Nine Steamy Step Stories

by Lilian St. James

  The electricity fizzing between our bodies ignited, searing my insides. Nothing existed except here and now. He lay by my side and stroked my breasts with the pads of his fingers, my body shaking with every tiny touch.

  He traced down my midline, pausing when he reached the apex of my thighs. A frustrated moan tore from my throat, and my hips rose in encouragement.

  “You want something?” he asked and pressed his lips against my belly button.

  “And you had the nerve to call me a tease,” I said, trying, and failing, to hide the desperation in my voice. He walked his fingers down and gently swiped one along my labia.

  I lifted my hips higher. “You’re killing me.”

  “That would be a damn shame.” His fingers glided over my clit and he angled his head, taking one of my nipples into his warm mouth.

  “More,” I gasped.

  He snared it between his teeth and then slipped two fingers inside of me. My muscles reflexively clamped around him, and my body rocked in a slow, rhythmical motion.

  “I want, need, to feel you inside of me.”

  “You will,” he whispered, slowly removing his fingers.

  I cried out in protest. He brought them to my clit, tracing small concentric circles until the room spun with every rotation. He stopped circling and flicked back and forth while his teeth and tongue continued their assault on my breasts. I squeezed my eyes shut and lost myself until the whole world faded.

  The waves of my orgasm built slow and steady, gaining strength and intensity with every touch until I gave into the rising power.

  I cried out, moaned and twisted as Rafferty stroked my slick flesh, encouraging my body to give when I didn’t think I had anything left. I yanked his hair and pulled his mouth to mine. I wanted to kiss him, taste him. He fell onto me, and I clamped my legs around his waist, pressing my feet into his lower back. And when the blunt tip of his cock hit off me, another set of spasms wracked my body.

  I ran my tongue over his lips. “Condom?”

  “More than one.” He rolled off me, scooped up his jeans and fished through the back pockets, producing three.

  “Expecting to get lucky?” I asked with a jittery laugh.

  He flashed a sinful smile. “Hopeful.”

  Rafferty grabbed a crinkling condom packet and ripped it open. Mesmerized, I watched as he sheathed his delightful erection.

  “Get that cute butt of yours down here.” I reached out with my toes and seized his thighs, pulling him forward.

  “If you insist.”

  “Oh, I very much do.”

  He pushed the head of his cock into my opening, rocking his hips, but not fully entering me.

  “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  “You won’t,” I assured.

  He eased out before pushing a little deeper, stretching me a little wider. My breath quickened, and my heart thundered. He pushed deeper still, and we both cried out. His thrusts were painfully slow and controlled. I kissed him and dug my heels into his butt imploring him to quicken his pace, but he took his sweet time, keeping his thrusts slow, steady, and restrained. Reaching between us, I massaged my slippery clit. I needed to come again. Needed to feel my body grip him as I took everything he had to give. I tilted my hips. My crazed fingers circled and stroked and hit off his shaft every time it slid in and out of my heat.

  “Christ.” His muscles tensed, he gritted his teeth, and then he took me. His thick cock filled me, drove into me, and I met every one of his hungry thrusts.

  Time stilled, he growled and tensed above me, his face contorting with pleasure. My walls tightened around him and the feel of him pulsating inside of me was enough to make me come again. My thighs shook and my body writhed, and I bit his shoulder to stop myself from screaming.

  His body, slick with exertion, sagged on top of mine, his breathing fast and fractured.

  “That,” he panted against my neck, “was incredible.”

  “I—I know.” My words weren’t expressive enough, but my brain couldn’t remember how to articulate sentences.

  After a few seconds of stillness, he pushed himself from me and sauntered into the bathroom. Watching his naked body walk away from me was something I wouldn’t tire of anytime soon. I never dreamed my first time would be so amazing. We were in absolute sync, each knowing what would give the other the greatest amount of pleasure.

  Rafferty rejoined me on the bed, draped his arm over my stomach, and traced patterns all over my skin. He propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes filled with warmth and happiness. “You know this, us, it isn’t going to be easy.”

  The room spun and a wave of panic washed over me. “Does that mean you don’t want it to happen again? I don’t want this to end, not yet.”

  He drew me into his arms and my skin tingled in response. “It doesn’t have to.”

  The spinning stopped and I sagged against him in relief. “But I have to go to school…I won’t be here. You’re busy with work.”

  “I can travel to and from New York. We have satellite offices all over the world. My office is where I need it to be. ”

  I didn’t even try to blink back my tears. “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do anything for you.”

  ****

  Nerves nibbled at my belly. Rafferty asked me to meet him at the beach because he had a surprise for me. Surprises always made me nervous. The last surprise ended with a new family.

  Sitting on the warm sand, I gathered grains in my hand and let them fall through my fingers as I listened to the lazy ebb and flow of the surf. Over the past two weeks, Raff and I had spent every minute together. We played tennis, swam and picnicked, laughed, made love, and had down and dirty sex. I didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to live in the real world where people would view him as my rich stepbrother and not my boyfriend. But our parents were arriving this weekend. We’d agreed we’d talk to them about our relationship before it became common knowledge and gossip fodder.

  “Close your eyes and hold your hands out,” Rafferty said from behind.

  “I don’t like surprises all that much,” I said, closing my eyes and holding out my hands.

  “You’ll like this one, I promise.”

  “Well, okay.”

  He placed something that weighed less than a bag of popcorn in my hands.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  I looked down and saw a folded newspaper. “Um, thanks?”

  “Look at the cover.”

  I unfolded it. On the front page of the City News was Ray Nash’s snarling face. Uncertain, I glanced at Rafferty then back at the newspaper.

  “What? What’s this about?”

  He crossed his ankles and sank onto the sand beside me. “It seems Mr. Nash smuggled drugs onto a plane and got high. He paraded up and down the aisle calling every one his servants and hit several flight attendants, as well as passengers. He also sexually assaulted a female flight attendant.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” I held my hand against my racing heart. “Is he going to prison?”

  “Probably not. I’m guessing rehab. The flight attendant he assaulted is suing him.”

  “So he’s getting away with it?”

  “Not necessarily. His name is trash. No one will trust a thing he says again. Plus, no college will touch him. I’ve run this article in every paper and magazine we own. Plus, I called in a few favors along the way. It’s headline news on every broadcast for the rest of the day. Read what it says.” He opened the paper, and my eyes fell onto a highlighted section.

  …Earlier this year, Mr. Nash allegedly assaulted Willa Gibson, the stepsister of prominent publisher Rafferty Hewson, but, due to insubstantial evidence and inconsistent eyewitness reports, no charges were brought. The students and faculty at Oakwood Prep who dismissed Ms. Gibson’s story as fantasy are now beginning to question Mr. Nash’s side of the story…

  Tears dripped from my face and splattered the paper distorting the words. “Seriously? People believe me
?”

  “I think they always did but were afraid of what would happen if they crossed his family.”

  I crumpled the paper in my shaking hands and held it to my chest. “You’ve done so much. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I didn’t do anything but have someone keep an eye on him. He did the rest. Like I said, people like Ray Nash eventually get their comeuppance.”

  I threw the paper at my feet then threw my arms around him and squeezed with everything I had. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I…I love you so much.”

  He let out a loud breath. “I love you, Willa. With my heart and soul, I love you. As long as I’m in your life and even if I’m not, no one will hurt you.” He leaned over and feathered kisses all over my face before capturing my cheeks in his hands. “You’re mine.”

  “And you’re mine.” I placed my hand on his chest and smiled.

  The End

  Rescued by her Stepbrother

  A Standalone Short Story

  Chapter One

  Dance music pumped from the sound system and waves of sound slammed against the walls as glistening bodies swayed to a seductive beat. Razor sharp strobe lights sliced through the darkness, giving glimpses of euphoric faces. Plumes of cigarette smoke blended with stale beer and scented the air. I’d never been here before and didn’t exactly know where here was. But if I’d known the club was located in some back alley of the Meatpacking District, I wouldn’t have come.

  Phillip grabbed my hand like an excited toddler and tugged me into the middle of the writhing crowd. He was a full head and shoulders taller than my five-five and twice as wide. His mousy hair stuck up at weird angles, but he was a nice guy and cute, if a little nerdy.

  Every day for the past month he stopped by the coffee shop where I worked and always ordered the same thing—large, skinny, wet cappuccino. When he asked if I wanted to go clubbing with him, even though I hated clubs, I said yes. Eons had passed since I’d been on a date. At almost twenty-one, I figured it was time to get on with my life and stop hiding. Not everyone on the planet knew about my mom or judged me for her actions.

  Phillip squashed his soft body to mine—much too close for a first date—circled his arms around me and ground his crotch against my stomach, trapping my body against his. I clutched his doughy shoulders, afraid if I let go, the undulating throng would swallow me. Beside me, a woman gyrated her hips so fast I half expected to see a whirling hula-hoop. Something about this club wasn’t right.

  Smiling like a lecherous TV evangelist, Phillip leaned down and yelled something in my ear that I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “What did you say?” I yelled back.

  At an ear-shattering level, he bellowed something about being horny, finding a corner and fucking. I shook my head and unpinned his arms from my waist. Definitely not the kind of first date I’d envisioned.

  What kind of girl did he think I was? Obviously the kind of girl who goes to strange clubs and fucks in dark corners. A light strobed past me and revealed a woman on her knees blowing some guy. All moisture evaporated from my mouth. What the actual hell? I stopped dancing and peered around. A few feet from me, a woman’s boobs hung out and she had a total case of O face. My disbelieving eyes traveled downward; the guy she danced with had his hand inside her pants. I turned around so fast the room spun. People were getting it on everywhere. A whooping crowd formed in the middle of the floor.

  “Elle, watch this,” Phillip mouthed and dragged me forward. I resisted, but he was stronger than I was.

  In the center of a circle, a woman was on all fours with her skirt around her waist. A man took her doggy style.

  “I don’t want to watch this,” I shouted in Phillip’s ear. “I’m leaving.”

  His dishwater-gray eyes widened like a little boy who’d just been told ‘no’ by his mother. Then his face distorted into a grotesque mask of disgust. He gripped my hand and hauled me through the crowd to a spot between the bar and dance floor.

  “If I’d known you were a frigid prude, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

  “Seriously?” I yanked my hand from his sweaty grip. “You asked me to have sex with you in a corner of this shithole. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  A sneer warped his lips. “Everyone knows about your family. Your mother—”

  “My mother’s dead.” I strode toward an exit. I wasn’t my mother. After almost five years of trying to separate myself from my mom’s notoriety, I still couldn’t escape. Stupid Internet search engines. “I’d like to go home.”

  Phillip stepped in front of me. “I’m staying. You wanna go home? Make your own way.”

  “Are you kidding? I have no clue where I am.”

  “Not my problem.” He vanished into the mass of bodies.

  What was I thinking? Agreeing to go on a date with someone I met at work was dumb, dumb, dumb. My intuition radar was well and truly broken. Of course he’d Googled my name. Of course he’d found out about my mother and how she died. And, of course, like everyone else, he figured like mother, like daughter.

  I elbowed my way through the heaving club and out of the closest exit into a deserted alley. The door thudded closed, muffling the music. This wasn’t how we got into the club. Crap. I banged on the door, but no one answered. Splats of rain hit my face and I glanced at the heavy clouds. Fan-frickin’-tastic. Not only had my date ditched me, but the one night I decided to wear a dress—short, black and sparkly no less—and a pair of black heels that tried to amputate my toes, it was going to pour.

  I zipped open the bag slung over my shoulder and located my cell. No signal. The night couldn’t get any crappier. Hurrying forward, I waved my phone around until a few bars appeared, and then I hit the taxi app. Even though I had no clue where I was, the car service would find me.

  A wallop against my back flung me forward, forcing all air from my lungs. Layers of icy fear cloaked my body. I gulped in air, preparing to scream, but before I could, my forehead bounced off the cement jostling my brain. Even though I couldn’t see my attacker, the rancid smell of sour clothes and unwashed body snaked up my nose.

  “Give me your purse, lady,” a gruff voice demanded.

  Breathless and too stunned to move, I didn’t answer.

  A hand wrapped around my hair and wrenched my head up. “Give me your fucking purse.”

  I whimpered something about not being able to move. My head hit the ground again, and a boot kicked me onto my back. A ghost-masked face loomed over me. He reached down and jerked the purse from my shoulder with such force I was surprised he didn’t rip my arm off.

  “Stupid bitch.”

  “I’m not stupid.” I wanted my words to sound kickass, but they came out as fragile as a wet paper napkin. I’d lived on my own in the city for almost five years, and until tonight, nothing this bad had happened.

  The sky opened up and dumped rain on my trembling body. The sensible thing to do would be to get up and find help, but I didn’t get up because I wasn’t sure if I could move or if the attack had even happened.

  I held my hand to my throbbing forehead. It came away sticky and wet. The blood coating my fingers and turning my blond hair a pinky-red assured me I wasn’t dreaming. Numb and shaking, I pushed myself up. My knees throbbed like a motherfucker, and blood mixed with rain trickled down my shinbones in spidery rivulets.

  Biting back the pain, I hobbled toward the club door and hammered my fist against the dented metal. After a few minutes of useless pummeling, my hand ached and I pressed my ear against the door. The music was so loud no one would hear me. Besides, they were probably all enraptured in some kind of sex stupor. I glanced up and down the alley. One way led to a pit of darkness; the other to a street.

  Taking off my killer heels, I limped toward the street. Sheets of rain beat down, bouncing off the pavement. Seeing more than a few feet away was impossible. My hair clung to my head and blood dripped down my face. Tears blurred my eyes, but crying wasn’t going to help. It’d been a long time
since I’d cried. Tears showed weakness. I wasn’t weak.

  Silence filled the street. There were no signs to show me where I was. And, there was no visible entrance to the club. I had to find a phone and call someone, but who? My college roommate Alisa was out of town at a conference, plus I didn’t know anyone’s numbers or addresses; they were all stored on my phone, not in my brain.

  In a city of eight-point-four million people, there was only one person I could call. The first person I’d ever kissed. The one person on my do-not-call, do-not-acknowledge list. My stepbrother Dylan Cole. I hadn’t spoken to him in over four years. But, if anyone could help me out of this mess, he was the guy.

  Searching for a phone booth, I sprinted along the pavement, my bare feet smacking off the wet cement. Eventually, I found one that wasn’t smashed to pieces. Once inside, I dropped my shoes to the ground and closed the folding door. A weak light flickered on, and the stench of urine and feces hit my face. If a brain hemorrhage didn’t kill me, the disease I’d catch from the phone booth would. I could already feel the bacteria squeezing through my pores seeking a warm place to germinate and reproduce.

  Swiping droplets of rain from my face, I snatched up the receiver and followed the automated instructions on how to make a collect call. Was I about to do this? Was I really inviting him, his family, back into my life?

  A few seconds later, Dylan’s familiar raspy voice answered, sending shivers down my spine. “Hello?”

  “Um, it’s me, Elle. I’m in trouble. I wouldn’t have called unless I really needed your help. I have no idea where I am—somewhere in the Meatpacking District, I think. I was mugged. My head’s bleeding. I think I busted my knees.” Unshed tears cracked my voice, thickening my words, but I still didn’t cry.

  “What the hell are you doing in the Meatpacking District at this time of night?”

  “Watch how you talk to me, Dylan.” Inviting him back into my life was a mistake, but I was more than a little desperate.

  “Look around the booth,” he said with a sigh, “there should be an address.”