For My Stepbrother Billionaire: A Steamy BBW Stepbrother Romance (Billionaire Stepbrother Book 2) (3 page)

Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss.

Jake circled it. His eyes intense. I followed at his shoulder. He started in a low, breathy voice. The story behind the sculpture.

“Venus, the goddess of beauty, became angry with all the attention men were bestowing on the youngest daughter of an ancient Greek king. That daughter’s name was Psyche, and she was by far the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen.”

“We’re talking historically, right,” I said.

“Don’t interrupt,” he said with an eye roll.

“This attention rankled Venus. And gods are not to be rankled lightly. So she sent Psyche to the Underworld to retrieve a flask of some unknown substance. She warned Psyche not to open it. But like in every story, the warning was ignored. The hero, or heroine in this case, made the wrong choice and paid the price.”

Was he telling me the story of this art? Or his veiled opinion on what happened between us?

“Psyche opened the flask and breathed in the fumes. She fell into a deep sleep, akin to a coma, and could not be stirred.”

“I’ve smelled cheap booze that nearly did the same to me,” I said.

“Occupational hazard of college parties,” he said with a grin. “Now, do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Depends,” I said.

“On what?”

“On whether it ends happily or not,” I said. “If it ends with her head getting chopped off or getting burned at the stake, I’d rather pretend she peacefully slept forever. I’m risk averse like that.”

“You? Risk averse?” he said.
 

He didn’t have to smile or raise a brow. The sarcasm carried through in his voice.

“Depends on the stakes,” I said. “Some things are worth doing anything for.”

His eyes focused on me. Through me. A million miles beyond. He glanced away.

“Then something unexpected happened,” he said. “Venus’ son, Cupid, saw Psyche and was at once smitten by her beauty. He rushed to her and, with a prick of his magical arrow, caused her to awake.”

“You sure it was an arrow?”

“Elevate your mind out of the gutter,” he said as he brushed the bangs out of my eyes.

His thawing warmed me. It had been a gradual progression all afternoon. The art opened him. Made him his usual self. His usual, witty, gorgeous self.

“This masterpiece,” he said as he gestured at it, “freezes that fateful moment. When Cupid cast aside his mother’s enmity and saved the one he loved.”

I’d seen pictures online. But this was on another level. The immediacy of it. Like how it would be seeing a lion in the zoo versus out in the wilds of Africa, five feet from your face.

The beauty crushed me. Made my heart ache with sweet melancholy.

Psyche’s delicate body lay across a wrinkled cloth. It was marble stone of course, but the folds and the relaxed way it lay was totally convincing. Was more real than real, if that made sense.

Another cloth discretely lay across her hips, just concealing the mound between her legs. She reclined back looking up at Cupid above. Her arms delicately clinging to his head.

Cupid knelt above her. His graceful wings arched and spread above him. Their mouths just inches apart. So close, yet frozen forever apart. His arm supported her head and the other wrapped across her chest, just hiding her small but full breasts. They bulged slightly against his arm. So like real flesh would. Her slim waist and tight stomach had just a hint of roundness. Just enough to give her the seductive curves of a woman.

Jake was spellbound. His eyes digested every detail. We circled around soaking up every angle. The seductive curves of Psyche’s bottom. The flask cast aside after she fell into darkness. Cupid’s arrow. The one he used to prick her back to life.

And then it hit me.

This masterpiece was speaking to me. To us. To our situation. We were living through their frozen moment. My love for Jake. The way he used his magical arrow to prick me to life. The way that his mother, and the world, would react to the expression of our love. She’d probably send me off to die somewhere too.

I didn’t know how long we circled, lost in the beauty of sensuous stone and story.
 

When I did remember our surroundings, I noticed something was off. The hallway was empty. No hallway in the entire museum was empty. Not that I’d seen. So how was it that this one was?

Jake caught my eyes.

“How—“

“I arranged for a private viewing,” he said.
 

“Are you kidding,” I said. “How is that even possible?”

“My financial support for the museum garners a few small perks,” he said. “I don’t often have the time to visit. I prefer to view this work alone.”

“Should I leave then,” I said.

He laughed. A real laugh. That wasn’t forced or layered over with awkward icing.

“No,” he said. “I insist you stay. We don’t have long in any case. It’s not easy to cordon off an entire hallway of the Louvre. Even for me.”

“That’s a first,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“There being limitations for even you,” I said. “And more, you admitting to them.”

He laughed again. The warmth obvious and reassuring.

“I don’t come across that pompous, do I?”

“Yea. A little.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll work on it.”

“I didn’t say it needed work,” she said. “It’s part of you’re charm.”

The smug look on his face didn’t let me leave it there.

“I didn’t say I’d work hard,” he said.

“What little charm there is, I mean,” I said.

“Very funny,” he said. “Take a look at this.”

He took my hand and ran it down Psyche’s smooth marble back. Down to her rounded bottom. The warmth of his hand mixed with the chill of the stone. Brought them both closer together. Brought us closer together.

“It’s so real,” he said. “So beautiful.”

His breath brushed across my neck and sent warm chills down my back. He smelled clean and male. Like soap mixed with a fresh sweat. He traced my fingers around the curve of her bottom. The curve that was so like my own.

It was sexy. The sculpture. The situation. Us. The heat between my legs attested to that. I turned to face him and brushed the front of his pants.

Brushed the hardness in them. Jake’s body flinched and he turned away to stare out the window.

Was the art doing it to him?

Was it me?

More importantly, what happened next?

Risk averse? Like I said, depended on the stakes.

I unzipped my baby blue dress and let the shoulders fall away. It fluttered to the ground. The cool museum air grazed and puckered my nipples.
 

I looked up and down the hallway. No one. Okay. How long did we have?

I kicked off my boots and tugged my black lace panties down and kicked those off too. I felt so naked. I mean, I was naked.

But I felt
so
naked.
 

I threw the black scarf around my neck. It felt fashionable. I didn’t know. It was Paris.

And it helped to not feel so naked.

Any second now and Jake would notice me.
 

Would ravage me.

I stood there, legs together, protecting my sacred spot. My nineteen-year-old bosom heaving as nerves raced through my body.
 

He didn’t turn from the window.

“Julia, last night. It shouldn’t have—“

He turned and froze. Like he didn’t know what just happened. Like maybe Psyche came to life in front of him.
 

He blinked a few times and snapped his mouth shut. He looked up and down the empty hallway.

“What are you doing,” he said.

I looked down. Embarrassed. A total idiot. Like who in their right mind strips naked at the Louvre? At the most famous museum in the entire world?

I didn’t know why that made it worse. But it did.

“Julia, put you’re clothes on,” he said in a husky voice.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” I said. “I’m so stupid. I’m just a ridiculous, stupid little girl.”

My chest spasmed as tears rushed from my eyes. I wanted to hide. From him. From the world. From the pair of lovers in their frozen embrace. Black streaks of mascara ran down my cheeks. My head hung from my shoulders like a useless weight. It probably was considering it thought this was a good idea.

“Jules, don’t cry,” he said. “Please. I’m sorry.”

That just made it worse. I totally unravelled. The type of crying where you sound like a wild animal. I was a stupid, crybaby animal. It couldn’t get any worse.

“I’m such an idiot,” I said in choked and garbled words.

“Jules, please,” he said.

His hand touched my chin. Lifted my face to look up into his. His sky blue eyes were a thunderstorm of hunger and heat.

My pussy instantly flooded with anticipation. With desire. I rubbed my palm over the thick lump of flesh in his pants.

He pushed into me, backed me up to the cool marble base. The hard lines of his cock pressed through his pants and warmed my belly. My hips rolled into him, rising and angling to give him access, even through the fabric.

“What are you doing to me,” he said.

“Only what you want,” I said. “Whatever you want.”

I squeezed him through his pants.
 

His hips drove forward, pinned me, as his mouth came down to mine. His tongue slipped between my lips, found and embraced my tongue. His lips pressed mine. Firm and furious.
 

My head swam and knees would have buckled if he didn’t have me pinned to the stone.
 

His hands traced my hips and trailed up to my breasts. He kneaded my full flesh and teased my nipples. Just brushing them and then backing off. I ached for his touch. He kissed me deeply, endlessly.

His fingers latched onto my hard buds. Squeezed and rolled them. Tugged and teased them. Chills swept through me. Tingled in my toes. My insides clenched and grew damp.
 

He throbbed into me. Urgent. Impatient.

I pushed his pants down enough to get access to his boxer briefs. I pulled down the elastic and his thick cock slapped my belly. The contact sent a hot chill into me. Straight into my womb. My insides clenched again, sending another flood dripping down my thighs.

I took him in one hand and squeezed. Felt his heartbeat in his shaft. That strong and steady rhythm. The thick vein under my fingertips. The intimidating girth. I stroked him gently up and down.

He felt so good. I wanted him inside me. Stretching me open and filling me up.

His mouth left mine as he pulled my head to the side. He slid the scarf down and nipped my neck. He kissed and licked until my body vibrated. A buzz that made the world tilt away.

He made me feel so good. I wanted to do that for him.

I dropped to my knees. Both hands holding his erection. I popped the head into my mouth. Felt my lips stretch around the spongy dome. I sucked in with a tight seal and my cheeks caved inward. He slid in deeper. I looked up and met his eyes. His jaws clenched. The muscles in his cheeks rippled.

He grabbed my head. His long fingers gripped each side. He held me as he bucked forward. His cock slammed into the back of my throat.
 

I gagged.

Not ready for it. I tried to push his hips back to get a breath. I couldn’t move. His firm hands held me in place. I shoved against him with no effect. My chest heaved as I tried to shut down the gagging reflex.

He finally pulled back and popped his cock out. Only to immediately ram it back into my mouth. I barely caught a breath when it hit the back of my throat again. I relaxed my throat and felt it slip further down. Fill and stretch my throat.
 

He pinned my face against him. Bobbed my head. His balls slapped my chin. I looked up at Cupid behind me. His beautiful wings arching up over Jake.

My god. My Cupid.
 

“Jules,” he said, “so good.”

I needed air. I tried to pull back.

His hands held me firm.

“Suck it,” he said. “Suck it like your last breath of air.”

It kind of was. He was lodged deep in my throat. Like his head was dipping down to the hollow in my neck.

His size blocked the air from getting through. My chest constricted. A stinging pain erupted. Fresh tears gushed down my cheeks. My face a mess of tears and streaked mascara.

I tried to push away, but my nose was anchored into the curly hair at the base of his shaft. My lungs sucked him deeper as they struggled for breath. Fear chills raced up my spine.

“Yea, baby,” he said. “Suck that cock.”

Panic edged into my brain, and then he pulled out. I gasped for breath and struggled to stand up. Thick ropes of spit hung from my chin and dripped down on my breasts.

My god was scary.

And hot.

He needed me so badly. So forcefully. He wanted to take me. To conquer me.

Maybe even to punish me.

I struggled to my feet and smiled. I knew I looked horrible. My face a mess. Tendrils of spit clinging to my chin. Maybe that’s what he needed to feel good about this.
 

I just needed him to feel good. That’s all that mattered.

His eyes were icy blue fire. A turbulent cauldron of anger and lust.

He did want to punish me. I could see it.

I’d been a bad girl by tempting his cock. I’d been a bad girl by making him fuck me. I was a bad girl. And Jake needed to punish me.

I stroked his throbbing cock, sliding over its wet length. He moaned and grit his teeth.

I lowered my head and looked up at him through long, dark lashes.

“I’ve been a very bad girl,” I said. “I know that. I need to be punished.”

His thickness pulsed in my hand. His body jerked. I saw I was right. He did need to punish me.

“Okay Jake,” I said, “I understand. I’ve been naughty and I need to be punished.”

His body shuddered.

“Yes, Jules,” he said, “you need to be punished for making me do this.”

He pointed to the couple frozen in marble behind me.
 

“Climb up there,” he said.

I turned and reached up to Psyche’s leg. The perfectly smooth marble cool under my hand. I lifted up a little and then hesitated. Was I really about to climb up onto one of the most precious pieces of art in the entire Louvre? Wouldn’t that be a felony or something? Of course, we were probably already in felony territory anyway.