Shame: A Stepbrother Romance (11 page)

I walk towards him and as soon as I reach him, he places his free hand on my shoulder and pushes me down to my knees faster than I have time to realize what is happening. His throbbing cock is right in my face and I watch as he slides his fingers down to its base and takes it in his fist. Before I know it, he slaps my cheek with his hard cock and I gasp from the sting.

He only uses the moment to stuff the head into my parted mouth and, digging his fingers in my hair at the back of my head, he pushes his massive erection even further inside me. I can’t take even half of it in my mouth and instinctively reach to grab it with my hand, but he pushes it away. I feel him hit at the back of my throat and then pull it out completely, only to plunge it inside one more time in my ready mouth.

His groan is so loud and such a turn on, that I become possessed with hearing it again, with eliciting it from him over and over. I begin to suck on his cock, pressing my lips around the impressive girth, feeling my mouth stretch and burn. It’s like it is connected straight to my pussy, which is itching with arousal.

“Oh, fuck Jo, you are good,” he groans again and twisting some hair around his fingers he pushes my head forward faster and faster, fucking my mouth with determination, straining his every muscle. “Touch yourself Jo,” he says and it’s all I need to hear, for I feel I can burst with the tightness in my drenched pussy.

I dip a hand inside my panties and start massaging my painfully swollen clit slowly in circles. I can’t go any faster or I’ll come right then and there.

“Not like that, Jo,” he rasps, “I want to see you.”

Without taking my lips off his dick, I wiggle my panties down and pull up my dress, tucking it under my bra, so I am bare for him now. He can see all of me, all of my naked desire pulsing in front of him.

I dive forward again, sucking and licking and slurping on his cock, while rubbing myself vigorously in unison. I can feel him grow even harder and tighter inside my mouth and I know he is close, which makes me frantic in my movements. I’ve lost control again and my hand is moving out of its own volition, fluttering over my clit, which feels ready to explode.

“Don’t come,” he groans, “Don’t you dare come, Jo!”

He suddenly pulls out of my mouth and lifts me up, his wet cock tracing a line down my bare stomach. He flips me over and pushes me onto the bed so my knees land on its edge and my hands on the soft mattress. His hand is between my shoulder blades and he presses me down until my breasts and my cheek sink into the bedsheets, while my ass remains perched up in the air right in front of him.

I hear myself whimpering with anticipation. I want it. I want all of him and I can scream if I don’t feel him inside me soon. He doesn’t make me wait too long. He grabs my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, and forces himself inside me in one long, smooth thrust. His balls hit hard against my clit and I moan like I’ve completely lost touch with reality.

He doesn’t move for a while. His hard cock rests inside me and I feel it quiver with his blood pumping along its veins. I can’t take it any more.

“Fuck me, please,” I beg, “I can’t… Fuck me!”

He does and I almost black out from the intense sensation as he keeps slamming himself into me, working himself into a speed I can barely handle. I know I can’t keep myself from coming any longer, the way he rams his cock in my pussy and hits my clit every time as he does it. I finally let go and let out a long, hard scream that is out of my control as the orgasm shatters my whole body and leaves me squirming in wave after wave of ecstasy that I’ve never known before.

Even though I keep begging him to stop, he doesn’t and keeps fucking me harder and harder until his own release comes with a primal growl, an explosion of come washing my inside.

I come out of the luxurious bathroom to find Andrew fumbling with something in the tall dresser. When he sees me, he walks over to the bed. I have no strength to talk or even walk. I don’t know how I’m going to get downstairs. He sees me and immediately knows how I feel. I’ve managed to clean myself up and at least attempt to fix my hair. I’m hoping that everyone is so drunk downstairs that they won’t be fixating on the maid of honor’s hairstyle right now.

“Come over here,” Andrew says and lies down on the bed, propping himself up on the abundance of pillows lined against the headboard. I follow him and snuggle in the nook between his arm and chest, though it’s a terrible decision for my at least temporarily fixed hair. “Catch your breath,” he whispers and strokes my cheek with the back of his bent fingers.

Lying here with him, listening to my breath even out and my heart rate become fainter, feels like the most natural thing in the world. Only it’s not. Well, perhaps it would have been even worse if we’d actually been related, so it’s not like I’ve done something I could never live with. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Now that we are no longer panting and groaning in each other’s ears, I can hear the music from downstairs. I take a quick look at the time. I need to go, but my body doesn’t feel like moving yet.

“What are you thinking?” Andrew whispers, then lifts himself up a bit to look into my eyes. “You are not getting all weird on me now, are you?”

“No, not
all
weird, but you have to admit it’s wrong.”

“Wrong but if we are smart about it, no one said it wouldn’t work out.”

I look at him with a horrified expression.

“You mean you don’t think we need to stop right now?”

“I mean we don’t have to stop ever… If we are smart about it.”

“You are sick,” I punch him lightly in the chest though in a way I’m flattered and a little bit glad he is saying that. On the other hand, I can’t imagine anything worse than sneaking out to secret hideaways to have sex with my stepbrother, because I know how much I’d actually enjoy that. So much that I won’t feel the need for another man in my life, a man I can have an actual future with. “I think this can never happen again. No more weddings, no more sneaking around by ourselves.”

Before he has a chance to counter me, his phone rings and he jumps as if he’s on fire.

“I need to take this. It’s important. Sorry,” he blurts out and is out the door sooner than I can react.

I feel stupid now, lying by myself on the huge, empty bed. We’ve had sex twice and both times he’s disappeared like a lightning the minute it was over. Both times he got a call. What was going on here?

As I slowly descend the stairs in my increasingly uncomfortable heels, I decide I don’t even need to know. That was that. Twice should be enough to get him out of my system. Now I can go back to my nerdy ways and wait for Mr. Right to appear in my life.

“Never again,” I vouch to myself as I take my place in the line-up for the bouquet among a group of giggling, overly excited bridesmaids and random girls from the guests. “This stops today.”

My thoughts are cut short as a bunch of white tea roses hit me in the face and land in my flailing hands. For a moment, I furrow my brows at the sight of the flowers, but am immediately swept up by the rest of the girls, laughing happily and pointing at me, cheering and hugging me and clapping, led by a beaming Ashleigh.

“You are next! You are next!” everyone keeps screaming.

I have no choice but to force a smile.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We don’t stop after the wedding. Not at all. We fuck like horny teenagers every chance we get and it gets sweeter, more addictive, more desperate every time we do it. I have completely lost my mind and I don’t even stop to question or doubt my behavior any more.

We take every opportunity. We graciously accept every family dinner invitation and escape to the pool room the minute no one pays attention for a quick fuck on a lounger. He whisks me off to the storage room in the bookstore during a quiet afternoon hour and puts it my mouth until I almost choke on a mouthful of come. We pretend to have dinner in a sketchy restaurant only to leave the table one by one and meet in a deserted bathroom where he bends me over the sink and leaves trails of come slithering down my thighs. He burrows himself between my thighs while I’m doing my accounts at the front desk in the bookstore and makes me come time after time with his fingers and tongue.

No, we can’t stop and if there happens to be even a single day when either of us can’t meet, I frantically masturbate picturing him doing all sorts of depraved things to me every chance I get—during work, at home, while trying on a pair of jeans in a dressing room.

I’m not paying as much attention to anything else in my life right now. Just yesterday, I was sitting with Ashleigh, browsing through her honeymoon photos from Aruba, only half-listening to her detailed account of every meal they’d eaten and every little adventure they’d had. All the while my mind was completely occupied with figuring out how to make it to a small motel on the other end of town in time to get my much needed fix with my stepbrother.

I’ve even stopped feeling guilty. Guilt is exhausting and there’s so much you can take of it. Sooner or later you either break or just decide to go with the flow and think about everything later. ‘Later’ never comes, of course.

Is it really possible to turn into a slut after an entire lifetime of prudence and only faint interest in sex? They say the quietest waters are the deepest. Or at least men say that to refer to women like me who are nothing special on the outside, but get fiery between the sheets. I’ve been a quiet water all my life, until he came along.

I’ve even stopped reading my favorite novels. They seem fake and far-fetched and I believe in true love and soulmates less and less. Somehow what we have with Andrew is more real, palpable, immediate. There’s no waiting, no disappointment and no pain. It’s raw and purely physical and it makes me feel alive.

That’s what I’m thinking as I tip the last drops of coffee from my little cauldron into my mouth. I’ve stopped by BeWitched for a quick fix before work. It’s so cozy and warm in here with the rubber spiders and raven claws hanging over my head, I still don’t feel like making the short walk to the bookstore in the nasty December weather outside.

As the temperatures keep dropping, the non-stop drizzle is finally turning into snowfall. Tiny flakes dance around the gray and brown scene and disappear into the wet, muddy pavement. People are pulling their bunched up scarves over their mouths and noses and hurrying to their own workplaces. As much as I don’t feel like it, it’s time for me to go too.

I pay the bill and leave the charming witch waitress a tip and then begin the process of wrapping up even if I know I’ll be spending another five minutes unwrapping at the bookstore in a little bit. I pull on my knit gloves and swing the canvas tote bag over my shoulder, ready to brave the freezing cold. On my way to the front door I pass by a couple sitting at the table closest to the exit and the front window.

A flash of memory. Andrew sitting at that same table with his mysterious date. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it every time I walk into BeWitched, but it’s only fleetingly. This time it’s more vivid. I know under our current arrangement I am not allowed to be jealous of him and the rest of his life as long as I’m getting what I need. Namely, his hard cock inside me.

I’m a woman though. As much as I’d like to go through this little forbidden affair like a man and simply enjoy it for what it is, I can’t help but feel a small pang. Before I know it, I’m deep into over-analyzing again. Is he still seeing her? Is he sleeping with her? Who the hell is she and why is he so evasive every time I broach the subject about her?

My heart stops short as I stuff my gloved hands deep into my coat pockets. The vision of my gorgeous unknown rival fades as I struggle to recover from the shock. My keys to the bookstore are gone.

That’s not even possible. The coat pocket is as deep as it gets. There’s no way they’ve fallen out and still I walk back into the cafe and hurry to my table to check if I’ve accidentally dropped them. Nothing. A quick consultation with the witch waitress tells me she hasn’t found anything, but she’ll call and let me know if they show up.

I can feel my heart beat violently in my chest as I stomp towards the bookstore, oblivious to the beauty of the dancing snowflakes. I try to trace back my steps and can’t think of a single place I could have left them. I locked the door as usual last night, before I headed to meet with Andrew, unless…

God, no! Maybe I was so impatient to get to my lover, so blinded by lust that I forgot to lock the shop altogether. I could have even left the keys in the lock, dangling in the wind for everyone to see and take. How can I be so careless, so irresponsible? I’ve really lost my mind.

I’m almost running now, bumping into strangers and not even bothering to apologize. My boots splash in the puddles of slush, but I don’t care. Is this my punishment for letting everything take a second place to what my body wants? Oh, God!

I’m half-blind with fear by the time my hand is on the door handle. I’m too afraid to press it in case it gives in. My poor little bookstore, my whole life! I mentally slap myself across the face. I need to keep it cool now. If it’s what I fear, I’ll need to keep my wits about me.

I press it and it does give in. It’s unlocked.

I’m faint with terror. I rummage in my tote for something to use as weapon if I turn out not to be alone in the shop. I’d usually use my keys for that, but with them gone, the only heavy enough object I have on me right now is a hardback romance novel. I look ridiculous walking into the book shop with a book poised in my hand, ready to defend myself.