Stepbrother’s Secret

by Kane, Jessa

  I’m going to die without him inside me.

  I’m going to die.

  “Is it always like this between a man and a woman?” I manage to ask.

  His laughter cracks like lightning. “No, baby. It’s not.”

  That makes me tip my head back against the seat, my palms slicking up and down my thighs. “I saw on television…well, don’t you live in the governor’s mansion, Tristan? You can’t be taking me there.”

  “I live there during the week. But I have a private home, as well. Not too far from our parents’ house. That’s where we’re going.”

  I nod, relieved to hear we’re not far, and five minutes later, we pull through an electronic gate and fly down a cobblestone driveway, braking in front of a place so gorgeous, it could be a painting. A tall, ivy-draped, white brick mansion. Even though it’s so large, there’s a certain rustic charm to it. Lanterns flicker on either side of the entrance, the shutters on the windows are attached with black wrought iron, trees sway in the night breeze on all sides.

  I don’t realize how long I’ve been gaping until Tristan opens the passenger door and lifts me out, carrying me up the steps to the front door and kicking it open. I burrow my face into his neck and let him take me wherever we’re going, the urgency to have our bodies joined matching beat for beat. We reach the top of a broad, wooden staircase and take a right, entering a bedroom I instantly know belongs to Tristan.

  It’s no-nonsense. Cream and forest greens. Sturdy furniture.

  A huge window overlooking the backyard and—

  “Wait. What is that?” I wiggle out of his hold, racing to the glass to look out into the trees. And there…there is it. The moonlight is just strong enough that I can make out a tire swing in the backyard. “Is that…oh my gosh!”

  “Cate…I was going to show you in the morning…”

  I don’t bother listening, racing back down the stairs, ignoring Tristan’s shout to slow down and not break my neck. I’m unfamiliar with the house, so I skid into the kitchen first, reverse directions and find the exit into the backyard through a mud room. Tears spring to my eyes when I see the tire swing dangling from a towering oak tree and I throw my arms around it like a long-lost friend, even though I know it’s not my…

  It can’t be my tire swing.

  But when I lean back to study it closely, there’s the familiar, worn out brand name. There’s the little red heart I painted with Mama’s old nail polish.

  Tristan exits the house and my hand comes up to trap a sob. “How did you do this?”

  He watches me closely. Intensely. “I could tell it meant something to you. I hired someone to go collect it, send it to me.”

  I breathe his name like a prayer. “Tristan. I can’t believe you did this.”

  In that confident way of his, he starts forward, coming off the patio into the tree-covered backyard. “I did replace the rope. It was fraying and unsafe. Kind of like running down the stairs at full speed.” Looking at me hard a moment, he finally softens. “There are fireflies back here in the summertime, baby. Although I did ask if we could bring some here in a jar from North Carolina.”

  Bursting at the seams with happiness, I throw myself into his arms, my tears of joy soaking into the shoulder of his sweater. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  His arms come around me slowly, holding tight. And when he speaks, his tone is thoughtful. “You like this a lot more than the apartment, don’t you? The jewelry, the—”

  “Yes.”

  This swing was always there. No matter who came and left or how I spoke or dressed. It was always right there. I want to say these words out loud to my stepbrother, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. Don’t want to come across unappreciative for what he’s done.

  So I kiss him instead. Soundly.

  I cinch my thighs around his hips and urge his mouth to open and accept my grateful tongue. And it doesn’t take much work to make him kiss me back. No, he takes control in a snap, his body bowing over mine, our lips frantic, frantic to taste. His hands grapple with my dress, yanking it up to knead the cheeks of my bottom, ride me up and down his lap. The appearance of the tire swing has brought the unruliness back inside me. The way I used to live, full force, in the fields and backwoods of my home. Unrestrained. And I pour all of that into the kiss, tempting Tristan to join me in my breathless freedom.

  “Fuck,” he grits out against my mouth. “This is why I didn’t want to show you until morning. Never going to make it to the bed now. You’re always so goddamn hot for it.”

  “Be inside me, Daddy,” I mewl against his mouth, rubbing my sex on top of his.

  Tristan shudders, dropping to his knees and laying me down in the grass. His chest heaves, fingers uncharacteristically clumsy as he unfastens his jeans, tearing down the zipper. I sit up halfway, long enough to strip the loose dress over my head, baring my naked body to the moonlight, to my stepbrother’s eyes—and at the very same moment, we seem to recall how forbidden this is. That he’s stolen me away under the cover of night, unable to wait, unable to go another hour without having our bodies fused.

  “Last time, I was so desperate…I swore someone was going to interrupt us or try and take you away from me.” He rakes a hand down between my breasts, belly, sliding a thumb between the folds of my sex, rubbing the sensitive button at the top. Slowly, sensuously, his face shadowed thanks to the moon at his back. “Can’t leave my stepsister’s little pussy unlicked again. It’s been too good to me.”

  The sight of this powerful man, a governor, getting on his belly in the grass between my spread thighs robs me of breath. His broad shoulders bump my legs farther apart, pin them open, his warm breath coasting over my damp flesh.

  “So sweet,” he mutters, kissing my mound, dragging his lips lower, lower down my slit and back up, kissing me again. “So precious.” He parts me with the tip of his tongue, gripping my hips roughly. “And yet, it brings me to my fucking knees, doesn’t it, baby?”

  My stepbrother eats me alive, right there in the grass.

  Turns his mouth sideways and slants French kisses between my parted flesh, tonguing me hungrily and groaning, pumping a long middle finger into my opening, pressing it in and out, summoning forth even more wetness. So much that I’m almost embarrassed and try to close my legs, but he laughs darkly and pries them open, lapping at me greedily, rubbing his lips side to side over my bundle of nerves and finally, finally, licking me in earnest. Laving me firmly with his tongue, directly over that spot, that spot that arches my back and makes me rip grass out of the earth.

  “Tristan,” I scream through clenched teeth. “Don’t stop.”

  He bears down with that tongue, sawing over that swollen nub, the epicenter of feeling, until I’m straining, bucking, forcing him to pin my hips with a forearm. A scary, wonderful collecting of lust in my center implodes—and then I quite simply fly. I grind up and down on Tristan’s pleasure-giving mouth, inciting my body further, extending the flight up, up, up until I finally come crashing down, tears rolling down my temples, my muscles in a fit.

  I’m not sure where I get the strength, but I’m moving before my orgasm is even finished cresting. Pushing my stepbrother down onto his back in the grass and taking his fat organ inside of me, pumping my hips on it eagerly, riding him the way I’ve watched rich people ride horses.

  “Oh Jesus,” he rasps, yanking me up and back on his lap with big hands, his eyes devouring my breasts, my face, that place where we connect. Become one. “Jesus Christ, yes. That’s my horny little sister. That’s my wet little plaything.”

  He rolls me over onto my back, wrapping a hand around my throat.

  His erection pummels me, stretching me with every violent thrust.

  We’re animals. Filthy, desperate. Moaning.

  I slap him across the face and he bites my neck, his fingers bruising on my thighs, my buttocks, his body driving mine into the dirt and grass.

  “This isn’t even fucking,” he growls in my ear. “
This is mating, baby. Daddy’s mating you so good.”

  “Say it,” I breathe, burying my nails in his pumping backside. “P-please.”

  Tristan makes a choke sound. He knows exactly what I’m asking for.

  Wants to give it to me. Wants to be that much more depraved with me.

  “Slut,” he rasps, bringing his mouth down hard on mine. Kissing me crudely, his tongue deep in my mouth, teeth clashing. “Wild, horny, little wildcat slut.”

  Another orgasm slams me down onto the ground, pinning me as I shake, sobbing, sobbing his name. My tummy momentarily cramps, the climax is so intense, my intimate muscles are rippling so hard. And then I’m face down on the grass, butt in the air, Tristan’s palm cracking once, twice across my backside, before his manhood plows into me. With such force that it brings my knees off the ground.

  They land again and I scream. Inhale loudly. Scream again.

  My hair is wrapped in a tight fist and Tristan must have removed his sweater, because suddenly his chiseled chest is raking up and down my back, his hips slapping that hard, long part of him inside me, his ragged grunts echoing in the trees. “Now you say what I want to hear,” he says, his tongue licking a path up my spine. “Call for me, little girl.”

  “Daddy,” I whimper, my cheek sliding up and back in the grass. “Fill me up, Daddy.”

  “Ah God. Yes. Here it comes, baby.” Tristan jolts, groans and falls forward on top of me, flattening me on the ground, his arousal flexing and spurting inside of me. I bare my teeth at the night, writhing my hips, desperate to make him hot until the very end. To take every drop he’s giving me. He tries to pin me down and hold me still while he climaxes, but I won’t let him, spreading my thighs and ticking my hips back, riding myself on his draining steel, riding until he bellows my name hoarsely and drops, boneless, beside me.

  I’m floating.

  I’ve never been so weightless and it’s amazing, but it’s even better when Tristan anchors me, drawing me into his arms tightly, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth. “Look at me,” he says, voice serious. He doesn’t speak again until I manage to raise my heavy eyelids. “Like I said to you in the car, it’s not like this very often between a man and woman. Maybe it never is. So this…this is new to me, too, in some ways. Losing myself so…completely. When I’m inside you, we get a little crazy, and Jesus, I love that. I need it. Need you. But those things I say to you aren’t part of our reality. You understand? You’re a sweet, beautiful, perfect angel, Cate. I need you to look at me and tell me you understand.”

  Until he says those words, I don’t realize how badly I needed to hear them.

  There is no safer place than in Tristan’s arms, but he just made that even truer.

  I nod, kissing him back. “I understand.”

  His exhale carries the weight of relief. But he’s still tense. “Cate, I’m in love with you.”

  My eyes fly to his and I see something there. Love, yes. But there’s more.

  There’s obsession. The threat of madness.

  And I love those things about him, too. I love everything about my stepbrother. So my voice is clear and leaves no doubts behind when I whisper, “I love you, too.”

  Breath stuttering out, he can’t speak for a long time.

  Long after he carries me inside and makes love to me in his bed until the sun rises.

  Everything feels perfect.

  But there’s never any telling what the night will bring.

  9

  Tristan

  I adjust my tie in the mirror, trying to split my attention between getting ready for tonight’s party and the Zoom staff meeting taking place on my laptop. “Carolyn, reach out to Senator Wichowski. Make sure we can count on his social media support on election day. The numbers in his district could swing either way. Let’s swing them ours.” I add my grandfather’s gold tie clasp, which I only wear on special occasions. “And Joe? I wasn’t thrilled with the attack ad angle on the latest commercial. Let’s dial it back and let the guy bury himself. We don’t need to do it for him. The debate last month spoke for itself.”

  “On it, Governor. Totally agree.”

  “I’ll be away from my phone tonight. Let’s meet tomorrow in the afternoon. Take Saturday morning for yourselves.”

  An electronic cheer goes up and I smile absently, clicking my laptop shut. Normally my staff would have weekends off, but the election is only weeks away, so it’s all hands on deck.

  I throw on my jacket, bracing my hands on my dresser.

  A deep breath…and then thoughts of Cate rush in.

  This is how it goes. I can concentrate for only minutes at a time before I have to surrender to the obsession. The constant whirlwind of her beauty dominating my head. Her voice, her touch, her scent, her name alone can rock me. It’s a wonder I was able to part ways with her at dawn when I dropped her back at the building. Letting her go, even for a matter of hours, turns me into an anxious madman. I want, I ache, I hunger constantly.

  For the thousandth time today, I hit the code on my phone and pull up the pictures of her naked. My cock hurries to stiffen, straining against the zipper of my pants. How many times did I take her last night in my bed? Four? Five? And yet it’s like I haven’t fucked her in months. My fingers curl into the edges of the dresser, my hips grinding and bucking against the sturdy wood, head falling back, pretending it’s her pretty little ass bent over in front of me.

  The sound of a car pulling up in the driveway steals my attention, forcing me to quit molesting the furniture, and I look outside to find Rebecca stepping out of the limousine in her evening wear. My father climbs out after…

  And then Cate.

  My chest grows crowded at the sight of her.

  She’s been dressed in a deep red. So deep it’s almost black. The silk dress rises to her neck in the front, nearly to her chin. Which apparently is an excuse to leave her sexy legs on full display, the hem far too high for my comfort, the black heels elongating them to an indecent level. Her mouth is painted the color of fresh cherries, hair twisted in a sophisticated knot on top of her head.

  She’s a fucking vision.

  And after tonight, she’ll be in the public eye. For everyone to want.

  To covet.

  By God, I’ll be the only man who she ever loves, though. I won’t allow anyone to take that honor from me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her affection. It goes without saying that I will love her endlessly. The real her. The unbridled girl underneath the new, fancy wrapping.

  My Cate.

  I’m striding from my bedroom before I know I’m moving. Toward her.

  God, what I wouldn’t give to have her to myself tonight. To strip her slowly out of that dress and make love to her in every room of my house.

  There is something that remains unsettled inside of me. A worry that I’ve allowed these changes to her to happen when none were necessary. She’s perfect now and she was perfect to begin with. But I can’t stand that I helped…correct her in any way. This angel. This unique original. Does she understand that my love wasn’t contingent on that change? Surely she must. I’ve been infatuated since we met in the glen.

  I reach the foyer of my home just as she walks in the door. Both of us stop to stare at each other across the room. Our parents walk inside behind her—and I severely underestimated how difficult it would be not touching Cate now that I’ve had her.

  This is going to be a long night.

  Rebecca clips forward with an open smile, kissing me on the cheek. “The house looks incredible, Tristan.”

  “Yes,” I murmur, absently scanning the candlelit space. “I had nothing to do with it, of course. The party planners have been busy.”

  “Of course,” my father echoes, shaking my hand. “Evening, son.”

  I nod, my gaze zeroing in on my stepsister. “Hello, Cate.”

  “Hello, Tristan.”

  “How long until the guests arrive?” asks my father.

  I get the sense he’s
trying to distract me, since I’m openly staring at Cate and there’s no way to help it. Especially when she’s staring back, the pulse at the base of her neck fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. “Twenty minutes, give or take,” I respond finally, my voice a scrape of sound. Fuck it, I need to have her or I’ll never make it through tonight. I’m hard. Throbbing. My hands are bereft without the softness of her skin. “Rebecca, would you mind checking in with the caterers?” I ask. “They need a few questions answered about the schedule and I’m useless with these kinds of things.”

  My stepmother is already heading toward the kitchen. “Of course!”

  I transfer my attention to my father. “Feel free to relax with a drink. I need to speak with Cate in my office.”

  His jaw hardens. “About what?”

  Honestly, this whole pretense is unnecessary. He knows how badly I want her. He’s known since the beginning. He might even be aware that it has progressed further, since—as my campaign manager—he makes it his business to know everything I do. This pretense is more for Cate’s benefit than anything. “I want to make sure she’s ready for tonight.”

  Cate is watching the exchange nervously, but I see the way she wets her lips.

  The sudden weighted quality of her eyelids.

  She’s as anxious to be alone with me as I am with her.

  “I’ll speak to her about whatever I choose,” I finally respond to my father, before indicating the staircase to Cate. “If you’ll join me in my office, please? Second door on the left at the top of the stairs.”

  Not hauling her up against me as she passes is a herculean feat. But after one more tense look between me and my father, I follow her, not bothering to hide my rapt perusal of her thighs, her heart-shaped backside…or the dark intention in every line of my body.

  As soon as we’re inside the office with the door closed, I have my hands all over her. I’m tugging the hem of her dress up to her waist and molding her tight butt in my grip, my mouth raking over her tits through the thin material of her dress. Backing her toward my desk and lifting her up onto the edge, shoving open her legs.