Escape: A Stepbrother Romance

by Ashe, Jessica

  After a quick search online, I found a seven-inch toy that looked like it might come close to Caiden’s length and girth. The store promised discreet delivery, so I quickly filled out my debit card information and completed the purchase. The delivery time was five to seven days. If I could just make it that long without giving in to Caiden there might be some hope for me.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure I could go five minutes—let alone five or seven days—without him. It had taken all my strength not to grab his hand and put it between my legs when he been standing there talking dirty to me. What had Caiden done to me? Just a few weeks ago I had been a virgin. Now I was a walking cliché; I’d developed an obsession with the man who took my innocence. Not only that—an obsession with the man who would become my step-brother.

  I tried to direct my attention back to cooking. While my food was baking in the oven, I started looking at new recipes for inspiration. I browsed Sheri’s website which was still one of the best around and found something that took me by surprise. At first I assumed there had been some mistake, but there wasn’t. Sheri’s business was in trouble and I needed to warn her.

  Over the next week I took at least one cold shower per day and masturbated every morning and every evening, if not more often. I just couldn’t shake the image of Vicky from my mind. In particular, the picture of her standing in the kitchen wearing a dirty apron with her sleeves rolled up and flour over her face. If I was feeling particularly filthy, I imagined the flour was my cum, but I didn’t even need to go that far to be aroused.

  I fantasized about throwing her down onto the kitchen counter, spreading her legs, pulling off her panties, and fucking her hard while she was still covered in flour. There was something so natural, so raw about her appearance that morning.

  Whenever her father was out of the house I would tell Vicky what I wanted to do to her. She would tell me to shut up occasionally, but the lack of conviction in her voice couldn’t have been clearer. Sometimes I just told her that I wanted to bend her over and shove my cock inside her tight pussy until she came. Other times I went into more detail. I started with how I would pleasure her with my fingers, and then my tongue, and gave her instructions on how to suck my cock.

  She never walked away or got angry with me, but eventually she would insist I stop. I knew I could ignore her. She was only making me stop because she was about to give in and if I continued I could have her. But where was be the fun in that? Well, the fun would be finally fucking her, but even though I found the whole thing frustrating I did enjoy looking her in the eyes as she got wet between the legs listening to my words.

  Something would have to give soon. My mother had the annoying habit of staying at home a lot, so our opportunities were limited, but I could swear I was getting closer to the prize. I knew I could force down the barriers she put up between us, but I wanted her to break them down herself.

  The night we spent together had been phenomenal, but I knew that was at least in part because she had taken the initiative. She needed to feel some degree of control and power, but I really needed her to find that confidence soon or I would explode.

  As I walked out of the bathroom after another cold shower, I heard Vicky’s father shout at her from downstairs, and a few seconds later she ran from her room to see what he wanted. God, it was so depressing. He shouted, and she ran to him. I could see that he made her mad, but something inside stopped her from speaking out. Probably the same thing that stopped her from giving in to me.

  She was so used to acting the way her father expected to that doing anything else was almost like going against her programming. In the long run, it might work out to my benefit. At some point, her father would do or say something that pushed her over the edge and with any luck the first thing she would do would be to come and fuck my brains out. She wouldn’t be the first woman I’d screwed who had been doing it because of daddy issues.

  I heard her come back up the stairs and walk into her room. She left the door slightly ajar so I knocked and walked inside.

  “What do you want?” she asked abruptly.

  “Just wondering what the boss’s latest order was. How is he going to ruin your day this time?”

  “Tomorrow’s that stupid away day thing for work,” Vicky said. “He wanted to know what I was wearing.”

  “You’re kidding,” I replied with a laugh. “Since when has he paid attention to what you wear?”

  “Since he was running for managing partner and wanted to impress the committee I guess. He wants me to wear something formal like a skirt and blouse. Basically, he wants me dressed up like I was going to dinner.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would rather see you in dress a little more... revealing, but you wear formal clothes all the time.”

  “Yes, but this is an active day out. I thought at least I might be able to join in with the rock climbing and archery, but apparently I don’t get to do anything like that.”

  “You’re just there to look like the dutiful daughter who is going to Cambridge. Is that about the gist of it?”

  She nodded. “It’s not like I was going to go there in high heels and a short skirt. I just wanted to wear comfortable trousers, a jumper, and a pair of trainers.”

  I translated the items in my head. Pants, a sweater, and a pair of sneakers. “Sounds reasonable to me. Why don’t you wear that anyway. I know he’s strict, but if you kick up a bit of a fuss he will let you go in whatever clothes you want. He needs you there more than you need to be there.”

  She shook her head. “I just can’t be bothered to fight on this. I’ll take a book and whenever he goes off with his buddies to network I will do some reading to pass the time.”

  “You’d rather spend the time cooking though wouldn’t you? And working on your blog?”

  “How did you know about the blog?” she asked.

  “I borrowed your laptop the other day and had a quick look at your browser history.”

  “You can’t do that,” she screamed, slapping me on the arm. “That’s private. That’s like reading someone else’s diary.”

  I shrugged. “I’d like to read your diary as well if you have one. Look, I was just curious to know what you were doing in the kitchen all the time. I knew it was more than just cooking because you’re taking photos of the food as well. Also, I wanted to see what kind of porn you liked.”

  “I don’t look at porn.”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t find any, but I left a few new bookmarks on there for you to find. You should try them out. Anyway, it’s not too late to back out of this away day thing. You know, with both our parents gone for the entire day we would have the house to ourselves. I can think of things to do that wouldn’t involve wearing any clothes at all.”

  “Now you’re making the away day a lot more appealing,” Vicky said. “Speaking of your mom though, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I guess I could go to her directly, but she’s always so busy and I never get to talk to her for more than five minutes at a time.”

  “Consider yourself lucky,” I said.

  “I spend a lot of time on food websites and I noticed that one website had the same recipe as your mother. I did a bit more digging and found another website with a second recipe that was also from one of your mom’s cookbooks. I think people are stealing from her. I’m sure my dad could send a few threatening letters to the owners of the websites and get them to take the recipes down.”

  “That wouldn’t work,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  I’d considered telling Vicky about my mother a few times, but when I found out about the food blog I decided against it. I hated that Vicky worshiped Sheri, but clearly Vicky was using that admiration to do something she enjoyed. Specifically, something she enjoyed that her father hadn’t ordered her to do. If I told her about Sheri then she might have abandoned the whole thing and there seemed little good that could come from that.

  However, if I didn’t tell her
now, she might go to Sheri directly and then Sheri would feed her a whole host of lies. Vicky deserved the truth even if she wouldn’t like hearing it.

  “I don’t know exactly which websites you mean,” I said. “But I very much doubt they stole those recipes from Sheri.”

  “They were exactly the same. The only thing that changed was the measurements which were converted from imperial to metric because the websites in question were owned by Brits. Seriously, I can show you if you don’t believe me. These bloggers are stealing from your mom just to get web traffic. I know that you and her don’t get on, but I know that you like your mom’s money. How would you like it if the money dried up because strangers copied all her ideas and distributed them for free?”

  “They didn’t steal from Sheri. Sheri stole from them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Vicky said. “Why would Sheri steal other people’s recipes? She’s a hugely successful author and is even on TV.”

  “And how do you think she became successful? Sure, at the beginning she developed a few recipes that were her own invention, but there’s something you need to realize about my mom—she’s lazy. She could have kept going and been moderately successful while working eight-hour days, but she saw a way to have more success while working fewer hours.”

  “No,” Vicky said shaking her head. “She’s too famous. She’d get caught. Just think how many people buy her books and watch her TV show. If she copied recipes then someone would notice—like I did—and it would get back to the others who developed the recipes.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Sometimes they do find out about it. She’s clever though. Her TV show was only broadcast in America and she deliberately only released cookbooks there as well. She took ideas from UK authors initially and then repackaged them as her own. She built a whole career doing that. Unfortunately for her, in the last five years or so people in other countries have been able to watch her TV show and buy her cookbooks. She also got greedy, by taking ideas from websites instead of limiting it to old, out of print cookbooks. People are beginning to catch on, but she’s clever and manages to keep them quiet.”

  “How?”

  “How do you think she met your father?” I asked.

  I watched Vicky’s face as the facts came full circle. Sheri had been having legal troubles in the UK for a year or so now which is why we spent enough time here to warrant getting me a penthouse in London. She’d hired a big shot English solicitor to handle her case, which usually meant an out-of-court settlement with a nondisclosure agreement.

  It cost Sheri a lot of money—probably more than it would have cost if she’d bought the recipe from the website owner in the first place—but gradually she was paying off everyone who found out her guilty little secret.

  “So all this time…” Vicky said, before trailing off.

  I nodded. “She’s a fraud, Vicky. Worst of all, she’s getting away with it. After all, soon she’ll be married to a lawyer.”

  “Do you think Dad knows?” Vicky asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure he does. And I’m just as sure that he doesn’t care. It’s in his interests as well that Sheri maintains her high reputation.”

  “I can’t believe I’m trying to be like her. I was even going to put her on my blog as one of my inspirations.”

  “I’m sorry. But this doesn’t mean you have to give up on your dreams. You are better than my mother.”

  “Who am I kidding? I spent most of my life doing my father’s bidding, and then the one time I tried to do something else I find out I’m following someone just as messed up. I’m a fucking joke.”

  I stepped back as if she had slapped me. Hearing her swear with such anger in her voice sounded unnatural. She didn’t do it often, but when she did curse she did it with a scary amount of conviction.

  She bit her lip and started shaking. She was trying to hold back tears until I left the room. I considered walking out, but instead I put my arm around her and brought her into my chest. She immediately started sobbing uncontrollably and even pounded her small fists against my chest in rage. I let her work out her anger until she finally stopped shaking and the tears, while still falling, at least slowed slightly.

  Vicky looked up at me and wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t cried for long, but it’d been intense, and her cheeks were red and wet. She sniffed a few times and kept wiping her eyes until the tears finally stopped.

  I knew what would happen next. It was what I’d wanted for weeks, but this wasn’t how I’d imagined it happening. This wasn’t how I wanted it to happen, but I wasn’t strong enough to stop it either. She pressed her lips against mine and kissed me. My hands went to her face and held her clammy wet cheek firmly as the kiss deepened.

  My other hand moved down to her ass and squeezed it firmly. Her lips parted from mine briefly as she whimpered with pleasure from the sensation of my cock pressing against her pussy.

  Suddenly, as if she’d been daydreaming and had just woken up, she pressed her hands against my chest and pushed away so hard she fell back onto her bed.

  “Get out,” she yelled. “You’re disgusting. This is disgusting. Just leave. Please.”

  I walked out and slammed the door behind me. That’s what I get for trying to help someone. This is why I limit my relationships with women to sex. I can’t deal with the tears. I hadn’t even wanted to fuck her. I just wanted to hold her while she cried. That was the scariest thing of all.

  I kissed him. He hadn’t kissed me. He hadn’t taken advantage of me when I was upset. Once again, I’d been the one to make the first move and only had myself to blame. I’d been upset, but that didn’t excuse it.

  When Caiden told me that Sheri was a fraud, I’d felt like my entire life was collapsing around me. I knew I was being overly dramatic, but the dream of having a career in the food industry had been one of the few things keeping me going recently.

  My best memories were of cooking Sheri’s recipes with my mum, so finding out she just copied those recipes from someone else didn’t just destroy my chances of becoming a successful recipe developer—it shattered treasured memories I’d shared with Mum before the crash.

  Caiden should have just kept insulting me. He should have made fun of me for crying and for being so pathetic. I could’ve handled that. I would’ve known what to do. The sense of shock I’d felt when he pulled me into his strong arms for a hug added to the explosion of emotions going on inside my body. One second I had been crying and the next I’d wanted him inside me. I had no idea where it came from, and it confused and frightened me. Still, I should’ve known better than to kiss him.

  After yelling at Caiden, I lay down on my bed and resumed crying until I fell asleep. I woke up about an hour later and tried to work on setting up my blog. It suddenly felt so pointless. I was just one of millions of people with a website. I could never make any impact on the food industry, not when there were people like Sheri out there with an established fan base and apparently no morals.

  I couldn’t get any work done, so I spent a few hours going through Sheri’s cookbooks and seeing how many of the recipes I could find online. I couldn’t find anything from the older cookbooks—the ones that largely predated the Internet era—but I quickly found a few recipes in the newer cookbooks that appeared to be copied from elsewhere.

  The names of the recipes had been changed and the measurements converted from metric to imperial, but otherwise they were the same. Even the description of the food and the cooking process seemed to have been copied, in some cases word-for-word. As Caiden had said, not only was Sheri deceitful, she was also a lazy. If she’d gone to the effort of editing the descriptions even a little bit it would have been much harder to accuse her of copying.

  I created a new email account and sent a few emails to the owners of the websites that have been copied from and pointed them in the direction of Sheri’s cookbooks. Perhaps they had already been paid off, but if they hadn’t been they would at least have the chance to earn s
ome money from Sheri’s fraud.

  Caiden went for a run in the afternoon and managed to avoid me for the entire day. I’d been hoping to bump into him so that I could apologize, but I didn’t have the confidence to seek him out to do so.

  When I went to sleep that night I felt lower than I had in quite a while, but there was also a positivity there too. I knew what I had to do now. The blog wouldn’t go anywhere; it had been a pipe dream from the start and I should have known that.

  I was going to Cambridge like my father wanted and from there what happened, happened. I wouldn’t be living my dream, but at least I knew what was going to happen over the next couple of months. The certainty helped me relax. I might not like my father, but he’d always provided a rigid structure for my life and in many ways that had made things easy for me.

  With Caiden and the blog, I’d tried to rebel against him, but that was pointless. I decided to give up on the blog and make sure I didn’t develop any emotional attachment to Caiden. That meant I needed him to go back to being a sleazy jerk who just talked about fucking me. Maybe I could even give in and fuck him, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. Fucking him was better than crying in his arms.

  The next morning I woke up early for the away day. I considered one final act of rebellion by wearing the clothes I wanted to wear instead of my dad’s choice, but I didn’t have much time and if we ended up arguing then we would be late.

  I slipped on a modest skirt and a blouse and looked at myself in the mirror. If I pulled the skirt up a few inches and unbuttoned the blouse a bit then I would a touch sexy. But who was I trying to impress?

  Caiden wasn’t going, and there sure as hell wouldn’t be anyone among the solicitors at my dad’s firm worth impressing. His firm hired people with a singular focus—people like him—and the last thing I wanted was someone like my father. I added a cardigan and pearl necklace to my outfit and reluctantly headed downstairs.