Stepbrother by jewel crotan (popular ebook readers txt) 📕

It started the day I almost saw her naked.

Of course, it really started way before that, with a complicated history and dark secrets that spun together to create a tangled web of attraction that both of us were helpless to resist. We were drawn to each other because of that history, because of our shared past.

She was my soulmate, in every sense of the word. It wasn’t just sexual, even though the sex was the best I’d ever had. It was beyond that, a love that transcended everything, that took over my soul and consumed me in ways I’d never imagined.

My friend Duke was getting married, and we were at a strip club in Jersey celebrating one of his last nights of freedom. It wasn’t the kind of place I usually visited – I tended to prefer clubs in the city, upscale places where you didn’t have to worry about some asshole getting drunk and starting a fistfight or getting too grabby with the women. At strip clubs in the city, the women were model-gorgeous and everything was classy and tasteful. The distasteful stuff-namely the fucking for money – took place in private VIP suites that were done up to look like a hotel room at The Plaza.

This place – the place in Jersey that Duke had picked – was rowdy and out of control. Everyone in the place was pounding cheap beer, and everywhere you looked guys were copping a feel, even though the club claimed to be ‘look but don’t touch.’

“I want to fuck that one over there,” Duke said, pointing to a young girl with long blonde hair who was sitting on a middle-aged man’s lap. “Her fucking ass is just begging for my dick.”

The lights dimmed then, saving me from a response.

I turned my attention toward the stage as a hot little brunette came waltzing out. She was wearing a tiny white bikini that strained over her round tits, her nipples clearly outlined through the fabric. The bottom was tied together by two tiny strings, her legs long and lean, her stomach flat and tan.

My cock instantly got hard. I usually didn’t get too worked up over strippers – I’d never had a problem getting beautiful women, and strip clubs were just too much of a tease when I could have the real thing anytime I wanted – but this girl’s body was insane. I imagined my hands caressing her as I untied the top of her bikini, how nice those big titties would feel in my hands.

The music started and the spotlight shone on the stage.

The girl swung around the pole, her dark curls streaming behind her.

And I choked on my beer.

I knew her.

It was my stepsister, Avery.

I hadn’t seen her in five years, when I’d left home at twenty-one and never looked back.

Jesus, she’d grown up. Her body was filled out, her hips curvy, her ass tight and toned.

She smiled at the crowd and Duke whistled.

“Yeah, baby,” he yelled. “Show us that ass.”

Avery obliged, leaning over until her ass was in the air, tight and toned. She was twenty-two now, old enough to be a stripper, I supposed. But what the fuck? I was confused as to why she was working here. Avery had always been smart, making straight As in school despite our parents’ total lack of interest in anything academic.

I should have left. I should have turned around and walked out of the strip club, or at least waited in the bathroom until she was done her set.

But I didn’t. Instead I watched as water came shooting down from the ceiling, drenching Avery in her tiny little white bikini until her nipples became visible, dark and hard, through the fabric. Her bottoms clung to her pussy, making my dick even harder as I thought about how tight it would feel around me, how hard my dick would get if I shoved it in her cute little hole.

Stop, I told myself. That’s your stepsister. She’s off limits.

But nothing was off limits.

I had money, good looks, and power.

And those things made it easy to get whatever you wanted.

I should have walked away.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

I wanted her.

And I always got what I wanted.

 

 Working at a strip club was definitely not plan A, but desperation could force you to do things you thought you’d never even consider. So when my friend Courtney told me I could take my top off, shake my ass a little on stage, and then make five hundred bucks by flirting with the guys who’d watched, I went for it.

I needed the money.

I needed to get out of my house. For good. And my job at CVS wasn’t enough for me to support myself and my mom, who I planned to somehow convince to come with me.

Last night last my stepfather Gordon had snuck into my room at two in the morning while I was sleeping. I’d cracked my eyes and watched as he crept over to my computer, where he pulled up a porn video and then began jerking off. I’d pretended to be asleep while the girl on the screen moaned in pleasure and Gordon jerked his cock harder and harder until he came, splashing cum on the wall by my bed. The stain was there this morning, a reminder that it wasn’t just a bad dream, or even a reality I could just forget about.

And that’s when I made the decision to do whatever it took to get the hell out of there.

And now here I was.

I’d never thought of myself as sexy, had never been that comfortable in my body. In gym class, when the rest of the girls were running around half-naked, I’d huddle in the corner, turning away to change my clothes. When I went to the beach, I’d stay covered up, wearing one-pieces and making sure I always had a cover-up close by. I’d learned pretty quickly that wearing a tank top or a skirt in my house – even a tasteful one on a hot summer’s day – was a way to get unwanted attention from my stepfather.

So I wasn’t used to being in clothes like this.

And now, here I was, standing on the stage in a white bikini and nothing else.

“Show us that ass!” someone yelled. I wanted desperately to do a good job and make a lot of tips, so I smiled at the crowd and bent over, obliging.

When I stood back up, water came pouring down from the ceiling, cold and shocking. No one had told me there was going to be water. It rushed over me in a freezing sheet, making me gasp. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and my nipples hardened under the sheer material of my bikini, useless now that it was drenched. You could see everything.

The men in the crowd hooted and hollered at me.

“Yeah, slut!” one of them yelled. “Show us that fat pussy!”

Suddenly, I couldn’t breath. Everything in my peripheral vision started to blur and my heart was pounding out of my chest. My head got woozy, and even though I’d just been drenched with freezing cold water, my skin felt like it was on fire.

I was going to throw up.

I needed to get off the stage.

I turned around and started to make my way backstage, but I was wearing high heels and the floor was slick from all the water.

I slipped and fell on my ass, smashing my collarbone into the floor. Pain radiated up my spine, and I tried to stand up, but the floor was too slick, and I went down again. I tried to brace myself with my wrist, but I landed at a weird angle and heard a sickening crack as I fell. The most intense pain I’d ever felt shot through my wrist, sharp and stabbing.

The crowd was laughing at me, the music still pounding in my ears.

My eyes filled with tears, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he was there.

Cole.

My stepbrother.

The shock of seeing him there was enough to dull the pain for a moment.

“Hey,” he said.

“Cole,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you,” he replied. And then in one fluid movement, he picked me up off the stage. I wrapped my arm around his neck. His body was strong and muscular, his arms safe and warm.

He led me through the jeering crowd and outside into the parking lot where he set me down on the pavement next to his car. My chest brushed against his. Heat warmed my cheeks as I became aware of the fact that I was wearing a tiny bikini. A tiny wet bikini that you could see right through. Cole’s eyes dropped down to my chest, and I watched as his gaze slid over my breasts. I tried to cross my arms over myself, but my wrist was screaming in pain.

Cole grabbed the handle of his car, a silver Lincoln Navigator that looked more expensive than my house.

“Get in,” he said, opening the door.

The car was elevated off the ground a little, just enough that I couldn’t get in without bracing myself on something. I tried, but my wrist hurt too much.

“I don’t think I can,” I said.

“Here.” Cole wrapped his arms around me, his grip strong and tight on my waist. He picked me up and set me down in the seat, then went around to the driver’s side. He got inside and turned the heat on full blast.

“Let me see your wrist,” he instructed.

I held it up and he reached out and took my arm gently, running his finger over my skin. His touch was soft, tender, and it felt weirdly intimate, having him touch me like that. My wrist was already getting swollen, turning purple and bruised. “Do you think it’s broken?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure, but it could be.” He reached into the backseat and grabbed a sweatshirt. “Here,” he said. “Lean forward.” I did as I was told and he helped me put the sweatshirt on, pulling it