Beast Brothers: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  I’m so glad they’re there. It makes the meal much more relaxing — except, of course, for the constant stream of innuendo they drop into the conversation for my ears only. “Spicy food is the best,” Cody says, giving me a meaningful look.

  “I could eat it all night long,” Brock agrees. I press my thighs together; the thought of being their main course has my inner muscles twitching again.

  Vivian looks back and forth between us; I hope she doesn’t suspect anything. After a moment, she decides to change the topic back to football. “Have you seen my boys play?” she says to me.

  I could tell her I’ve felt them play, and how. But I don’t. “Of course,” I say instead. “I watch every game.”

  “I love playing,” Brock says promptly. “There’s nothing like plunging through an opening and making that big score.”

  I take an extra-large bite of my pad thai, counting on the necessity of chewing it to keep me from drooling at the image he’s conjured up. They’re making me squirm, just like they did in the taxi.

  “It’s a thrill,” Cody says solemnly, but with a devilish gleam in his eye. “Football is such a full-contact sport, you never know when you’re going to go horizontal.” Under the table, his fingers brush against my thigh, and tingles run up my spine.

  As the meal winds down, my dad and Vivian exchange another Look. He covers his hand with hers, his fingers curling into her palm. “Since we’re all here together, we might as well tell you,” he says.

  We’ll Be Family

  Megan

  My meal threatens to evacuate my stomach. I know what he’s going to say. I don’t want to hear it, but I know. I know.

  The twins look at their joined hands, then at me. I don’t meet their eyes or respond. I’m frozen. “Tell us what?” Brock says, and there’s no emotion in his tone, as if he’s being carefully neutral.

  I can feel my father’s eyes on me, but I can’t make myself look at him. I’m afraid I might burst into tears, or jump up and run to my room as if I were ten years old again. It’s taking all I have just to hang on.

  Finally, he ends my agonizing limbo. “I’ve asked Vivian to marry me, and she said yes. We haven’t set a date yet, but it’ll be soon.”

  He says some more words. They wash over me, just sound, no comprehension. The room is getting farther and farther away from me, as if I were floating into space.

  Then Cody’s hand finds mine under the table. He grabs hold and squeezes, not quite hard enough to hurt. This does two things. It reminds me that I’m not alone, and it shocks me back into the moment.

  I blink and look up to see my dad and Vivian staring at me. They don’t look happy, and I wonder what my expression has been telling them. “Well!” I say, injecting a false brightness into my voice. “Congratulations. I should get these dishes cleaned up.”

  Before anyone can say anything, I jump up and grab my plate, stacking it with the twins’. We’ve demolished all the food, so there’s no reason to wait. Putting our silverware on top, I turn on my heel and quick-march it into the kitchen.

  I hear the murmur of voices in the dining room, and then Vivian follows me. Of course she did. She stands next to me and puts her hand on my arm. “I know this is difficult for you, Megan. I just want you to understand that I care about your father very much, and want to make him happy.”

  The impulse to shake her hand off is hard to ignore, but I manage. You know nothing, I think. All I say is, “I definitely want Dad to be happy.”

  “Good.” She pats my arm, and again I resist the urge to yank it away. “I knew I could count on you to do the mature thing.”

  I keep a phony smile pasted on my face. Rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher is a flimsy excuse for ignoring her, but it’s all I’ve got. I may be quiet on the outside, but my mind is whirling.

  It’s not only the shock of my dad announcing that he’s getting married. And it’s not just that I’ve only met Vivian. It’s not even that so far, I don’t like her very much.

  What it is, is the ugly truth that if this wedding goes through, the Beast Brothers will be my brothers. Stepbrothers, okay, but still. We’ll be family.

  Which takes my taxi makeout session with them from naughty to shocking. Sure, I didn’t know, and neither did they — at least I hope not — but still.

  And that’s not even the worst part.

  The worst part is that I still want them. Even knowing we’re going to be related soon, my body doesn’t care. I am completely, totally, seriously in lust with my almost stepbrothers.

  My world has been turned upside down today, and none of it has been good. Except for those moments in the taxi. They were wonderful.

  No matter what happens, I’m going to hold that memory close to me forever.

  “I think your dad has ice cream,” Vivian says. I hide a wince at this further evidence of how comfortable she is in this house. “Shall we have some for dessert?”

  “Sure,” I say with a tight smile. “I’ll get the bowls and spoons.” And I do that while she opens up the freezer and gets out containers of rocky road, pistachio and orange sherbet.

  The ball of ice in my stomach turns to acid. When I was growing up, before I left for college, we ate tin roof sundae ice cream, double fudge, and strawberry. And sometimes plain vanilla with toppings.

  Never rocky road. I know most people love marshmallows but I can’t stand them. And my dad hates pistachios. Neither of us hates orange sherbet, but it’s not our thing.

  Which means all these flavors are Vivian’s. He’s let his ice cream preferences be obliterated. Completely annihilated.

  This sounds like nothing, but my dad is the kind of man who knows what he likes and wants what he wants. He’s not the sort to let his freezer be overrun by abhorrent ice cream flavors.

  I may be overreacting, but in that moment, I vow to be on my guard, even if she is the twins’ mother. Maybe things are wonderful. Maybe my father loves her, and she’s good for him, and I just need to get out of the way. But I’ll be making up my own mind about that.

  We eat our ice cream. I’m childishly gratified to see that the brothers aren’t a fan of Vivian’s flavors either. Everyone but her eats the orange sherbet, and not a lot of it.

  A car horn honks outside. “There’s our ride,” Cody says. He slipped outside earlier and paid the driver to wait; he must have also told him to signal at a specified time. It makes me wonder if they’re as eager to escape their mom as I am.

  The guys kiss Vivian on the cheek and shake hands with Dad, who tells them he’ll see them tomorrow for the pre-game practice. “I’ll be right back,” I say, and follow them outside before my dad can say anything else.

  The rain has finally stopped, and the night air is cool and refreshing. The twins guide me around the puddles on the cobblestones until we’re out of earshot of the house.

  “You coming with us?” Brock says, flashing a devilish grin. “You know we’re happy to give you a ride whenever you feel the need.”

  I stare at him. “You did hear what they said in there, right? They’re going to get married.” He doesn’t respond, and I go on. “We’ll be related.”

  He shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “Not by blood. Anyway, you’re too sexy to let a little thing like that get in the way.”

  I look to Cody for support and see him nodding in agreement with his brother. My eyes get wide. “Little thing?” I hiss. “Little?”

  The side of Brock’s mouth quirks up. He clearly finds me and the whole situation amusing. “I guess that means you’re not coming with us.”

  I shake my head, setting aside his obvious insanity, and ignore the yearning in particular parts of my body that want me to say yes to his invitation. “I’m exhausted,” I tell him. “I just wanted to say thanks. For the company at dinner, and … everything.”

  The twins have another one of their telepathic conversations, and their expressions turn serious. “You’re welcome,” Cody says. “You have our number,
so anytime. Really.” His eyes search mine, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

  “Okay,” I say, and wiggle my fingers at them. “See you … around … sometime.” I turn and go back in the house, and I can feel them watching me every step of the way.

  Not a Vibrator in the World

  Megan

  My dad’s waiting for me. His face is dark, and for a moment I think he must have heard us outside. I have an instant of panic before he says, “Megan, why are they taking a taxi?”

  I’m totally unprepared. It hits me like a sneak attack. “What?”

  His arms are crossed over his chest. “Why don’t they have their own car?” He’s in full-on Disapproving Authority Figure mode. “What happened in that accident?”

  “We told you,” I say, even though we didn’t. It’s a lame response but I’m off my game. I wasn’t kidding when I told the brothers I was exhausted. “It’s been a really long day. Is it all right if we talk in the morning?”

  His mouth tightens, but there’s nothing he can say to that without being a jerk, and my dad is not a jerk. “Sure, honey.” He kisses my forehead and I give him a hug. “I put your suitcase in your bedroom.”

  Vivian comes to the kitchen door and I wiggle my fingers at her, too. She is definitely not getting a hug from me. “Good night,” I tell her, and make my escape.

  My room hasn’t changed since high school, which is both comforting and kind of weird. I’ll be getting my own place as soon as possible, so I guess I can live with my teenaged self for a couple of weeks.

  I put my clothes away, and then steel my nerves and turn my phone back on. Jason’s called half a dozen times since I shut it down. I glare at the screen, then curse when it rings and it’s him yet again.

  The man will not get a clue. He didn’t even have the decency to apologize this morning. Instead, while I packed my car as fast as I could, he pleaded with me, then argued with me … then threatened me.

  That was the real icing on the cake. I told him if he laid a hand on me, he’d never play pro football again. That shut him up.

  Bastard.

  Tomorrow, I’ll get a new phone with a different number. For now, I reject his call, then check for messages from my friends. My hometown besties Tara and Zoe want to take me to lunch tomorrow, and I send them a quick reply.

  I have a few other messages. Some of them are from NFL wives — women I thought were my friends — calling me names and telling me I don’t deserve Jason. I know the NFL culture is very insular, but their betrayal adds another layer of hurt. I’m tempted to tell them they’re welcome to him. Instead, I delete all their texts.

  When my phone lights up again, and the readout says it’s Jason, I lose it. I can’t help telling him off one more time before I smash this phone into tiny bits. Swiping the screen, I snarl at him, “Listen, you son of a bitch—”

  “Megan.” From that one word, and the way he slurs it, I can tell he’s drunk off his ass. “Baby. I need you.”

  “You should have thought of that before you cheated on me.” I’m disgusted with him and the self-pity in his voice. Acting like he’s the victim? Fuck that.

  “You gotta come home, baby. ”

  “Your house is no longer my home, Jason.” At that, a sob rises in my throat, but I take a deep breath and fight it back. “I’m never coming back, and you are never contacting me again unless you want a restraining order and a lot of bad publicity. Now get lost.” I end the call and shut down the phone before he can call back.

  What did I ever see in him? Well, all right, I know what I saw. I was young, and he was handsome and charming, and sweet when he wanted to be. When we first met, I admit he swept me off my feet.

  But If I’m honest, a part of me, deep down inside, has known for a long time that things weren’t right between us. Instead of facing facts, I kept lying, to myself and everyone else. I didn’t want to admit we weren’t the perfect couple we seemed to be. That I had failed.

  Tossing the phone aside, I take a long, hot shower, washing away the grit of the road and the day’s emotions, and then I climb into bed. The sheets are fresh, and I have another moment of warm gratitude for my dad as I settle down to try and sleep.

  I drift in and out of consciousness for a long time. I’m tired, but my brain won’t let me rest. Jason, his mistress, the drive, the wreck, the twins. The taxi … the twins. Dinner … the twins. Vivian.

  The twins.

  Cody and Brock. The two most delicious specimens of manhood I have ever encountered. They’re not just hotshot players in tight pants, starring on my TV screen on Sunday afternoon. They’re real, in the flesh … and they’re somewhere nearby.

  Forbidden.

  Irresistible.

  That’s when I know that I’m depraved. Because the fact that they’re totally off-limits makes me hot. My soon-to-be stepbrothers are what I want … and all I want.

  Closing my eyes, I imagine them here, squeezed into my double bed on either side of me. Of course there’s no way we’d all fit on here together, but this is a fantasy, so I go with it.

  My hand slips inside my panties, fingering my already-slick flesh as I relive our moments in the taxi. The scent of them, clean and masculine; the vibration of Brock’s voice against my skin; their hands sending me to ecstasy.

  I rub my clit, slow, then faster, but it doesn’t work. Even the memory of my mind-blowing triple climax isn’t enough to send me over again.

  I need the real thing.

  For another half an hour, I toss and turn, wrestling with temptation. Trying to reason with myself. It’s late; they’ll be asleep. They’ll think I’m rude.

  They didn’t really mean all those things they said. They’ll think I’m easy. They’ll know I’m desperate. Don’t be desperate, Megan.

  None of it works. My body is aching with need, and there’s not a vibrator in the world that could do the trick, let alone my fingers.

  Only warm muscled flesh, skin to skin, their mouths and hands all over me, is going to get me off.

  Finally, I give up and find my phone. I tense as I turn it on, breathing a sigh of relief when I see Jason hasn’t called again. Maybe he’s finally given up. Or passed out.

  Flipping through my contacts, I search for Brock. Then Cody. Then Easton. Even Beast. Nothing. Did Brock forget to save after he put the number in?

  Then inspiration strikes.

  I search for Ride. And there it is — the Rockin’ Ride Service. I can’t help grinning as I type out a message.

  You guys awake?

  I hit send, and hold my breath.

  Begging for It

  Brock

  I’m not sure what’s bugging me more — the engagement announcement, the state of my Porsche Panamera, or the temptation of Coach’s sexy daughter. My mood would be best served by a session at the gym, but I already had my workout this morning, and I need to rest for Sunday’s game. Tonight, beating my brother’s ass at Madden 17 will have to do.

  I’m close to taking him down, but he keeps interrupting my focus.

  “What about Mom and Coach?” he says, not for the first time. He brought it up on the ride home, but I changed the subject.

  “What about them?” I say. “You can’t tell me you were surprised.”

  “I guess not. Just… again? How many times is she going to get married?”

  Cody’s player comes out of nowhere and pulls an interception. “Fuck!” I say. I know his talking is just a strategy to distract me from the game. And it’s working, dammit. “Maybe we’ll be traded to another team by the time they get divorced.”

  “Damn, that’s a cynical view,” Cody says.

  “You’re right. Maybe the fourth time will be a charm and Mom will ride off into the sunset with Coach. Fuck, I really wish she hadn’t gotten involved with him.”

  “Says the guy who had his fingers inside the coach’s daughter this afternoon.”

  I smile at the memory and my brother breaks through my defense and scores. “Fuck!�
� I hurl a pillow at him, lean back and close my eyes for a few seconds, remembering the feeling of Megan’s soft ass squirming over my hard cock in the taxi.

  “I’ll have more than my fingers inside her next time,” I say.

  “You’re not worried about Coach or Mom finding out?”

  “Fuck no,” I say as I watch Cody’s kicker score the extra point.

  “I’m not sure Megan’s going to let anything happen again,” he says. “She was pretty freaked out by the engagement.”

  “She’s going to be begging for it,” I retort.

  As if on cue, my phone vibrates on the coffee table. I may not be winning the game today, but I know women. I can’t help but laugh as I slide it over to show Cody.

  “‘You guys awake?’” he reads aloud. He laughs as he starts to type a response.

  Forbidden Fruit

  Cody

  Hey, Megalicious… I type.

  Brock?

  No, it’s Cody. What’s happening?

  I can’t sleep.

  It’s nearly midnight. I slouch down into the couch and grin. Need us to come help you relax? I write.

  Brock’s watching me with a questioning look. “Megalicious can’t sleep,” I explain.

  Almost a minute passes before her next message. I need… something, she replies.

  We can be there in ten minutes.

  My dad wouldn’t like that.

  Brock’s still watching closely. I hand him the phone, knowing what will happen next. He taps away at the screen, pauses, taps some more, and then abruptly gets up. “C’mon. Time to go pluck some forbidden fruit.”

  I shake my head at his choice of words, switch off the TV, and follow him to the door. We take the elevator down to the garage and Brock tosses me the keys. “Truck,” he says. He’s still in a mood about his car. We have an F-150 and a Mustang, but the Porsche is his baby.

  I drive us over to Coach’s house, but before I turn onto his street, Brock tells me to park around the corner. He sends a text, and a response chimes back immediately.

  “What’s going on?” I say.

  “Rescue mission,” he says. “Covert operation.”