Stepbrother’s Secret

by Kane, Jessa

  I notice a fleshy smacking noise for the first time, coming from Tristan’s end of the line, but I’m too balanced on razor wire, on his next move, to address it.

  “Lie down on the bed, Cate. Make sure I can see that pussy.”

  Excitement goes from humming in my blood to vibrating my every nerve ending. Making it hard to think or breathe or swallow. I walk forward on my knees on the bed toward the camera, then sit, stretching my legs out in front of me. And I lie back, opening my thighs slightly, shocked by what I’m doing. What I’m showing him. By his strained growl. All of it.

  “Good girl. Such a good girl.” Again, I hear that sound, moving faster now. Flesh on flesh. I don’t know what it is and yet it arouses me, slicks the flesh between my thighs. “Now lift your shirt up and give me a look at those tits.”

  I pinch the hem between my fingertips and draw the shirt up to my neck, baring myself to him completely, exhilaration rushing from my head to my toes. Freedom like I haven’t known since the last time he was in my apartment, all that intense male focus directed on me. My heart is racing and it’s partly because of that rapid smacking sound. Somehow my brain and body know it’s sexual. “What’s that n-noise?”

  On the screen, I can see the fine sheen of sweat on Tristan’s upper lip, forehead, his gaze riveted on my body, my sex, my breasts. “I’m touching myself, baby. Damn me to hell, I’m going to get myself off looking at my stepsister. And that tight looking cunt.”

  “Show me,” I breathe, going up on one elbow. I’m a shameless creature, yes. I know. I’ve proven it by wondering what that big, cumbersome part of Tristan looks like up close. Been thinking about it way more than is proper for a girl studying to be a lady. “Please?”

  His face leaves the screen. It’s replaced by his masculine hand, the wrist surrounded by the white cuff of his dress shirt, a gold cuff link. That hand moves up and down his magnificent shaft, his thumb swiping over the purple head, his knuckles bleaching of color every time he strokes. My lord, it’s so much bigger than I could have imagined. Thicker. I’m looking down at the male ritual taking place from his point of view and the sight is raunchy and beautiful at the same time. “You like that, baby? You wish you could give it a kiss?”

  My pulse is loud in my ears. “Yes.”

  His hand pumps faster. “So do I. You have no idea how bad.”

  Keeping the screen of my phone in view, I lie back down on my back, my palms skimming everywhere. Across my breasts, down my ribcage, along the insides of my thighs. My touch naturally arrows inward, my fingers teasing the folds between my legs, shocked and embarrassed and proud at the abundance of wetness. “Tristan…”

  “I’m here, sweetheart,” he says raggedly. “Trying to keep from coming already. God, you’re so fucking sexy. Going to burn up just looking at you.”

  “You’re sexy, too.”

  His laughter is strained. “Tell me what you feel between your legs.”

  I use my middle and index finger to part my sex, rubbing down toward the bed and back up, sucking in a breath when I travel over my entrance. “I feel smooth and wet.”

  “I bet you are,” he pants. “Go higher, Cate.”

  My fingers move again, closer to the apex of my slit and my fingertips encounter a spot that makes me mewl, makes me feels dig into the mattress. “Th-that feels nice.”

  His harsh, electronic breathing fills the room. “You’re only brushing the surface, baby. Keep rubbing, press harder. Get deeper. Find that pretty little pearl.” As I do what I’m told, I watch his hand charge up and down his stiffness, a white bead of moisture pooling on the tip. He catches it with his thumb and uses it to lubricate his palm. And it makes my hips shift excitedly, that early sign of his release—oh!

  I scream behind my teeth, my lower body arching off the bed.

  Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord.

  “Ahhh, look at you. So sweet.” He stops stroking, squeezing his shaft almost violently. “That’s your clit, Cate. That’s where I’d love to lick you. I’d love to plant this dick between your thighs and tease that precious little thing until you’re strangle the come out of me.”

  “Come here and do it,” I babble, my fingers busy exploring that ultra-sensitive nub, something quickening in my loins, my belly. “Come here, Tristan. I need you.”

  “Stop.”

  “Tristan,” I whine. “Help me.”

  That fleshy smack is back, faster than ever, nearly drowned out by his grunts. “Keep rubbing yourself, baby. Just like that. Open your legs a little wider so I can see.” He breaks off on a moan. “Yes, good girl. You make my cock so hard. All fucking day.”

  “Good,” I breathe, feeling bad. Feeling decadent and coveted.

  His next inhale and exhale are stuttered. “I’m close. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  “My tummy hurts, but it feels good, too,” I whimper, my heels restless on the bed, back arched, trying to anchor all the sensations, but having no luck. There’s a tug under my belly button and it intensifies, robbing me of sight. I’m rubbing furiously now, grinding my fingertips down on that spot, that cursed, glorious spot, and then a tumult locks up my muscles, carries me away. The pleasure. Oh lord, the pleasure. It’s release. It’s vulnerability. It’s life.

  I call my stepbrother’s name hoarsely.

  He calls mine, too, and I force my eyes to cooperate so I can watch those thick, messy ropes of white spurt from his tip and drip down his knuckles. His thighs flex and his hips thrust into his tight grip. Knowing he’s getting pleasure at the same exact time as me fills me with satisfaction. Relief. Rightness.

  For long moments afterward, there is nothing but the sound of our slowing breaths. My heartbeat becomes a longing throb in my chest. I ache for his arms around me, his mouth on mine, his heat up against me. But when his face appears back on the screen, I do my best to fight the selfish need for more—and I smile.

  “Good night, Cate.”

  “Good night,” I whisper.

  The screen goes white.

  That night, I dream of the glen. Of Tristan riding up on a white horse to collect me.

  But when I climb up behind him and move to circle him with my arms, he vanishes.

  6

  Tristan

  It has been another week of pure hell.

  A full seven days since I’ve laid eyes on my stepsister.

  I told myself it would get easier, but every day I feel a little more desperate. Sicker. More frustrated. I’ve been a tyrant at work, unable to concentrate, shouting at everyone. There is a vise around my throat and every morning when I wake up, it has tightened another degree.

  There is a family dinner tonight at my father’s house.

  Meaning, I’m going to see her.

  I’m not ready.

  And yet I’ve arrived early, hoping to see her sooner. I can’t stop staring at the door, aching for her to walk through. To remind me of the honesty and goodness in the world. How am I going to keep myself from catching her up against my chest, holding her, kissing her in front of my father and Rebecca? My arms have been so empty without her, my eyes seeking her everywhere I go. Even though I know she won’t be there. But God…God, I needed to stay away. I need to stay away.

  Or she will end up beneath me.

  Or on another inappropriate FaceTime call.

  Images flash in my mind. Her nude, nubile body writhing, her slim fingers busy on her clit, her voice calling my name. Jesus, I’ve never been so hot in my life. I don’t know how I’ve lasted a week since that phone call without seeing her. I grow sicker with need every day.

  I take a long drink of the whiskey in my hands, ordering myself to stop staring at the door and focus on what my father is saying.

  “Did you hear me, Tristan?” My father nudges my shoulder with his own tumbler of whiskey. “The former president has endorsed you for governor.”

  “Has he?”

  “Just tweeted it. Less than an hour ago.”

  I should be thrilled by this
. I should be demanding we celebrate. Instead, all I feel is a dull, distant ripple of pleasure. “Incredible news. Good work, father.”

  Visibly relieved by my response, he slaps me on the back. “You earned it.” I hear the purr of a car engine outside, my muscles knotting as the maid hustles toward the door. “Ah, that’ll be Rebecca with Cate. I’m told she’s come very far with her lessons.”

  I take another swallow of liquor. “Good.”

  After the debacle with the first instructor, I made sure to hire several women with excellent credentials, yes, but also known for their patience and kindness. I called every reference they provided and spoke to them myself to be sure no one hurt Cate’s feelings again.

  The maid opens the door and Rebecca walks in with a mile-wide smile, her shoulders thrown back triumphantly. “Gentlemen. May I present to you, the new and improved Cate!”

  I’m unprepared for the transformed girl who walks through the door.

  I expect my fairy from the glen to be wearing a pretty dress.

  Maybe have her hair up.

  Instead, a glossy, graceful version of her appears, more exquisite than anyone has the right to be. Jesus Christ. She’s so beautiful, she’s almost offensive. Her posture is straight, hair in soft, blonde waves, skin glowing. And the dress. It’s structured on top. Sparking. Showcasing her high, round tits. Then it flows into a long, light pink, see through skirt. Her thighs are visible, all the way up to her glittering panties beneath.

  She was tempting beyond belief before. Now? She could wave her pinky and start a war.

  “What the fuck is this?” I seethe, before I can think better of it, the glass nearly shattering in my hand. “Did I not say, explicitly, that I wanted to be consulted over any changes made to her appearance?”

  Cate sucks in a breath.

  Rebecca’s smile has disappeared. “Elton told me to go ahead without getting permission,” she stammers, splitting a look between me and her husband. “He said you were too busy with campaign matters.” My stepmother steps back, scanning Cate head to toe. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Her appearance didn’t need to be improved on,” I shout. “She was already…”

  Perfect as is.

  I just manage to keep those revealing words from leaving my mouth.

  “The dress is too revealing,” I say instead.

  “I like the dress,” Cate fires back, without a hint of her accent.

  No trace of it.

  I don’t know why that makes me want to crumble, but it does. I asked for this. I paid for the lessons myself. Requested she be molded into someone who we could introduce into society, but I finally understand the phrase be careful what you wish for. Because I just want to tear off the expensive goddamn dress and beg her to sound like the girl I pulled off a tire swing in North Carolina. How dare I facilitate a single change in this perfect, perfect girl?

  How fucking dare I?

  Bitter frustration wells deep inside of me and I turn. Breaking for the dining room with my head on fire. I’ve wronged her. My intentions the night we met were to keep her safe, take care of her, but instead, I’ve allowed others to make unnecessary revisions.

  Oh, her spirit is still there.

  Her eyes are still connected to her soul, her energy vibrant and breathtaking.

  But now…now that the time is nearing to show her off to the public, I am sick at the prospect. Of sharing her with a single pair of eyes. They will want her, just like me. They will ache to worship at her feet, just like me. How could anyone not? She is an angel among sinners.

  Only now, she is dressed up to fit in.

  To be welcomed among my peers.

  Fawned over.

  Courted?

  Jealousy seizes my lungs and I launch the glass in my hand at the dining room wall, sending fragments of glass in every direction. A member of the staff bustles in to clean it up without a single glance in my direction and I brace for Cate to enter the dining room behind me.

  A moment later, she does, a diamond necklace catching the light between her breasts.

  Our parents pass between us to take their seats.

  Cate’s eyes find mine through her eyelashes and my cock grows hard at the longing I read there. She’s trying to keep it hidden behind the new façade, but I can see it. I can see that despite her new clothes and hairstyle, she’d still be unbroken and horny if I got her naked.

  Having a civilized meal is almost impossible when I’m firm and aching for the girl who sits beside me. So close, we’re almost rubbing elbows.

  “Well,” Rebecca says brightly. “It has been a productive two weeks, I must say. We’ve had wardrobe fittings and in-home spa appointments—”

  “Spa appointments,” I repeat stiffly. “For what exactly?”

  My hand closes around a fork, squeezing it until the silver bites into my palm. The fact that a single inch of her virgin skin was attended to without my permission is unbearable. And yet, this is what I get for staying away for two weeks, isn’t it? It’s all or nothing with this girl. Stay away from Cate or allow this obsession to seize me completely.

  As if it hasn’t already.

  Rebecca seems nervous about answering, but my father gives her an encouraging look. “Well, her hair needed some shaping. A skincare routine needed to be implemented. And then there was…” She trails off, sipping her wine. “Other things.”

  “What other things?” I prompt her.

  “Grooming,” Rebecca mutters. “Good old-fashioned waxing. Girl stuff, you know.”

  I want to flip this fucking table over. My stepsister barely had any hair between her legs as it was, now it has been done away with, along with her accent? A dangerous thought occurs to me then. One that has me clutching the fork even tighter. I have to take a moment to catch my breath or I will roar. “Who saw her with no panties on?”

  “Tristan,” Cate breathes beside me, looking horrified. “Can you please stop?”

  The cultured lilt of her new tone of voice has an odd effect on me. I find it painfully sexy and distressing at the same time. Allowing her to be changed in any way was short-sighted. “I’m sure I paid for it. I have a right to know.”

  “It was a woman,” Rebecca says smoothly. “I made sure her doctor was a woman, too.”

  Alarm catches me off guard and I sit forward. “What did she need a doctor for? Is there something wrong? Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”

  “Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Cate answers, challenging me with entrancing blue eyes. Eyes I would kill to have staring at me every morning from across my pillow. Eyes I’ve been dreaming about incessantly for weeks. “I haven’t been to a doctor since I was a child. It was just a checkup.”

  The fact that I’m being an asshole hits me hard. With this interrogation, I’m adding insult to injury for abandoning her. This isn’t me. I’m known for being levelheaded, calm under fire. Unflappable. Yet this pint-sized teenager has completely turned my world upside down. I don’t know who I am anymore. “I apologize, Cate,” I say quietly. “You are in good health?”

  Her features soften. “Yes, thank you.”

  I incline my head and a member of the staff steps between us, filling our glasses with wine. It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that Cate is underage, but I’ve been enough of a bastard tonight, so I say nothing.

  “I thought it would be fun to have sushi tonight! Chef made it fresh this afternoon.” Rebecca trills. “I’m assuming you’ve never had sushi, Cate?”

  “No. Never.” Cate smiles gamely, but looking closely, I can see the tremor in her fingers, the wobble of her chin. “I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

  My father salutes with his wine glass. “My dear, Cate. The change in you is commendable! You could dine with the president without a hitch.” He winks at me. “And you just might be dining with the future one.”

  Cate directs her smile in my direction, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I am.”

  The o
rgan in my chest pounds, my hands itching to reach for my stepsister. To pull her into my lap and fill her beautiful mouth with my tongue. I’m distracted by that thought, however, when Cate frowns down at something, anxiously wetting her lips.

  Chopsticks.

  Her chest starts to heave.

  “I, um…” Her accent bleeds in slightly. “I don’t know how to use these.”

  “I’ll show you, sweetheart.” My hand moves without a command from my brain, gripping the edge of Cate’s chair and dragging her toward me. All the way, until our thighs meet beneath the table. She gasps, her gaze landing on my mouth, and I know damn well I’m looking at hers, too. I need to fuck you. My eyes deliver that message loud and clear and it takes every drop of my willpower to neutralize my expression. “Pick up the sticks.”

  I do the same with my own.

  “See how I’m holding them? You’re creating a fulcrum with your finger, moving and stabilizing the sticks with the other.”

  She nods eagerly, getting the hold perfectly.

  Looking up at me for approval.

  God, I shouldn’t crave that so much.

  Shouldn’t be aching out of my mind for it.

  But I can’t help it. I love being the one she trusts. Yet another reason I can’t stand someone else making decisions for her without my knowledge. I’m supposed to be her protector. “That’s perfect, Cate.” While I’ve been staring at my stepsister, a plate of bite-sized sushi rolls has been placed in front of her. “Try picking one up.”

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  The first attempt, she fumbles, her cheeks flaming.

  On the second try, she gets it, popping the roll into her mouth and chewing around an adorably dazed smile. Polite applause breaks out across the table, but it’s nothing compared to the thunder and lightning in my head. Because I’ve just realized two things at once.

  One, I was a moron to believe I could stay away. I can’t.

  Two, it’s not just infatuation. I’m in love with her.

  It happened the moment I heard her laughter amid the trees.