Little Brats: Taboo A-Z Volume 1: (Forbidden Taboo Erotica) (Little Brats Boxed Sets)

by Selena Kitt

  He looked at her for a long time, not saying anything and she felt herself trembling, hoping beyond hope.

  “I love you, Anna.”

  She blinked back tears. “I love you too, Drew.”

  “What was I thinking?” He lowered his head to her neck and she felt him give a little sob and her heart lurched in her chest, hope fading. And then he said something she could have only dreamed of hearing. “I couldn’t leave you, girlie. I could never leave you.”

  “So you’ll take me with you?” she asked, breathless.

  He groaned, sounding like a man in pain. “Yes. Fuck it. Yes, yes, yes. Pack your bags, sweetheart. Let’s go find ourselves some happy.”

  Little Brats: Becca

  Tomboy Becca has always been the girl who caught frogs, made mud pies and climbed trees. She’s never cared for or even paid attention to boys much, unless they were tossing a ball in her direction, but when a new girl shows in up at her school during her senior year, all that changes.

  How does the new girl get so much attention just for wearing skimpy clothes? Becca discovers she does want the boys to notice her after all, and decides to find out how to make that happen.

  And what better place to start her experiment than at home?

  Because the person she wants to notice her the most just happens to be her stepfather.

  She was dreaming about him.

  She knew it was awful. Twisted. Perverted. Even sick. It was so very wrong, on so many levels. But she couldn’t control her unconscious, could she? And maybe that was the scariest thing of all.

  In her dream, he touched her. Her mother was there for once, sitting in the living room on her laptop, smoking Pall Malls and swearing under her breath. She and Duncan were at the kitchen table, in full view, sorting slate from quartz from limestone from slag.

  “Look, a Petoskey stone!” In her dream, she held it up, amazed. They were a rare find—both a rock and a fossil, the result of millions of years of glacial grinding and found only in Northern Michigan—and Duncan was just as thrilled as she was.

  “Wow!” He admired her find, his eyes behind his glasses bright with excitement. And that’s when she felt his hand on her knee under the table. The sensation was unmistakable, his palm warm, rubbing gently.

  She swallowed and her dream-eyes met his. He’d never looked at her that way. She’d seen him admire other women like that, including her mother, at least way back when they were first married. And the other day, he’d been shocked into commenting about the new girl, who liked to wear short-short skirts and shirts that didn’t quite cover her navel. But he’d never turned to Becca with that look of lust in his eyes before.

  His hand moved ever so slowly up her thigh, massaging. In her dream, she was wearing jean cut-offs, like she always did as much of the year she could get away with, and by the time his hand reached the seam of her shorts, she was so wet she was almost ready to come. And all the while, they both pretended nothing was going on, nothing at all. But she was imagining how hard his cock must be, and her pussy ached for release.

  In her sleep, she whimpered, and she heard him say her name, a whisper so her mother wouldn’t hear, his mouth close to her ear, and then she was coming, her orgasm a shameful, shuddering relief.

  “Becca…”

  She awoke slowly, still trembling with her climax, her own hand scissored between her thighs under the covers, feeling Duncan’s presence beside her, his weight settled on the edge of her bed. Twisting toward him, she whimpered, unsure if she was awake or still dreaming until he spoke again.

  “Becca, it’s time. Are you ready?”

  “Mmm,” was all the answer she could manage, still too breathless to speak. Waking to find her stepfather in her bed after that dream was too surreal for words.

  “Come on, sleepyhead.” He brushed the hair away from her face in the dim light, and she saw through her window, just over his shoulder, that it was still dark. “The catfish are jumpin’.”

  “Comin’,” she mumbled, flushing at her choice of words, glad for the darkness. “I’ll meet you in the truck.”

  She got dressed in the dark, being quiet out of habit, even though her mother wasn’t home. She’d left on another business trip last week, after being back for just three days, this time to some place in Europe. She’d called last night for her weekly check-in, informing them both that she wouldn’t be in the United States again for another month. The plant she was setting up in Italy was going to take longer than they expected.

  Of course, Becca was used to her being gone. Her mother hired nannies to stay with her when Becca was little, but now she had Duncan. And Becca and Duncan had fallen into their own routine over the past two years, one more the norm than the times when her mother was actually home. She wondered sometimes if Duncan knew what he’d been signing up for when he married one of the most successful businesswomen in the country, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was busy enough with his own business, building websites and developing Apps.

  Duncan had the truck running and the heater on—there was a little nip in the air—and their poles and tackle boxes were in the back. The drive to the lake was quiet and quick. Becca shivered and Duncan turned the heater up even more, but she wasn’t cold. It was an involuntary response. Her body just did things around him, without consulting her.

  He parked and they moved like synchronized dancers, they’d done this so often, putting their poles and tackle into the boat, pushing it away from the dock, and hopping in barefoot, their shoes already in the boat. He grabbed one oar, she grabbed the other, and they began to row. The water was still and calm, like dusky, smoked glass.

  They maneuvered the boat together into the current and Duncan slowly let down the anchor before they began baiting their hooks and tossing their lines. They each had two poles—double the chance for a whitefish dinner that night. She glanced over at him, wondering just how to ask him what she’d been so preoccupied with for the past week.

  “You’re quiet this morning,” he remarked, as if reading her mind. He was still piercing his hook with one the night crawlers they kept in a cooler at their feet.

  She anchored her pole, snapping it in place. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  She sat back in the boat, cross-legged and put her chin in her hand. “You know the new girl I pointed out to you?”

  Duncan snorted, tossing out his line. “You didn’t have to point her out. I imagine she gets a lot of attention.”

  “You can say that again.” Becca sighed. “All the boys are after her.”

  “I bet they are.”

  “Is that really all a girl has to do to get a boy’s attention?” Becca asked. “Wear short skirts and tight shirts?”

  Duncan sighed, snapping his own rod and reel into place. “I suppose most boys would notice a girl like that.”

  “You sure did,” Becca snapped, realizing how that sounded the moment it came out of her mouth.

  “Well… I’m only human.” Her stepfather smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was very handsome, even with the John-Lennon-like spectacles that made him look a little too studious, with wavy dark hair and the most interesting gray eyes. They reminded her of the lake— reflective, expansive, wide-open and deep. “But just because they notice her, doesn’t mean they really like her or respect her.”

  Becca laughed. “I don’t think girls like Jessica want respect.”

  “That’s probably true,” her stepfather agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of gum. It was always the same—Dentyne Cinnamon Ice—and sometimes she dreamed about the smell of it. He offered her a piece, just like always, and she took it, tucking the wrapper into her pocket and the gum in her mouth.

  “I wish boys looked at me that way,” she said, watching the line of orange growing along the horizon as the taste of cinnamon exploded in her mouth.

  Duncan frowned and shook his head, snapping his gum. “No you don’t.”

  “Yes I
do,” she insisted, remembering how Jessica had flounced through the halls, her long tanned legs looking even longer in impossibly high heels, her skirt so short it barely covered the curve of her ass. Her t-shirt was white with some logo on the front, but she’d been braless underneath, her dark nipples clearly visible. Even the principal, who had given her a warning about her attire, but who hadn’t sent her home, had stared unabashedly at the way her nipples poked against her shirt. “Just once I’d like to turn heads like that.”

  “You’re a beautiful girl, Becca.” Duncan reached over, putting a hand on her knee, and she immediately flashed back to her dream, feeling her body fill with heat. “You don’t need any of that to get boys to notice you.”

  “If you say so.” She bit her lip, feeling his hand moving, oh God, just like in her dream, kneading her flesh, ever so slowly. Yes, yes, yes, she thought, bowing her head and closing her eyes in anticipation, letting her dark hair cover her flushed cheeks. She couldn’t believe this was really happening, finally, finally…

  And then he withdrew his hand, clearing his throat and fiddling with his rod and reel. “Any guy who’s attracted to the Becca I know—the girl who likes baiting hooks and stalking deer and sailing—is going to like you for who you are. And who you are is pretty amazing.”

  She sighed. “If you say so.”

  “Trust me.” He patted her knee, but his hand didn’t linger this time. “Besides, if you ever leave my house looking like that Jessica girl, I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?”

  He gave her a dark look. “I’ll spank your ass until you can’t sit down.”

  “You got a bite.” She gulped, nodding toward his fishing pole—the line had gone taut.

  Duncan reached for his rod and Becca watched, dejected. She really didn’t care about all the silly boys in school. Most of them didn’t interest her at all. The truth was, the one guy she really longed to have notice her that way was reeling in their first catch of the morning, and she didn’t know if he would ever look at her that way.

  But she desperately wanted him to.

  She’d spent an entire afternoon at the mall trying on outfits. Her job at the bait and tackle shop gave her some extra spending money and she’d been saving up for a new Mossberg hunting rifle, but right now, this seemed far more important. Her best friend, Ashe, had given his two thumbs up in the end. She couldn’t remember how she and Ashe had become friends, somewhere back in the third grade, but he’d been her true companion ever since, and the fact he was gay—he confessed at some point in middle school—had always made things even better between them somehow. There was no pressure and it was easy to be the best of friends.

  “You are going to knock him flat on his ass.”

  She’d cocked her hip and pouted. “Who?”

  “Whatever guy you’re doing this for.”

  “I’m not doing it for a guy.”

  Ashe had laughed. “You’re the world’s worst liar.”

  Okay, so it was true. But she wouldn’t tell him who, even when he begged and threw a temper tantrum in the middle of the mall like the drama queen he was, threatening to leave if she didn’t tell. It was the first thing in a long time she couldn’t tell Ashe.

  But he’d gotten over it by the time he picked her up for school on Monday. Duncan had a rare day off and was still asleep when she slipped out of the house. She thought wearing the outfit to school would work on two levels—it would throw Ashe off the trail, confirming it must be some guy at school she was trying to impress, and it would serve as a test run. If the boys at school looked twice, she’d know she hit the mark.

  Turned out, it was a perfect bulls eye. Turned out, all a girl needed was a short skirt, a tight shirt that showed off some cleavage, and a lot of make-up to attract a boy’s attention. Every boy’s attention, it seemed. So much attention it began to be uncomfortable in class. The girls whispered and glared, but the boys—guys who hadn’t noticed her in cut-offs and Polos in an entire four years of high school—were suddenly boys falling over themselves trying to talk to her before and after class. She even managed to usurp the attention that had been heaped on the new girl, whose black cat suit-type outfit seemed tame in comparison to Becca’s skin-revealing bits of cloth.

  Every time she moved, she was aware of her body. The slip of her tank-tee strap, revealing an expanse of brown shoulder, the crossing of her legs pulling her skirt far too up her thigh—but not crossing them revealed the black thong Ashe had insisted she wear underneath the incredibly short, hot-pink skirt they’d chosen. Then there was the hardening of her nipples under her white tank-tee when someone opened one of the classroom windows—she could have sworn it was on purpose—which made her braless state even more prominent.

  So it turned out her theory was correct—dressing provocatively got a girl all sorts of attention, turned heads and made everyone talk. As it also turned out, it landed her in the principal’s office with a call home to Duncan to either come pick her up or bring her a change of clothing. That was after one of her teachers had given up trying to keep the class’s attention off Becca’s long, tanned legs in four-inch spiked high heels.

  Duncan chose the former, showing up at the school with a scowl, following the principal into his office with another backward glare at her. She waited, head down, for the door to open again, her heart leaping to her throat when it finally did.

  “We’re going home.” Duncan strode past her on his way out, but she’d already gathered that much.

  Becca followed, struggling to keep up, unsteady in her shoes, the heels clattering on the tiles. He’d brought the truck, and she had to practically jump up into the passenger side, something she wasn’t used to. When she finally managed to get into the seat, she saw Duncan was watching her, his face slightly red, and she wondered how much she had revealed in her gymnastics.

  She’d barely shut the door before he pulled out of the parking lot. Expecting a lecture, Becca tugged at her skirt, trying to pull it down to cover herself, but it was no use. There just wasn't enough material. Duncan glanced over at her manipulations, his gaze moving from her very short hemline back up to where she was trying to make the tank-tee cover her breasts.

  “What in the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, shifting the truck into a lower gear as they rounded the corner to their street. Becca bit her lip and tried again, a futile gesture, to get her skirt to cover more flesh.

  “I just wanted to see what would happen,” Becca mumbled, regretting her decision now. It had been Duncan’s attention she wanted to capture, after all, and while her mission might have been successful, it wasn’t the sort of attention she had been after.

  “You’re going to find out,” he growled, pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine. “Get into the house.”

  She slid out of the truck and wobbled up the driveway to the side door. She was hopeless in heels. How did her mother do this every day? Duncan was already inside, sitting at the kitchen table. His face was unreadable.

  “Am I grounded?” she asked in a small voice, dropping her backpack to the floor.

  “I told you what would happen if I ever caught you going out wearing something like that.”

  Becca stared at him, uncomprehending, but a dawning realization came over her as Duncan stood and began unbuckling his belt.

  I’ll spank your ass until you can’t sit down.

  That’s what he had said—his exact words. Becca watched him unthread his belt, staring in disbelief as he folded the thick leather over carefully, keeping the buckle in his hand.

  “Come here.” He snapped the belt and the sound made her knees weak, but she did as she was told, wavering only slightly, catching herself on the kitchen table. “Bend over.”

  She blinked at him in disbelief, her face reddening, and she cooled her cheek on the surface of the table as she bent over, feeling more exposed than she ever had in her life. His presence filled the room, rising up behind her, although she couldn’t feel him, not physically
. He hadn’t touched her.

  Every muscle in her body was tense as she waited, still aghast at her position, ashamed it had come to this. Behind her, Duncan was so quiet, it was unnerving. She glanced back, seeing his gaze on her standing bent over the table, a look on his face she’d never seen before, at least not when he looked at her.

  It was pure lust.

  Becca met his eyes, her own widening in amazement and a little fear. Duncan scowled, snapping the belt again, and she cried out when the first blow landed on her behind, part of the strap hitting her skirt, the other slapping hard against the exposed skin of her thigh.

  “Ow!” She yelped, involuntarily shying away from him, but the next blow came fast and just as hard, this time on her other ass cheek. “Ow! Okay! I get it!”

  “No.” Duncan grabbed the edge of her skirt and yanked it up hard. She gasped and the belt stung her bare ass this time. “You don’t.”