STEPBROTHERS (3 Book Stepbrother Romance Collection) (28 page)

T
he sound
of children’s laughter rang out in the background. Their tiny voices echoed as they played outside, enveloping us as I watched my gorgeous wife set a plate of muffins on the table, then move over to the sink in the kitchen. I couldn’t stop looking at her, even after all these years, more amazed by her and by our amazing daughter with each passing day. They were both flawless. I slipped two strong arms around Sara’s swollen belly, caressing the bump of our soon-to-be baby and nuzzled her neck, my groin rubbing up against her ass.

Our baby, I repeated in my head. Still amazed at the wonder of it all. I’d honestly believed I was infertile, with absolutely no chance of ever becoming a father, a fact that had weighed me down for the majority of my adult life. But here I was, husband to the woman of my dreams, father to a beautiful daughter, and with the help of the advances in science, a miracle baby on the way. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting for a bit?” I asked and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“I can’t sit down. I get too bored, but especially ‘cause the kids think it’s the best thing in the world to come bounce on the sofa next to me.”

“Well, you have to have a little lie-down soon. You’re eight months pregnant, honey,” I foolishly reminded her, as if she didn’t already know.

“I know, I know. I’ll be good tomorrow. I promise. You can boss me around all you want tomorrow and command me to stay in bed should you wish.”

“Oh, really? How about I take you to bed right now? Or better yet, right here?” I snaked a hand around her waist and down to the warm spot between her thighs.

She moaned my name, both in protest and in pleasure. “We can’t…” she breathed.

“Sadie has them all in the garden, eating cake; we have plenty of time. I have to hear you moan.”

She had on a flowing dress, and I quickly gathered up the material at the front and dipped a hand inside her knickers.

“Always so wet for me, my love… I do think you protest too much.”

I kissed her neck again and groped at her breast as she braced herself against the kitchen sink. “Okay, be quick,” she agreed and blushed a gorgeous pink just like the Queen of Sweden roses she’d planted outside. “Do that thing I like.”

“With pleasure.” I breathed into her ear and felt her body shudder. She loved it when I whispered close to her ear, breathing sweet nothings as her eyes rolled back into her head.

I worked her little nub till I thought she was going to scream, teasing it as much as I could without bringing her to a climax. With my other hand, from behind, I fingered her swollen hole, wanting so desperately for it to be my cock, but I was happy to send her wild instead. And though Sara liked me to take charge most of the time, to tell her what to do in bedroom, there was always that fine line lurking in the back of my head, conscious and sympathetic to what she’d endured in her former marriage. But we had an understanding; we each knew our limits and respected them. It made the sex even hotter, and it made her more confident than ever. I even had to admit that when the tables were turned and she took control, telling me what she wanted and where she wanted it, it was the best sex I’d ever had. Everything else paled in comparison.

“Oh, baby, I’m coming… don’t stop,” she said. I felt her pussy contract and wrap tightly around my digits. She shuddered again as she came, her legs shaking. I removed my hand, turned her around and kissed her.

“Maybe I should sit down now,” she gasped, then giggled.

But instead of moving to the nearest chair she pulled me into another voracious kiss.

“Okay, lovebirds. Enough of that, thank you. There are children here, and you’re about to have company,” Sadie said from the doorway, walking in on us, hand in hand with Norah, her life-long partner and soon to be wife.

A blush crept up my cheeks, but I was thankful for her impeccable timing. “Spoilsport.”

“How’s the birthday girl?” Sara asked as a train of little monsters, all hopped up on sugar, came screaming into the kitchen.

Sadie opened her mouth to respond just as our three-year-old daughter, Lily Victoria Guyer, came running in after the rest of the other kids. Her blue Mary Jane shoes clapped softly against the wooden floor, and her curly, dark-brown hair bounced about her shoulders.

“Here’s the birthday girl!” Sadie cooed and squatted down on her haunches. Her arms stretched out as our darling daughter threw her tiny body into her auntie’s arms. “How you doing? Enjoying your party?”

“Yes!” Lily chimed, a grin pasted on her lips.

Three years ago, I wouldn’t have believed this was possible. I was deluded, going after every woman I could, trying to find the right one, scared I’d miss her in the crowd, but then Sara had somehow lifted the wool from my eyes. And as soon as our Lily popped out into the world, that was it. I was a goner. Smitten with them both, believing my heart would break the longer I looked at them.

“I can’t believe she’s three already,” I murmured in Sara’s ear. Her beautiful green eyes glinted with amusement, happiness and absolute joy.

“I know, right? It feels like yesterday when she came into our lives and changed us, and in more ways than one,” she answered.

I embraced her, not caring who saw, because I was so damn proud of my wife and how strong she was. Yes, she’d had her ups and downs, but with a little support, she fought through the pain and turmoil. “Don’t ever change, OK?”

She pulled back, a little confused, but she indulged me and nodded.

I gave Sara a quick kiss and smiled before walking toward Lily and picking her up, swinging her into my arms.

“Are you ready to open your presents?” I asked.

“Of course, Daddy!” Lily laughed, as if the answer to the question was obvious.

Lily reached her chubby little arm out, fingers clasping toward Sara. “Mommy, you have to come watch me open my presents, too.”

Sara took the little hand. “Well, my ladies, shall we?” I said and while we were all linked hand in hand, one happy family, we walked to the pile of presents together, never ever wanting to let go.

I
am not a patient man
. Neither am I calm. When things piss me off you better get the fuck out of my way or suffer the consequences.

Some would even say I have a temper, and they wouldn’t be wrong.

But I don’t get angry without a reason. There is always a valid cause behind the appearance of madness, or at least I try to think there is.

Maybe there isn’t. I don’t dwell on it. I tell myself I don’t give a flying fuck.

Today though, on a tranquil midmorning drive to work, I had every reason to lose my cool. I was justified in my rampage, and I will not apologise to anyone for what I did. And luckily for me there were no real witnesses to my crime. None that would report it anyway.

Yet even so, if the police had been called and cold steel slapped around my wrists, it still wouldn’t have changed my mind; I was in the right. Call me arrogant if you want, but he was in the wrong and I was right to act.

I shifted down a gear, letting the rumble of the engine please my ears as I saw the lights change up ahead. The amber glow flickered on, a warning to on-comers to slow down. I was on my way to work, just like every other normal day. It was approaching eleven in the morning; the gym opened at ten, but I had my cousin, Travis, to open up for me, so I wasn’t in any hurry.

My Ford pulled up alongside a black Porsche, and I couldn’t help but admire the curves of the bodywork as I did. My eyes lingered before I became aware that I was being studied, too.

The passenger seat was filled with a most pleasing sight—a cute blonde was staring back up at me appreciatively. From my slightly more elevated position in the car I marvelled at how the spaghetti straps that lay upon her shoulder were managing to support her enormous rack. Cleavage that any man would gladly drown himself in.

With a quick hand I slid my shades down my nose to get a better view. In response her hand fluttered a wave, and I gave her the ol’ panty-melting Vinny treatment and winked my baby blues at her. She smiled, and I grinned right back at her.

I hadn’t been paying attention at all to the driver of the car. Why would I when I could look at her for a few more seconds before having to drive off again? The Porsche’s engine roared with his frustration; his date or girlfriend was more interested in me than the balding slime-ball who sat next to her. And who could blame her?

Out the corner of my eye I saw the light switch to green. Dismayed that I couldn’t have longer with the gorgeous stranger I began to put the car into gear, ready to continue. The tyres next to me screeched to gain traction, trying bite into the tarmac to get a grip upon the road. The stink from the heated rubber wasn’t too pleasant, either. I felt sorry for the machine that was being abused right before my eyes. The guy didn’t deserve a car like that if that was the way he was going to treat her… he didn’t deserve the girl, either, but hey, that was none of my business.

I shook my head at the immature display and chortled to myself, and I filtered into the lane behind the Porsche, following behind. An angrily waving hand from within the car upfront caught my attention. Not only was the poor car being handled with disrespect, with her owner keeping her in a too-low gear, but the girl in the passenger seat was also getting an earful, if the gestures were anything to go by. If he wasn’t careful, the driver was going to run himself off the road. He clearly wasn’t paying attention to the way ahead; his head was turned as he yelled, berating the trapped passenger. She had no where else to go in the small confines of the car. She just had to sit there and take it.

Frown lines marred my face and I told myself to stay out of it.
It’s not your problem, Vin.
Even if I did happen to be the cause of their little tiff.

The girl turned to face him, seemingly having enough of his words, and then it happened. The man’s meaty arm lashed out, making contact with her pretty face. And even over the noise of my truck and the squeal of the Porsche up ahead, I could hear her scream.

I saw red.

Without thinking, I slammed my foot down onto the accelerator and launched my truck forward. My baby could shift when I wanted her to, and this time was no exception. She easily caught up to the weaving, slowing car and overtook her. A quick glance into the passenger’s side window told me everything I needed to know. This fuck-head was mine now.

The girl held her hands up against her face, and blood spilled out between her fingers. He must’ve broken her nose.
Jesus.

Just as I overtook the Porsche, my truck’s nose a few metres in front, I yanked the steering wheel to the side, cutting the other car off, forcing the soon-to-be-dead driver to stamp hard on his brakes.

We both came to a thudding stop, the car only inches away from crashing into my baby. The fucker was lucky; if he’d put even the slightest dent or scratch on my truck he would’ve begged for me to end his life.

I found myself staring for a second at the glove-box, thinking of what was hidden in there, but thought better of taking the gun with me. I jumped out as the driver sat stunned. Both hands were clamped down upon the leather wheel, his knuckles white. The girl, she can’t have been more than 20, was still crying, trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from her nose as salty tears stained her cheeks.

“Get out!” I yelled.

The man sat still. He was in his early forties and looked like he wanted nothing more than to stay in the safety of his car. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his head shaking, his eyes wide and bulging.

“Don’t make me fucking drag you out, you piece of shit.”

I’d give him a chance to stand up to me like a man. But as the moments passed and I stalked over to the side of his car, my bulk towering over the delicate machine, it was clear that I was going to have forcefully remove the slime-ball and teach him some manners.

The man kept his sagging face facing front; he wouldn’t look at me, the fucking coward. And who could blame him? I was built like a brick shit-house, my defined muscles on display, twitching and ready to deliver some justice.

Lucky for me the guy had been stupid enough to leave his window down, so at least I didn’t have smash it to pull him out and risk slicing up my forearms.

As soon as my hand clamped down upon the guy’s collar he started screaming like a little girl. I’d barely touched him, and his high-pitched yells muffled the girl’s sobbing. Now, though, she choked back her cries, startled by the wailing coming from the man beside her, who was now half way out of the tiny Porsche’s window.

“What do you want?” he whimpered as his legs kicked and came flopping out of the window, hitting solid ground with a thud. I let him go, and he tried to steady himself against the body of the car. “Money? Here, I have money,” he continued as he dug a hand into his pocket. His wallet fell to the road.

I stared at him. Was he so fucking oblivious to the bloodied-up girl he had in the passenger seat? Was he so fucking delusional to not even realise why I’d dragged him out of his car? My fists clenched even tighter at the thought that he didn’t realise he’d done anything wrong. He thought he was the victim in all this, that I was trying to bloody rob him.

“I don’t want your fucking money, you piece of shit.”

I reclaimed my hold upon his shirt and pulled him down, forcing him to look at the startled girl he’d only moments ago laid his hands upon.

“I saw what you did,” I hissed into his ear. “Do you like beating up women? I bet you do. I bet it makes you feel like a big fucking man. Well, how about it big man?”

“Ah, fuck off,” the man dared to respond. His face flushed as he turned to look up at me. I was literally breathing down his neck as this point, almost nose to nose. “It’s none of your business,” he managed to stutter. He had balls, I’d give him that. But he’d just made a big fucking mistake.

“I made it my business,” I growled and threw him against the car. I was holding back, trying to do the sensible thing while I still could. A haze of red filtered down upon my vision, and I wanted nothing more than to knock this guy’s lights out, but I held onto the little bit of control that I had left.

He stumbled, falling sideways for a bit, his paunchy belly threatening to topple him over and send him crashing to the tarmac, but his arm shot out and braced himself against the fall. He should’ve stayed down. The other hand, not holding him up, balled up into a fist. He wasn’t going down without a fight. The man, who must’ve been at least 15 years my senior, righted himself, his eyes blazing with humiliation. Did he really think he had a chance? Let’s see how he likes being roughed up for a change, I thought.

“Paulie. No, please. Just get back in the car,” a soft but insistent voice called out. The girl scrambled over to the driver’s side and popped her bloody face out the window trying desperately to reach a hand out to her lover, attempting to grasp a sliver of his shirt.

She wasn’t serious was she? She was going to forgive him? No doubt, she’d pretend it had all been a misunderstanding, maybe even go as far as to blame herself. She’d tell herself that she deserved it, deserved to be punched for looking at another man. It was all her fault.

I shook my head at her, only now noticing the old but still present bruises on her forearms. “Why don’t you leave him?” I questioned, honestly wanting to know.

She looked at me like the possibility had never even entered her battered head, like I wasn’t even speaking English and instead some incomprehensible foreign language that she had no hope of deciphering.

I sighed, letting the rage escape; a gush of hot air left my body, deflating like a balloon. If she wasn’t ready to fight, didn’t even understand the mess she was in, then there was no point. Why had I even bothered?

A fist came flying out of the air. Instinct kicked in, and I wrenched my head back. The skin of his clenched fist grazed the stubble on my chin. It would take more than that to take me out.

All thought of the girl went out of my head—her and her pleading eyes to just leave her and her sugar-daddy alone. To mind my own fucking business. And instead the red wall was back as uncontrollable anger slammed down in front of my eyes, clouding my vision to logic.

I couldn’t control my piston-like arm as it repetitively drove itself into the man’s body. Quick like lightening I took him out, though realistically he was no threat to me, but he’d dared to hit me. He coughed and spluttered as I pounded into his stomach, winding him.

He gasped for air, his puny arms waving in front of him trying to get me to stop, trying to shield his face from the punch he didn’t have a hope of stopping.

Neither did I. It was automatic, inevitable.

I put my weight behind the throw and felt my knuckles explode with pain, shooting up my arm, as they made contact with the side of his face. A spurt of blood exploded from his mouth as the force threw him to the ground. A visit to the dentist would be in order, I reckoned. And possibly the hospital after I witnessed his slack jaw resting at an odd angle upon his chin. He was out for the count. And I couldn’t help but feel pleased with myself. Maybe next time he’d think twice before beating his lover/girlfriend/fuck-buddy in public.

Vaguely aware of what seemed to be light tapping behind me, I swung around only to be confronted with the girl, her tiny fists covered with drying blood, trying to do their best to hurt me, but they merely bounced off my torso, leaving red smatterings on my clean white t-shirt that resembled toddlers’ finger-paintings—handprints and smudges everywhere. For fuck’s sake, I’d only just washed it, I thought.

“Stop hurting him!” she screamed, unaware that the show was over, that her sugar-daddy was unconscious on the ground behind me.

I claimed her wrists, only holding them. This birdlike creature was no threat, even though her ear-piercing screeching felt like it would deafen me or at least leave me with a headache for the rest of the day, but I held her firm, making sure she realised I was in control of her limbs for the moment.

“Stop,” I said, simply, and to my surprise the command was received and obeyed. Her shoulders fell, the fight within her completely gone, and she burst into quiet tears. Her ripe chest, blood drying upon it, heaved up and down. I did what any man would and pulled her to me, cradled her head against my chest and let her have her moment. Perhaps she was coming to her senses, but that thought was far too premature.

“You should leave him, you don’t deserve to be treated like that,” I whispered to her, hoping she’d finally get it.

Her trembling body stopped all of a sudden and she pushed me away, moving more of her own body than mine.

“What the hell would you know? I love him!” she cried and went running to see to the man still unconscious on the road.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath and walked back to my truck without even glancing behind me, leaving before anyone thought to call the police.

Neither were worth my time.

“
W
hat the fuck
happened to you?” Gary asked with concern as I got out of my truck, the gun safely tucked into my waistband at my spine, and walked towards my gym’s entrance. I looked down to where he was staring; my white t-shirt was no longer pristine but smeared with maroon streaks of dried blood.

I shrugged as if this sort of thing happened everyday. “Nothing. Why are you all waiting out here?” I asked as I approached. The gym always opened at 10am come hell or high water, 365 days of the year. We didn’t even close for Christmas day. Admittedly it was probably not the best business practice to open every single day, but you’d be surprised how many turned up on those “special” days that were traditionally marketed as being for the family.

And who could blame them? It was better to take their anger out on a punch bag or a set of weights than to take it out on your nearest and dearest. And anyway, most of them were health nuts who didn’t over-indulge or knock back the festive spirits… their drugs of choice were endorphins and adrenaline. And who was I to say no to that? They paid their dues, and I kept the door open and the towels clean.