Stepbrother Rules

by Chloe Hawk

  Stepbrother Rules

  (His Twisted Game, Book One)

  by Chloe Hawk

  Copyright 2015, Chloe Hawk, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cole

  It started the day I almost saw her naked.

  Of course, it really started way before that, with a complicated history and dark secrets that spun together to create a tangled web of attraction that both of us were helpless to resist. We were drawn to each other because of that history, because of our shared past.

  She was my soulmate, in every sense of the word. It wasn’t just sexual, even though the sex was the best I’d ever had. It was beyond that, a love that transcended everything, that took over my soul and consumed me in ways I’d never imagined.

  The reasons we needed to be together are our prologue.

  The reasons we couldn’t are our epilogue.

  So let me start with chapter one.

  The bachelor party.

  My friend Duke was getting married, and we were at a strip club in Jersey celebrating one of his last nights of freedom. It wasn’t the kind of place I usually visited – I tended to prefer clubs in the city, upscale places where you didn’t have to worry about some asshole getting drunk and starting a fistfight or getting too grabby with the women. At strip clubs in the city, the women were model-gorgeous and everything was classy and tasteful. The distasteful stuff-namely the fucking for money – took place in private VIP suites that were done up to look like a hotel room at The Plaza.

  This place – the place in Jersey that Duke had picked – was rowdy and out of control. Everyone in the place was pounding cheap beer, and everywhere you looked guys were copping a feel, even though the club claimed to be ‘look but don’t touch.’

  “I want to fuck that one over there,” Duke said, pointing to a young girl with long blonde hair who was sitting on a middle-aged man’s lap. “Her fucking ass is just begging for my dick.”

  The lights dimmed then, saving me from a response.

  I turned my attention toward the stage as a hot little brunette came waltzing out. She was wearing a tiny white bikini that strained over her round tits, her nipples clearly outlined through the fabric. The bottom was tied together by two tiny strings, her legs long and lean, her stomach flat and tan.

  My cock instantly got hard. I usually didn’t get too worked up over strippers – I’d never had a problem getting beautiful women, and strip clubs were just too much of a tease when I could have the real thing anytime I wanted – but this girl’s body was insane. I imagined my hands caressing her as I untied the top of her bikini, how nice those big titties would feel in my hands.

  The music started and the spotlight shone on the stage.

  The girl swung around the pole, her dark curls streaming behind her.

  And I choked on my beer.

  I knew her.

  It was my stepsister, Avery.

  I hadn’t seen her in five years, when I’d left home at twenty-one and never looked back.

  Jesus, she’d grown up. Her body was filled out, her hips curvy, her ass tight and toned.

  She smiled at the crowd and Duke whistled.

  “Yeah, baby,” he yelled. “Show us that ass.”

  Avery obliged, leaning over until her ass was in the air, tight and toned. She was twenty-two now, old enough to be a stripper, I supposed. But what the fuck? I was confused as to why she was working here. Avery had always been smart, making straight As in school despite our parents’ total lack of interest in anything academic.

  I should have left. I should have turned around and walked out of the strip club, or at least waited in the bathroom until she was done her set.

  But I didn’t. Instead I watched as water came shooting down from the ceiling, drenching Avery in her tiny little white bikini until her nipples became visible, dark and hard, through the fabric. Her bottoms clung to her pussy, making my dick even harder as I thought about how tight it would feel around me, how hard my dick would get if I shoved it in her cute little hole.

  Stop, I told myself. That’s your stepsister. She’s off limits.

  But nothing was off limits.

  I had money, good looks, and power.

  And those things made it easy to get whatever you wanted.

  I should have walked away.

  But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  I wanted her.

  And I always got what I wanted.

  Avery

  Working at a strip club was definitely not plan A, but desperation could force you to do things you thought you’d never even consider. So when my friend Courtney told me I could take my top off, shake my ass a little on stage, and then make five hundred bucks by flirting with the guys who’d watched, I went for it.

  I needed the money.

  I needed to get out of my house. For good. And my job at CVS wasn’t enough for me to support myself and my mom, who I planned to somehow convince to come with me.

  Last night last my stepfather Gordon had snuck into my room at two in the morning while I was sleeping. I’d cracked my eyes and watched as he crept over to my computer, where he pulled up a porn video and then began jerking off. I’d pretended to be asleep while the girl on the screen moaned in pleasure and Gordon jerked his cock harder and harder until he came, splashing cum on the wall by my bed. The stain was there this morning, a reminder that it wasn’t just a bad dream, or even a reality I could just forget about.

  And that’s when I made the decision to do whatever it took to get the hell out of there.

  And now here I was.

  I’d never thought of myself as sexy, had never been that comfortable in my body. In gym class, when the rest of the girls were running around half-naked, I’d huddle in the corner, turning away to change my clothes. When I went to the beach, I’d stay covered up, wearing one-pieces and making sure I always had a cover-up close by. I’d learned pretty quickly that wearing a tank top or a skirt in my house – even a tasteful one on a hot summer’s day – was a way to get unwanted attention from my stepfather.

  So I wasn’t used to being in clothes like this.

  And now, here I was, standing on the stage in a white bikini and nothing else.

  “Show us that ass!” someone yelled. I wanted desperately to do a good job and make a lot of tips, so I smiled at the crowd and bent over, obliging.

  When I stood back up, water came pouring down from the ceiling, cold and shocking. No one had told me there was going to be water. It rushed over me in a freezing sheet, making me gasp. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and my nipples hardened under the sheer material of my bikini, useless now that it was drenched. You could see everything.

  The men in the crowd hooted and hollered at me.

  “Yeah, slut!” one of them yelled. “Show us that fat pussy!”

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breath. Everything in my peripheral vision started to blur and my heart was pounding out of my chest. My head got woozy, and even though I’d just been drenched with freezing cold water, my skin felt like it was on fire.

  I was going to throw up.

  I needed to get off the stage.

  I turned around and started to make my way backstage, but I was wearing high heels and the floor was slick from all the water.

  I slipped and fell on my ass, smashing my collarbone into the floor. Pain radiated up my spine, and I tried to stand up, but the floor was too slick, and I went down again. I tried to brace myself with my wrist, but I landed at a weird angle and heard a sickening crack as I fell. The most intense pain I’d ever felt shot through my wrist, sharp and stabbing.

  The crowd was laughing at me, the music still pounding in my ears.
<
br />   My eyes filled with tears, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he was there.

  Cole.

  My stepbrother.

  The shock of seeing him there was enough to dull the pain for a moment.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Cole,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving you,” he replied. And then in one fluid movement, he picked me up off the stage. I wrapped my arm around his neck. His body was strong and muscular, his arms safe and warm.

  He led me through the jeering crowd and outside into the parking lot where he set me down on the pavement next to his car. My chest brushed against his. Heat warmed my cheeks as I became aware of the fact that I was wearing a tiny bikini. A tiny wet bikini that you could see right through. Cole’s eyes dropped down to my chest, and I watched as his gaze slid over my breasts. I tried to cross my arms over myself, but my wrist was screaming in pain.

  Cole grabbed the handle of his car, a silver Lincoln Navigator that looked more expensive than my house.

  “Get in,” he said, opening the door.

  The car was elevated off the ground a little, just enough that I couldn’t get in without bracing myself on something. I tried, but my wrist hurt too much.

  “I don’t think I can,” I said.

  “Here.” Cole wrapped his arms around me, his grip strong and tight on my waist. He picked me up and set me down in the seat, then went around to the driver’s side. He got inside and turned the heat on full blast.

  “Let me see your wrist,” he instructed.

  I held it up and he reached out and took my arm gently, running his finger over my skin. His touch was soft, tender, and it felt weirdly intimate, having him touch me like that. My wrist was already getting swollen, turning purple and bruised. “Do you think it’s broken?” I asked him.

  “I’m not sure, but it could be.” He reached into the backseat and grabbed a sweatshirt. “Here,” he said. “Lean forward.” I did as I was told and he helped me put the sweatshirt on, pulling it gently over one arm and then the other. He zipped it up for me, covering my body. As he zipped, the top of his knuckle grazed against my breast. A blast of lust shot through my body, intense and shocking.

  “There,” Cole said.

  He looked at me, and in that moment, I remembered why I hated him.

  He was devastatingly gorgeous. Dark hair. Ripped body. Piercing blue eyes that contrasted perfectly with his dark complexion. He had a smoldering gaze that made everyone around him fall in love with him.

  My friends used to joke that if Cole looked at you, you’d have your panties off by the end of the night. And it was true. He’d slept with most of my friends, and any other hot girl he happened to want.

  It had been infuriating when we were younger, watching him sneak girls into his room at night, hearing them moaning and screaming his name as he got them off. He’d had things handed to him because he was beautiful and smart and good at sports. No one at school had cared about the fact that he was poor or that he lived in Culver City, which everyone knew was full of drugs and prostitution. They didn’t care that he couldn’t afford the right clothes – most of the time whatever girl he was dating would buy them for him, anyway. Hell, even girls he wasn’t dating would buy him things.

  I hated him because he was everything I wasn’t. He was outgoing, I was shy. He was smart, I made mediocre grades. He was special, I wasn’t. But the biggest reason I hated him was because he left us. He left me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I blurted.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said, shifting his car into reverse and starting to pull out of the parking spot. It was typical Cole, taking over and getting things done without even asking anyone else what they wanted.

  “No.” I went to open the door, but he slammed the car into park and then reached over and pulled my car door shut. “I’m not going to the hospital,” I said.

  “You need to get your wrist looked at.”

  “I don’t have insurance.”

  “So?”

  “So some of us don’t have millions of dollars, Cole. Some of us can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

  “I’ll take care of the money.” The car was in reverse again, and as much as I wanted to get away from him, there was nothing I could do. My wrist was throbbing. Even if I could manage to get the door open, there was no way I was going to be able to get myself out.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. He looked over at me and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be in a place like that, Avery.”

  “Oh, now you care about what happens to me? Fuck off, Cole, I’ve been doing fine without your advice for years, I’m pretty sure I have it under control.”

  “Obviously not, since you’re stripping.” He looked at me. “Does your mom know you’re doing that?”

  “What do you think?” I countered. My mother didn’t care what I did or where I went. She didn’t ask questions, she didn’t get involved. She lived her life in a constant haze of denial, cigarettes, and booze.

  “You’re still living at home?” Cole asked.

  “Yes, Cole,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m still living at home.”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I knew he was thinking about his dad, my stepfather, Gordon. The way he would look at me, what he did when he would sneak into my room at night.

  “Motherfucker,” Cole mumbled under his breath.

  But it didn’t mean anything. If there was anything I’d learned, it was that words were just words. People made promises all the time – social workers promising they were going to get me out of my horrible situation, my ex-boyfriend Jacob promising he would protect me... none of it mattered. Words were nothing. It was action that mattered, and when it came down to it, no one had kept their promises to me.

  Cole had never promised me anything. But he’d left me. Five years ago, he’d up and moved out, packing up his things in the middle of the night and taking the bus to New York City with three of his friends. They’d created a social media messaging app, a dating app that was a cross between Facebook and Match.com. It had taken off, and now he was rich.

  I had tried to avoid hearing anything about him, but it was impossible. His picture was splashed all over the internet, his face all over the news. The media loved him because he was young and gorgeous.

  He was well-spoken and charming, giving perfect sound bites and making the women journalists swoon. I saw him once on an interview on CNBC. We didn’t have cable, but I saw it at Jacob’s house one morning when I couldn’t sleep and was flipping through the channels. I had sat there, watching Cole on the screen saying all the right things in his beautiful designer suit. I wanted to scream at the journalist, tell her she had it wrong, that Cole wasn’t this brilliant great guy who came from nothing and made something for himself.

  There was more to him than that

  He was a complete bastard.

  He abandoned me.

  And I would hate him forever because of it.

  ***

  Cole insisted on coming into the exam room with me, and I was too weak to protest. The nurse was a bubbly little blonde with big boobs and a gap between hr front teeth. She was practically drooling over Cole. I couldn’t blame her.

  Now that I’d calmed down a little, I was able to get my first real good look at him. He was wearing a pair of expensive-looking dark jeans that hung perfectly on his hips, a white t-shirt that looked equally expensive and hugged his broad chest and cut arms, and a black leather jacket with a soft-looking fleece lining. His hair was gelled but slightly messy, and his cheeks had just a trace of stubble. He looked like he was ready for a photo shoot.

  “The doctor will be right with you,” the nurse said. “If you could just take your sweatshirt off so he can get a look at your wrist, that would be great.”

  As soon as she left, I rol
led my eyes. “You might have to fuck her, Cole,” I said. “Put her out of her misery.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  It was a lie. He knew perfectly well what I was talking about. “You can leave now,” I said. “Won’t your friends be worried about you?”

  “I texted them.”

  “And said what?”

  “That I had a family emergency.”

  I almost laughed out loud. Our whole life was a family emergency, a constant state of crisis that Cole had walked away from. And now he was worried about my stupid wrist, which honestly was the least of my problems.

  “I’ll help you get this off.” He reached up and unzipped my sweatshirt. He was close enough now that I could see the scar on his jaw, hidden beneath his stubble.

  My heart raced as I remembered how he got it. I reached out and touched it before I could stop myself. He grabbed my hand, pulled it away from his face.

  “Don’t,” he growled.

  It was the only thing that reminded me that he was part of our family, that he’d been there with me, that he’d lived through it. Now that he had fancy clothes and a fancy car and a fancy job he seemed so far away, almost like he’d never existed.

  He kept my hand in his, even though he’d told me not to touch him. Electricity crackled between us. He was just so goddamn beautiful. The kind of beautiful that would break your heart fifty million different ways. And he’d done it to me, over and over and over again.

  The doctor came in then, and Cole dropped my hand.

  “Avery,” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m Doctor Phillippi. I heard you may have broken your wrist?”

  “Yes,” I said, showing him. “I fell while I was, um… dancing.”

  The doctor looked at it. “It looks like maybe it’s just a sprain. But we’ll have to take some x-rays to make sure.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Um, is it…how much does it cost?”

  “It’s fine,” Cole said. “It doesn’t matter. Do the x-rays.”

  The doctor nodded and left.

  “I don’t like him,” Cole declared. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”