Stepbrother Tormentor 1 of 2: A Steamy Romance

Stepbrother Tormentor

A Steamy Romance

1 of 2

© 2015 Stephanie Brother

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

Kindle Edition

Cassandra

I wish I’d never been born. That's my sentiment for the day. It has been like that ever since he sauntered into my life with his tattoos and messy hair, confident and cool. That and a square jaw and stubble that makes me drool, not even mentioning the hard muscles and the eternal grin.
Him
. The guy I hate, I tell myself, only too aware that it is a lie. Whoever said love was fun? Oh yes, the movies. The movies where things are scripted and everyone knows their part. The movies that make it look easy and fun. The movies that always have a happy ending at the end, leaving you feeling all fuzzy and warm on the inside. Until the lights turn on and you are reminded of the harsh reality that is your life.

If something embarrassing happens in the movies, it is funny. Ha ha ha. But my embarrassing moments never are, at least not to me. But who cares? Certainly not
him
. Not my stepbrother. The one I knew I had but who was never there. If only things could go back to before he decided to make his entrance.

After his father divorced, he stayed with his mother. And when my mother met my stepfather, all I heard was that I now had a stepbrother living on the other side of the country. Good for me. I was already happy that my stepfather was an easy going guy, not interested really in expanding the family or imposing himself as my
new dad
. I had enough on my mind as things were. What eighteen year old doesn't? Being a teen is hard work, you know. Make no mistake about it. You'd say adults have forgotten about that or maybe things were easier back then? Back in the Stone Age.

Things aren't so easy now. That’s all I know. You have to be cool and attractive, and you have to care. God knows you have to care. You have to care about your social presence and the clothes you wear, and the words you use, just so you stand a chance of appearing
cool
. No one likes a dork, after all. And you have to worry about your extracurricular activities, just so you might, you know, score a scholarship. And who knows, after plenty of networking and graduating, hopefully at the top of your class, you may actually end up with a real job.

You know, like the kind of job you actually studied for, and not end up serving at Starbucks with your BC collecting dust. Yeah, believe it or not, but we teens are actually aware of how screwed up things are with the economy. And the environment, of course. And us teens in general. Oh, and our parents. Although, in all fairness, I got lucky with my Mom and my stepdad. As lucky as my stepbrother turned out to be one huge piece of misfortune. My stepbrother from hell. If only he'd stayed on the other side of the country. 

So, all things considered, I simply didn't have the time or inclination to waste time thinking about my unknown stepbrother. But that all changed overnight when one evening, after dinner, I answered the door to face a total stranger with intensely cool blue eyes and black hair that was a total mess. Tall and broad shouldered, and with the air of someone who is used to women staring wild-eyed at him with unconcealed lust (which took me by surprise), he just stood there.

My jaw dropped and heat spread in all the right places; he reminded me of a movie star. The kind of guy who is too good looking for his own good—and he knows it.

Realizing I was blushing, I closed my jaw and pretended the acute and overwhelming craving to just have him wasn't there, and that the smirk on his handsome face didn't really mean that he was keenly aware of what I was going through.

"Eh…hi," I said weakly, and instantly wanted to kick myself for it.
Eh…hi
? Seriously? Stacy, my best friend, would have known exactly how to handle a guy with looks like that. Then again, she probably would have dragged him straight off to her room. Feeling like a kid, and painfully self-conscious, I wouldn't have minded if the earth had opened up beneath me to swallow me whole right there and then. And that is exactly the way my handsome stepbrother has made me feel ever since.

"Is my father home,
kid
?" he said, looking down at me with that lopsided grin never leaving his face. Even the timbre of his voice made him stand apart.
Pure sexy.
Deep and strong. Confident. Triggering a shiver that ran straight down my spine, unwelcome heat exploding in my belly that fast found its way downward.

Angry and frustrated, I just stood there, wanting to tell him to shove his "kid" right up his ass. The one that I imagined to be just as damn perfect as the rest of him, unlike me. You know how some people just make you feel imperfect, just by being there? Their very presence enough to make you want to leave the room, just so you aren't reminded of your own flaws. He is one of those people.

Of course, I didn't tell him to shove his "kid" straight up his perfect ass. No. I only say stuff like that in my mind. To the world, I am that well-behaved girl who never crosses the line. I know. How boring. But that's me. One look at him, in his worn black leather jacket that hangs wide open, offering a good view of the worn shirt and the muscles that tensed beneath it when he sighed exaggeratedly at my answer was all I needed to know that he is my polar opposite in that regard. Probably in every other regard, too.

Taking in the tattoo of some magical creature that peeked above the collar of his shirt, I caught myself trailing the curve of my neck with fingertips that had a slight tremble to them. Yeah, let's hear it for primal urges. Inwardly cursing, I dropped my hand; it felt like all my blood tried to collect itself in my head and neck.

"And who should I say is there?" I finally asked, in my most pissed off voice, not something that took any effort. My jaw muscles working, I instantly realized my screw up. That too is the norm when it is me and
him
. For some reason, all I am any good at when he is around is saying really
dumb
things. The kind that makes a sane person cringe and question their mental abilities. The kind that makes me just want to take a vow of silence. But it isn't just the verbal screw ups. Oh no. I also become clumsy, prone to bumping into shit and stumbling, when he is nearby. I have the bruises to prove it, too.

"Given that he is my father, you mean? I guess that makes me his son," he said it in a way that you reserve for special needs kids. Fucker.

"Right," I said, through clenched teeth, turning around for what should have been a gracious retreat with whatever dignity I had left. Only it wasn't. It instantly turned into the next disaster,when my first step had me collide with the foyer table. With a loud cry, I doubled over. At least he didn't laugh. I guess that should count for something.

Quickly recovering and faking a cool that was light-years removed from how I actually felt, I straightened my back and forged on. I instantly wished I hadn't when I felt my feet stick behind the carpet and start my fall, releasing a scream that would not have been out of place in your average slasher movie.

The silence that followed was deafening—at least to me. Fearful of another screw up, I didn't move as I tried to calm down enough to get up with whatever dignity I had left. Which wasn't much. Not on all fours, with my ass up high, right in front of Mr. Cool, aware that I was offering him a clear view of my damn panties, which my upturned dress wasn't covering.

And as stupid as it sounds, what embarrassed me the most was that I was the
kind
of panties I was wearing. The kind
girls
wear, not
women
who are overflowing with the confidence that allows them to wear sexy lingerie. I don't have sexy lingerie. I'm too self-conscious to buy it. I'm also a virgin, and my very ordinary panties seemed to advertise my innocence in that particular area that we teens are so obsessed with. Yeah, I know, the things that can bother you the most when you are in a compromising position like that. Crazy.

"So," my arrogant as fuck stepbrother said, sounding more like one big drawn out drawl, "any chance of letting my father know I'm here
beforetomorrow
?"

"Yes,
master
," I said in my best Sméagol voice. I loved those movies and I actually thought Sméagol was fun. Soon after, I'd say "Yes, master," whenever I wanted to express my "rebellious" nature. Unfortunately, I don't really have a rebellious nature. Reading and hiking are my passions. Sitting on the bank of the river, taking in the scenery while daydreaming of spending some quality time with an imaginary hunk who poses no real threat to my status as a virgin.

Back on my feet, resisting the urge to flatten my dress to ensure my ass was fully covered, I resumed what I now think of as
the walk of horror
to the living room. Barely two steps in, leave it to my stepbrother from hell to rub salt in my wounded pride.

"Nice panties, by the way." Each word stuffed with his amusement. I was so angry, my face burning up, that I came to a total stop. If it had been Stacy, I'd have done something. But I'm not. So I just stood there, boiling in my own anger.

Just breathe deeply
, I told myself, only to have his presence sabotage my efforts at functioning at least semi-normally. Boldly invading my personal space, I felt him right behind me. Like a predator stalking its prey and ready to tear my panties apart, my over-active and hormone fuelled imagination told me. Fuck. Sweating bullets at the thought of my excitement being obvious, his musky scent hit my nostrils and again my hand went up to my neck as I cocked my head.

Slowly running my fingers over my jugular, I just stood there, shivering from longings that I've been trying to shake since that day, a slow deep breath filling my lungs and my chest rising. Nipples tightening. Only to have him bring me back to planet Earth. The one where he is the hot cool guy and I'm the silly girl with a total crush and raging hormone issues that seriously jeopardize my functioning in daily life. Well, only when I think of him or when he is near.

"You a friend of the family?" A simple question that made me realize something that, in all my excitement, hadn't registered with me yet. Not fully. He is my stepbrother. Snapping out of it, I closed my eyes, as if that could just make the whole situation go away. As if.

"I'm your stepsister,
kid
," I said, feeling like I'd gained a small victory, but it wasn't one that I could feel good about. At least it shut him up, and I guess that making it to the living room with him in tow without another incident should count for another victory.

"Dan," I started, but one look at my stepfather told me enough. No such luck that this was all just a misunderstanding.

That is how my stepbrother made his entry into my life, a day that should be declared a national day of mourning, because the only thing he has given me so far is grief. In spades. That and a dark secret that I can never share with anyone. Not even Stacy. My dark secret and my forbidden desires.

Today is another bad day in a long string of bad days, the norm since he moved in.

The sound of laughter hits my ears before I hit the water. At least Mom and Dan are kind enough not to join in. But it is taking them some serious effort. And even though they don't add to the peals of laughter, they don't look any less amused when I come up, a water lily positioned right on top of my head.

I appreciate their struggle to keep a semi-straight face, but everyone else is laughing. Everyone except for
him
, of course. Telling myself they are laughing with me, not at me, I force a half smile in place while keeping the tears that want to spill at bay. This really isn't my day.

Standing in the shadow, leaning against a tree, he looks like he can barely stand, giving me the smirk that seems a permanent feature of his face. This was supposed to be fun but it feels like punishment. Dante's ninth ring of Hell.

"It'll bring you kids together, sweetheart," Mom said, too busy checking her appointment book to notice the panicked look that spread across my face when she told me about the family day together. Scribbling in her agenda in her illegible penmanship, she rattled off all the fun things that she was set to impose on us. But I had already stopped listening. Just thinking of spending hours with
him
was enough to put my stomach into knots, my core temperature rising.

"You think that's a good idea, Mom?" I asked hesitantly. So far, I'd done a solid job of avoiding
him
and anything to do with him. That included talking about him, afraid the slight tremble in my voice or my expression would betray what was going on on the inside; the dark secret I'm trying so hard to bury beneath a thick layer of self-denial. Hoping against hope that I can starve it to death and maybe, one day, he'll be just another guy. Not the one my whole being longs for, with an intensity that seems to increase the harder I try to put it on hold.

"Why," Mom said, throwing me a surprised look, "of course." Mom's one hell of a lady; it’s a shame I didn't inherit her confidence and social intelligence. Her success in building her business as an interior decorator was, in large, the result of knowing exactly what people wanted. Put her in a room with nothing but strangers and before the evening is over, she has made friends out of each and every one of them. I've always felt socially awkward compared to her. Happier when I'm on my own than with people, I figure I take after Dad.

Physically too, I guess. Mom is a woman with feminine curves in all the right places. Sensuous. Built like a centerfold and aging graciously. Me? I wish I had her looks. I feel skinny compared to her. At this point, I guess a B cup is the best that life has to offer me. If I puff out my chest, that is.