Stepbrother Studs: Taboo A-Z Boxed Set Volume 2: A Stepbrother Romance Bundle (Stepbrother Studs Boxed Sets) (19 page)

“Veronica,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him.  He wet his lips with his tongue, imagining he could taste her. 

The room next door seemed curiously quiet.  When had that happened?  Ian had lost track of time.  But his imagination was running riot.  His fantasy was all in his head now, totally cut loose from the filtered version of the real world that had provoked it.  Probably they were all asleep or something, he thought, fingers still in each other’s holes, and in his thoughts he placed them all this way and that. 

But then he dismissed the image, because it wasn’t the one he wanted. 

His thoughts strayed, as they always did, to Veronica, and he began to think of them, just the two of them, alone together...

Amanda and Jessie got into a fight, and that put an end to the night.  Who knew strap-ons were such contentious subjects for lesbians?  Veronica didn’t even see them out as they bickered their way to the front door.  Instead, she curled up in bed with a book, frustrated and angry, but it didn’t have anything to do with her girlfriends, and she knew it. 

The vent was still open and she glanced at it, frowning.  She could hear Ian’s music, as always.  But there was something else.  Something rhythmic, fast. 

That’s when she realized he was masturbating. 

Her pussy clenched at the thought and suddenly her juices were flowing like they hadn’t been all night long.  She smiled, throwing her book down and jumping out of bed.  She headed to Ian’s room, intent on barging in with the pretense of complaining about his music.  Two could play that game, couldn’t they?  She’d throw open the door and tell him to keep it down, or Mr.  Quimby would call the cops—

And maybe, just maybe, she’d get a brief glimpse at him jerking off. 

The thought made her mouth dry and her ass clench. 

Veronica threw open the door—she’d been hoping it wasn’t locked, and surprisingly, it wasn’t. 

“Hey!”  she shouted, just barely suppressing the smile on her face.  “Keep it down or...”

She’d been prepared to act shocked at the scene, of course. 

But she found she didn’t have to feign surprise. 

What she saw jolted her to her core. 

It wasn’t the sight of her stepbrother jerking off that surprised her though.  That was just as delicious as she thought it would be==hand wrapped firmly around his thick length, pumping so fast his cock was almost a blur, eyes closed, brow knitted as if he was concentrating very hard.  His belly was tight, the muscles there ridged, undulating as he rocked his hips. 

That sight didn’t surprise her, it delighted her. 

But what did shock her was the elaborately done tattoo on his belly, positioned just over his giant erection.  She saw it in the lamp light, and had a moment to admire the work and wonder who’d done it, because the likeness was striking. 

It was her. 

Ian had a tattoo of her on his belly, done up in retro pin-up girl fashion.  She had a Betty Page haircut, a bullet bra, garters and stockings and she was astride some kind of bomb with fins on it, riding it downwards with one hand between her legs and the other held high.  Her mouth was wide open and her eyes closed in unimaginable ecstasy. 

Not only that, but the tattoo was upside down so Ian could look at it right side up. 

She supposed he could have argued that it wasn’t her, that it just
looked
like her, but Veronica knew, the moment she saw it, who it was.  Ian had sat for that tattoo, had asked someone to ink her image on his body for now and forever. 

She didn’t have much time to consider this fact, however, because Ian had reacted to her bursting into the room.  The reaction was slightly delayed, given what he was doing, but when his eyes flew open and saw her, she saw the panic in his eyes.  She saw him glance down at the tattoo, and then back at her, staring at its original inspiration. 

Veronica couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.  All volition seemed to have left her. 

“Fucking son of a...” gasped Ian, and with lightning speed, he covered himself entirely in his sheets and blankets, retreating into the very corner of his bed, “What the...  you couldn’t knock?  What the fuck?” 

She’d been planning some smart-assed comment, had one ready, even, when she’d opened the door, but whatever it was had gone entirely out of her head.  She could only gape at him, blinking in disbelief. 

“Uh...” she managed, but that was it. 

“Get the flying fuck out of here!”  Ian shouted, reaching for a book on his nightstand and throwing it in her general direction. 

Veronica took the hint and retreated, pulling the door closed behind her. 

When she got to her room, she not only closed the vent, she found a roll of black duct tape and carefully tore off size-appropriate strips, sealing off the portal. 

She didn’t care how cold she got in the winter, she decided, swiping at the tears as they fell, not really understanding why she was crying until she heard the shower go on.  He hadn’t followed her.  He didn’t come after her, didn’t want her, after all. 

Ian. 

His name throbbed in her mind as she threw herself on the bed and let herself sob. 

Veronica turned up her whiny, Emo music, as Ian called it, to drown out the sound of her crying.  It was mostly over when the Jimmy Eat World album was finished, and she got up to rummage through her piles of CDs and found an early punk rock mix Ian had made for her a long time ago.  She curled up in the corner of her bed, wiping at the mascara on her cheeks.  She remembered when Ian had made this mix and given it to her—two years ago?  —and she had done her best to try to appreciate his kind of music. 

She had not succeeded, but always remembered his making it as such a sweet gesture. 

There was a knock on her door and her heart leapt. 

“What?”  she asked, dully. 

“It’s me.”

“Who else?” 

Ian opened the door.  He stood there for a moment, looking at his sister, who still sat in the corner of the room on her bed, eyes closed, as if in emotional exhaustion.  He was in just his boxers and had his shirt off—something, she realized, she hadn’t seen him without in a while.  A year, maybe more?  No wonder. 

“I guess you saw, huh?”  He glanced down at the tattoo, frowning. 

“If you mean retro-me riding a bomb to sexual Armageddon?  Yeah, I saw it.”

“I guess I should explain.”  Ian stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

Veronica said nothing, but her breath caught when she felt the weight of him move the mattress. 

“Listen.  Don’t feel bad,” Ian continued.  “I know it seems a little creepy...  but I did it on purpose.”

“I guess.”  She couldn’t help the smirk that lifted the corner of her mouth.  “Accidental tattoos are hard to come by.”

“Not what I meant.”  He sighed, glancing at her, and took a deep breath.  “Look, the truth is—God, you’re going to think I’m so sick—”

Now she really couldn’t breathe.  Something hard was caught in her throat and she couldn’t swallow around it. 

“I mean, we’re only stepbrother and sister, right?”  His eyes pleaded with her, and she felt every emotion in them.  They shattered her to bits, in an instant.  “And ...  well, the truth is...  I love you.”

“What?”  Veronica didn’t know where she got breath to speak the words.  She felt like she was drowning.  “L—love?” 

“Yeah.”  He swallowed, looking down at her rug, his voice quiet.  “Love.  Actual love.  I mean, all the other stuff too...”

He glanced briefly at her, then started boring a hole in her rug again as he continued.  “I mean, a guy’d have to be dead not to think you were hot.  But it’s not just that.  I.  .  fuck, I’ve been in love with you for years.  There, I said it.  That’s why...  I got this.” 

He rubbed a hand over her likeness on his abdomen. 

“A tattoo.”  She gulped.  “Of me.” 

“Yeah, it’s you.”  He gave her a small, sheepish smile and a sidelong glance.  “It’s always been you.  I thought, maybe, if I had you here, with me, that I could let you go...  out there...”

He waved his hand at the wall, indicating some great “out there.” 

“I get so jealous, Veronica,” he confessed softly.  “I hear you with them, and I want you to myself.  And you know, the fact is, I don’t date girls.  At all.  I mean, I pretended all the time to want one and to be frustrated at not having one, but it was all bullshit.”

“It was?”  Something took flight in her chest.  Hope, maybe.  Could it be? 

“It’s only you I love, and I’ve pretty much resigned myself to not having you.”  He made a face, like he was disgusted with himself, shaking his dark head.  “I know I have no right to be jealous.  I know.  I’m sorry, Veronica.” 

She sat there in silence, unable to move, breathe. 

“I suppose...” said Ian, biting his lip.  “I suppose I should probably move out.  So you don’t have to live with your pervert brother.”

“Ian,” Veronica breathed his name, thrilling at the heat of it over her lips.  His name had never felt so sweet in her mouth.  “I have something to show you.” 

Slowly, she got off the bed, and stood before him.  Ian blinked at the sight of her, like she was a light that pained him, as she lifted her black t-shirt, pulling it off over her head.  She was wearing a white cotton bra underneath and she saw his gaze flicker over her dark nipples and areolas before dropping lower, to her belly. 

Then she stuck her trembling thumbs under the elastic of her panties and slowly peeled them down.  Not all the way, just to the edge of her dark pubic hair.  Just enough for him to see. 

The look on his face was priceless.  He stared, astonished, at the tattoo she had done six months before in large, bold, gothic letters. 

Property of Ian