a date.”

  “Um it’s totally a date, Ella. Cole is like obsessed with you. But of course I’ll come! I’m not putting out though.”

  “Since when?” I laugh. “A few champagnes, some poignant music and guys in tights, and you’ll be singing to the whistle of another tune!”

  “You know what I like!” Mel winks and bends down to pick up a large box.

  “Is that the best seller for the window?” I ask.

  “Sure is, boss. I thought I would make a start on it early. If I do it any later the workmen from the construction site across the road take an early lunch and watch me. It’s gross.”

  “Fair enough,” I chuckle. “I’ll make us some coffees and bring one over.”

  “Perfect,” Mel calls, already half way across the store.

  I glance back to the envelope still in my hand.

  Cole is getting desperate.

  Private box seats?

  These tickets would have cost a fortune, even with his six figure salary.

  Cole is a book editor that I have known for a few years. We are friends, but ever since his divorce a few months back things have become somewhat less platonic.

  But I really have no interest in dating. My lifestyle right now compensates enough for the loveless side of things.

  Not that I do not want to find love.

  I put down the ballet tickets and take a moment to look around.

  After I graduated from NYU with a major in Literature, it took another six years of working for a small publishing company in Brooklyn to finally get the funds to buy this place. Hence where I met Cole; he was my boss.

  But now I have branched out on my own, a bookstore owner/barista extraordinaire!

  No matter what time of year it is business is always consistent as long as I keep a great profile and flair for managing.

  That is where the beautiful Mel comes in.

  She graduated with a degree in Management and Marketing. She is a constantly pushing me to do bigger things but without her I doubt this place would have even gotten off the ground. In Manhattan bookstores sit like hidden gems.

  Tourists always find themselves wandering into Wilde at Heart, my cozy treasure trove on the 5th Avenue end of West 19th Street. It is filled with the scent of old, worn and fresh pages of books mingled with the subtle aroma of coffee. People come here to escape, to dream, to sit down with a good book and cup of coffee and just get lost.

  It is a refuge from the bustle of the city, a serene haven to get swallowed by.

  At one o’clock Mel and I leave Tom and Emma, two of our casual staff, to run the store while we head out for lunch. Tom and Emma secretly like each other; well that is what we think anyway.

  The shy glances and blushing each time they have a shift together kind of gives the game away, although they are completely oblivious to it.

  On Fridays Mel and I always go to the same place, The Blue Ivy Tavern. It is an amazing outdoor restaurant on the corne
r of East 20th and Park Avenue South, which is only a five-minute walk from the bookstore.

  “Good afternoon ladies,” our regular waiter Mario chirps as we take a seat by the fountain. “The usual?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent. Two smoked salmon bagels and two glasses of Femme De Champagne coming right up.”

  Within minutes the champagnes arrive along with a copy of The Wall Street Journal.

  “If anyone had told me ten years ago that this would be our lives right now I would have laughed endlessly,” Mel smirks, sipping her champagne.

  “Same,” I jeer, holding up my glass. “Here’s to us!”

  We clink and laugh blissfully whilst the rest of Manhattan goes on around us.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. No way!” Mel squeals suddenly, eyes fixed on an article in the paper.

  “What?”

  “What was the last name of that guy you used to live with? The one whose father your Mom divorced after only like six months? Dylan something?”

  My hearts quivers. “You mean Dylan McCormack?”

  My first time.

  “So it is him! Wow he’s like an icon of Manhattan now. Did you know he went to jail not long after we left Missouri?”

  “What the hell are you on about?” I ask firmly, snatching the journal.

  And then I see him.

  The hypnotic eyes, the perfect teeth, the million-dollar smile, and the expensive pinstripe suit that looks like it is Armani.

  Dylan is a hotshot defense attorney?

  Here in New York?

  Seriously?

  I quickly re-read the first few sentences of the article:

  Dylan McCormack is shaping up to be one of New York’s most popular defense attorneys. The shining white knight, having served time in prison for breaking and entering when he was 18, now defends the very people he would have shared a cell with.

  When asked what prompted him to become an attorney, he said quite frankly, “Not everything in prison, or within our justice system, is clear-cut black and white. There’s a hell of a lot of grey area and a hell of a lot of lost souls who just made the wrong choice and deserve a second chance. I just want to be the guy who helps them get that chance.”

  Although Mr. McCormack is quite the controversial icon, he recently joined the prestigious firm of ‘Preston & Smith’, relocating from his home town of Florissant, Missouri, to the bright lights of Manhattan…