“I’d advise against spending too much time with my mother if I were you. It would only shatter your illusions. You won’t need to cook when you go to Cambridge anyway. It’s all communal halls there for meals.”
“How the hell do you know what Cambridge is like?” Vicky asked. “I doubt you’re allowed in universities. You probably burn when you walk through the door, like Satan in a church or something.”
“I know you don’t want to go,” I said. I didn’t know that, but I certainly had my suspicions. Cambridge was the equivalent of Harvard or Yale in the US and I’d never known anyone not jumping for joy at the prospect of going there. Vicky had looked positively underwhelmed by the entire thing.
“Of course I want to go,” Vicky said defiantly.
Now I knew. The conviction in her voice was entirely fake and insincere. She was an awful liar.
“You don’t want to go. Your daddy wants you to go, but that’s not actually the same thing.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Vicky said. “Just because you have some weird and irrational dislike of your mom, don’t put that on me. My dad and I may not have the most friendly relationship, but we are cordial with each other.”
“How sweet,” I said, my voice dripping with insincerity. “Just how a father, daughter relationship should be. Cordial. What about your mom? How do you think she’ll react to all this?”
“Mom will be just fine,” Vicky said. “She’s coped for almost three years since Dad abandoned her. This doesn’t change anything.”
Abandoned? There we go; confirmation of serious daddy issues. I decided not to press it for the time being. I’d woken up early to catch the train to this snob’s paradise and could use a shower and a nap. I didn’t have the energy to keep arguing with Vicky even though I was thoroughly enjoying it.
“Are you going to give me the tour then?” I asked. “I suggest you start with the bedrooms.”
“Bedroom,” Vicky said, emphasizing the singular noun and not the plural. “I will show you to the spare room, but that’s the only bedroom you will go in the entire time you are here.”
Vicky showed me up to the spare bedroom. It was a decent size, although I’d been living in a London penthouse for the last few months, so anything else was going to seem rather underwhelming.
Right next to my bedroom was a door with pink stickers of My Little Pony on the door. The stickers were old and I could tell that at some point she had made an attempt to peel them off, but they were still visible and probably the cause of some embarrassment.
“We’ll be right next door to each other,” I remarked. “How convenient.”
“As far as you’re concerned, this door doesn’t exist, okay?”
“Fine,” I replied, holding up my hands. “But if I remember rightly you’re a bit of a screamer. Try to keep the noise down when you’re rubbing your clit and thinking of me.”
“You’re disgusting,” Vicky replied, cringing and shaking her head as she spoke.
“Don’t tell me you won’t be thinking of me all summer. I bet you’re wet now just imagining how easy it would be to open this door and fuck on the bed like we did last week. We could do it if you like? I could get someone better than you, but I always enjoy making girls scream when their dads are downstairs.”
Vicky backed away from me and placed her hand on the handle to her bedroom door. For one fleeting second I thought she was actually going to invite me in. My cock began hardening in my pants so I quickly tried to think of something disgusting to take my mind off it. Roy and Sheri in bed together did the trick.
“The bathroom’s there,” she said, pointing to a door down the hall. “There are fresh towels in the airing cupboard.”
“Just remember sweetheart, I’m right next door if you have any desires that need satisfying. I’ll be here all summer.”
“I’ll tell Dad to buy lots of tissues—you’re going to need them.”
I woke up panting and sweating heavily. I threw the covers off and got out of my pyjamas as quickly as I had removed my clothes that night with Caiden. I’d had a nightmare. At least, I think it was a nightmare, but I don’t remember being scared and I didn’t feel anxious right now. I felt… aroused.
I screamed into my pillow to relieve some of the frustration. How had this happened? The thing with Dad marrying Sheri Ramsden had been an incredibly unfortunate coincidence, but I only had myself to blame for fucking Caiden.
What the hell had I been thinking that night? I’d wanted to screw Caiden the moment I first saw him in that London bar, but my friends made their moves first and I had to settle for standing in the shadows watching him hook up with them.
We’d even spoken a few times when one of my friends had invited him to drink with us. I knew he was American and that he had been living in the penthouse of the apartments above the bar for the last few months. I knew I wanted to feel his lips press against mine. I knew I wanted his hands to squeeze my breasts. I knew that he was a complete and utter wanker.
I was supposed to be saving myself for Oliver. We’d met at a Cambridge open day that Dad had made me attend and we’d hit it off immediately. He was studying law and was a year older than me. I hadn’t spent long enough with him to develop any attachment, but I knew he would grow on me. He was perfect on paper and Dad would love him.
Caiden was the opposite. He had more tattoos than A-levels—or whatever the US equivalent was—and probably couldn’t hold down an intelligent conversation about anything other than the delights of the flesh.
I went to London every few weeks with my friends and somehow we always ended up in that bar where Caiden would be sat drinking, just waiting for the next woman to find him irresistible.
My friends were pathetically obvious in their attempts to hook up with a ‘bad boy’ to rebel against their strict parents. They would rebel for a few months and then go to Cambridge or Oxford and pretend to be sweet and innocent virgins again.
I had no intention of being a walking cliché. I wasn’t going to fall for the bad boy just to make a point. I did my best not to speak to Caiden and always left the bar the second I found myself being led astray by his deep blue eyes.
So what had happened last week? Why had I succumbed to Caiden?
It had been the official last day of school, so me and my friends did what we always did when we had something to celebrate—we went into one of the expensive bars in London.
As always, Caiden was there at the bar drinking scotch, examining the women to determine which one he would take back up to his penthouse that evening.
Most of my friends tried to hook up with him, but he cast them all aside and kept drinking. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for any of them tonight.
As my friends started hooking up with other guys, I disappeared to the bathroom and headed outside intending to call a cab to take me back to the boarding school where I still had a week left to clear out my things.
Caiden had been standing near the taxi rank talking on his phone. I turned my back to him, but it had been too late—he’d spotted me.
“Which one are you?” he asked. “Vicky isn’t it? I’ve not had you yet, have I? Tell me Vicky, why haven’t I fucked you yet?”
Many reasons. Because I was a virgin and he wasn’t. Because he was clearly bad news and the sort of person my dad had always told me to stay clear of. Because there was no future with him. Because I didn’t want my friends to see me hook up with a stranger even though they did it all the time. Also, because he’d never actually offered. He’d always been too obsessed with my big breasted friends to pay me much attention.
Standing there in the cold, just the two of us, none of those reasons—excuses—seemed to matter any more. My friends would never have to know. I would be off to Cambridge soon and so I wouldn’t want a relationship with him any more than he would want one with me.
“I’m not sure you’re up to the task,” I replied with a degree of confidence that took me by surprise.
Ca
iden laughed. The sound travelled down the empty streets. “You’re kidding, right? I could do things to that stuck up little body of yours that you can’t even imagine.”
His accent sounded like someone from New York, but a little softer. I’d heard him mention that he spent time in California, so perhaps he had travelled a lot as a kid. Whatever it was, it sounded rough to my ears which were used to the more formal “Queen’s English” that the boarding school insisted we all use.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay, what?” Caiden had asked.
“Okay, let’s have sex.
Caiden hesitated. It was the first time I had ever seen him look unsure of himself. I’d taken him by surprise. Either that, or I was just so repulsive that the man who would fuck anyone didn’t want me.
“That’s not going to happen,” Caiden replied after considering my offer for an agonising amount of time.
“You scared?” I asked. I might have sounded more convincing if my voice weren’t cracking as I spoke. Of course he wasn’t scared. I was the virgin, not him. I’d put myself out there for the first time in my life and Caiden had dismissed me as if I weren’t worth the effort of screwing.
“You’re not my type,” he said.
“I didn’t notice you had a type. I’ve seen you with redheads, blondes, brunettes, and every race under the sun. You’re equal opportunity when it comes to who you screw.”
“Those women all have one thing in common,” Caiden said, as he stepped closer to me. My breasts rubbed lightly against his chest. He leant forward as if to kiss me, but tilted his head to the side to whisper in my ear. “They weren’t virgins.”
“Neither am I,” I replied immediately. I forgot to whisper, so he leapt back as I spoke directly into his ear.
“You are. Look at you. You’re the only one in that bar not showing any flesh at all except on your face.”
“This is my school uniform,” I replied. “I came straight from school.”
“So did the other girls, but they unbuttoned their blouses a bit. You’re wearing a pearl necklace for fuck’s sake. Who wears a pearl necklace?”
I looked down the road. I couldn’t hear any cars coming and couldn’t see any pedestrians under the lamplight. My fingers shook as they undid the buttons on my blouse until I had enough open to reveal my chest.
“Does this make you feel better?” I asked, as I pulled open my blouse and lifted my chest to make the most of my small breasts. “Want to see the rest?”
“Shit,” Caiden muttered. “I’ll give you this much sweetheart, you have more guts than I gave you credit for. All right, I’ll fuck you. You’ve earned that much.”
“You’re too kind.”
Every time he opened his mouth he said something that repulsed me to my core, but another part of my body was not responding to his words. I couldn’t look at him without being aroused and being alone outside with him had me wetter than I’d ever been outside of the confines of my bed sheets.
Why did I want this man? I was doing what I criticised my friends for doing. It was so predictable. Innocent girl with strict father falls for bad boy ladies man. The only way this could get more ‘Hollywood’ is if I ended up falling in love with him. That was most certainly not going to happen.
“Let me just go pay my tab and we’ll go up to my penthouse.
“No,” I replied firmly. “I’m not going up to that whore house you maintain up there. Who knows when you last changed the sheets.”
“You want to do it outside?” Caiden asked. “You really are a lot freakier than I gave you credit for, but I’m game. I just prefer a bed because it’s easier for me to eat that sweet virgin pussy of yours.”
My eyes stared at his mouth as he spoke and the realisation of what I was doing hit home. It hadn’t felt real before, but this was about to happen. I always assumed the first time would be clinical and boring. Someone would lay on me and grind on top a bit until the event was complete. This would be much more than that.
His lips would be on my sex. His tongue would enter my wet hole. He would taste my orgasm. The thought disturbed and aroused me simultaneously. This needed to happen soon. Someone needed to touch my wet pussy or I would explode with frustration.
“A hotel,” I said. “Take me to a hotel. A nice one.”
“You realise that plenty of people have fucked on hotel beds as well, right?”
“At least they change the sheets. Stop making excuses. Are we going to do this or not?”
---
I never managed to get back to sleep after dreaming of my night with Caiden. I needed to masturbate to relieve some of the pressure, but I couldn’t relax knowing that Caiden was in the room next to me. What if he was awake as well and could hear me coming? I couldn’t take the risk, but I’d need to find time to do it soon or I would end up doing the unforgivable and going back for seconds.
I wrapped a dressing gown around me even though my skin was still hot and sticky with dry sweat and headed downstairs, tiptoeing past my dad’s room—the room he now shared with Sheri. God, that was a weird thought.
Dad had no doubt been with other women since he split up with Mum, but never when I was at home as well. At least there was a bathroom between my room and his—theirs—so I wouldn’t be able to hear anything.
My nose caught hold of the distinctive aroma of baked goods coming from the kitchen. I crept slowly down the stairs and peaked through the gap in the bannisters to see who was in there. If it were Caiden, I would dash back to my room and hide out there until the others woke up. I didn’t want to be alone with him right now. Not when I felt like this.
“Royston, is that you?” Sheri’s voice called out, loud enough to have woken me if I’d still been asleep.
“It’s me,” I replied, walking into the kitchen. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I’m an early riser too,” Sheri explained. “When I was your age, the only way I could get the kitchen to myself was to get up early. I never got out of that habit I guess. Are you feeling okay? You look a little flustered.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It gets hot in my room during the summer, that’s all.”
I looked around at the feast Sheri had prepared in our kitchen. She’d baked at least three different things, but must have cleaned up the mess as she went along because the kitchen was almost spotless.
“What have you made?” I asked. “Everything smells so good.”
“Thank you. I’ve made bagels, churros, and zucchini bread. The churros aren’t really a breakfast thing, but I can’t resist them and I need bagels to help me feel at home.”
“They sell them at the store sometimes, but they won’t be anywhere near as good as these. I don’t normally eat bagels, but wow, these look phenomenal.”
“Here, try one,” Sheri said, passing me the plate full of bagels. I took one and tore a piece off. It melted in my mouth. If bagels always tasted like this, then I could definitely understand why Americans ate them.
“They’re so good,” I said, holding my hand over my mouth to avoid spraying crumbs everywhere. “I’m not just saying that either. What did you say this one was called?” I pointed to what looked a bit like a small cake cooked in a bread tin.
“That’s zucchini cake,” Sheri said. “You call it something else here, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is.”
“Courgette,” I said. “We call zucchini ‘courgette.’ Americans took the Italian word and we took the French. I’m not sure why.”
“Can I assume you have more than a passing interest in cooking,” Sheri asked. “I couldn’t help but notice you had quite a collection of cookbooks on the counter.”
Including hers, I thought. I didn’t have to worry about blushing because I’d come down the stairs already looking hot and bothered, but I still couldn’t get past the fact that one of my cooking idols was about to become my step-mum. It was a shame her son was a complete tosser.
“I like to cook,” I said. “It helps me unwind
.”
“You must have taught yourself, because I know you didn’t pick it up from your father,” Sheri said with a laugh.
“Actually, my mum taught me. Before the accident.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to… never mind.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You didn’t know. And you taught me as well really, when you think about it. I learned so much from your books. I used to import them as soon as they came out, but I’m glad you’ve started publishing in the UK as well. Converting all those US measurements to metric made me far more tired than the actual cooking.”
“I’m only just getting used to those differences myself. I must admit, the whole grams and litres thing seems a lot easier than ounces and cups. Maybe you can cook with me one day and help me with the conversions?”
“I’d love to,” I replied immediately.
“She doesn’t mean it, Sheri,” Caiden said from behind me. “She’s just being polite. The English are like that.”
“I do mean it.”
“Ignore him, dear,” Sheri said. “You want a bagel, Caiden?”
Caiden grabbed a bagel from the plate but didn’t say thank you or acknowledge Sheri in any way. He was so ungrateful it made me sick to think that I had been intimate with him.
“You want another bagel?” Sheri asked me. “Or would you rather have one of these churros?”
“I think Vicky would like a churro,” Caiden said. “I’m sure she’d like to get her lips round one of them.”
Sheri shrugged and turned back to the sink to finish cleaning the last few dishes. Caiden took one of the churros and slowly moved it towards his bagel before thrusting it into the hole. He even made mock orgasmic faces as the churro moved in and out of the bagel.
He was like a child sometimes. So immature. How could a man like that drive me so wild with his tongue when normally his mouth spouted such utter nonsense?
Caiden handed me the churro that had been penetrating the bagel. “There you go, Vicky, get your lips round that.”
“Thanks,” I said timidly, so as not to appear rude in front of Sheri.
“It’s quite big,” Caiden said. “Let me know if you can’t handle all of it. I know you’re not used to eating... churros.”
Escape: A Stepbrother Romance Page 4