Crude: A Stepbrother Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  Let me highlight that; they have a butler, who serves them dinner. This is going to take some getting used to.

  “Knox?” My mother looks up at me from four feet to my left where she’s sitting at this table the size of our entire kitchen back at our apartment.

  What exactly are you doing this fall.

  It’s a challenge; I get that. What it really says is “what aren’t you doing this fall.” Like, going to college. Like going to whatever Ivy League old-money bullshit school next fall and majoring in concert piano and winning at life, or whatever little miss secret-identity here is doing.

  Of course, Joe doesn’t know that I don’t do well with challenges. I decide to play hardball right back and play the douchebag card; “Well, since my mom is marrying this new rich guy-” My mother shoots me this vicious look. I grin, ignoring her; “I think I’ll just, oh I don’t, see how that whole trust fund thing works!”

  Paige chokes on her food, and my mother shoots me daggers with her eyes. I just grin as I see Joe frown at me. He hates me, I can tell. Alright, hate is a strong word, but I know damn well he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like that I’m attached to this woman he wants; doesn’t like that I’m a reminder of another man who had her before him.

  Fuck him.

  “We respect hard work in this house, Knox, not sitting around with a hand out; don’t we Paige?”

  “Hmm?” Paige glances up from her plate, as if she’s been zoning out; “Oh, yes.”

  Yikes, what a perfect little daddy’s girl.

  “And I’m not sure you understand what a trust fund is, Knox.” Joe says, putting his fork down and steepling his hands in front of his face.

  I know perfectly well what a trust is, and I know perfectly well that Joseph McCauley has in no way set one up for me, or ever will.

  “Knox did quite exceptionally on his SATs actually,” My mother says cheerily, trying to lighten the mood at the gigantic table; “He also got top marks in the business school pre-exam.”

  I notice Paige raise an eyebrow at me, a teeny grin teasing the corners of her lips. Fuck, thanks for that, mom.

  Yeah, I aced the tests. I aced all the tests, actually, if for no other reason than to enjoy the look of shock and the shattering of pre-existing ideas about me on the faces of teachers and my guidance counselor back at school.

  “You know, you could apply to some amazing schools with these scores, Knox.”

  Yeah, right; and then what? I already know school isn’t for me. Believe me, after twelve fucking years of it and twelve years of teachers telling me to apply myself or pay attention or quit asking questions, I’m pretty fuckin’ sure. For one, it’s too Goddamn easy, for two, everyone there are shit-heads, and three, I can’t imagine college being any different.

  “Well that’s great to hear, Knox,” Joe says, this big phony “proud” look on his face; “You know, your father was a hard worker too.”

  Yeah, hard worker for you; hard at work not at being a father.

  “I wouldn't know.” I say with a fake smile right back as I shove some sort of demi-glazed vegetable around my plate.

  “Well,” He says, smiling at my mom; “Maybe it runs in the family, hmm? You know, I’ve been thinking, and I think there might be a spot for you out in the fields, Knox.”

  I drop my fork and look up at him; “The oil fields?” Is he fucking kidding me?

  “Well, yes, the oil fields.” He smiles at me; “You know, sometimes a little knuckling down is what you need, and maybe some sweat and hard work this summer will turn you into the foreman your father was.”

  This isn’t a question, and by the way he and my mom look at each other and fucking smile like that, I can tell this has already been decided.

  I can feel my blood boiling, but I shove it down and plaster a big shit-eating grin on my face instead. Joe wants to play hardball? Well step right up, Joe, I eat “tough love” for fuckin’ breakfast; “Nah, I think I’m just work on my bike and my tan this-”

  “It’s not actually up for discussion, Knox.” Joe smiles thinly at me across the table; “You’re working for me this summer.”

  I catch just a glimpse of Paige smirking at me out of the corner of my eye, and I know I’m done pushing that rage back down. Work in fields for the fucking tyrant King all summer before he marries my mom? That’s bad enough, but if I get his little princess of a daughter smirking at me from up in her tower the whole time, that’s the last straw. I shove my chair back and let my fork clatter to the floor, ignoring my mother calling my name as I storm out of the room.

  Amanda starts to get up to go after him, but my dad stops her with a gentle hand on her arm; “Let him stew, he’ll learn..”

  He’ll learn what, to obey? To come and sit and shake? He’s not a puppy, dad.

  No, but he’s a big prick, that’s for sure. I’m still trying to process Amanda as a general concept, without even trying to delve into the whole stepmother thing. But she seems nice enough, at least so far. And no matter how much of a shock this is to him, I don’t think she deserves to be treated like that.

  Knox is still gone by the time we finish dinner and after Martin clears the table.

  “Paige, why don’t you find Knox and show him his room.”

  I frown; his room. I didn’t know “he” - as in “him as my stepbrother” - even existed four hours ago. I raise an eyebrow at my dad; “His room?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head; “Jesus, I’ve been so preoccupied with moving Amanda in, I didn’t even think about it. He furrows his brow, drumming his fingers on the table; “The west wing upstairs is still being redone for a the next few weeks, so I guess that’s out for now.” He nods slowly before he suddenly looks up at me; “Ah! Perfect!”

  Uh-oh.

  “Knox can stay in the guest room until that side of the house is finished and he can get a proper bedroom.”

  I feel cold shiver run up my back; “The upstairs guest room?”

  The guest room that’s the room next to mine? The one that freaking connects to mine through a damn shared bathroom? My bathroom?”

  I quickly shake my head; “Dad, no, that’s the one that shared my bath-”

  “Paige, honey!” My dad frowns at me, reaching across the table to take Amanda’s hand; “We’re going to be a family, Paige. Try to be a little welcoming and bit more understanding, OK?”

  You have got to be freaking kidding me.

  *****

  He’s slumped in one of the patio chairs in the backyard by the pool smoking when I step outside.

  “You should be nicer to her you know.”

  He looks up at the sound of my voice and frowns; “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Knox rolls his eyes; “Oh yeah? For what; marrying Mr. Rich and not working the rest of her life while I get sold into slavery? Yeah, nope.”

  I shrug as I walk over and sit in one of the chairs across the table from him; “OK, I get it, but you should lay off her. She lost a husband you know.”

  Knox shrugs, still wrapped up in being Mr. Tough-guy; “Whatever, he was gone long before that anyways.”

  “Well, I know it hurts.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Knox blows smoke out in a thin stream into the warm evening air. My eyes once again land on the twisting, curling lines of ink that trace over the strong looking biceps of his arm.

  “Want a closer look?”

  I look up with a start, blushing as I realize he’s staring right at me; “No, I wasn’t-” I frown; “It doesn’t bother you? Your dad dying?”

  He just shrugs again; “It phased me I guess. What do you know about it.”

  I give him a look; “You did notice that my dad doesn’t currently have a wife, right?”

  The smirk leaves his face, but he says nothing.

  “My mom left when I was eight, you know. I get not having a parent, just in case you wanted to talk ab-”

  “Super, guess we’re best buds then now, huh?”

/>   I purse my lips as I frown at him; “You know it’s not like all this is my fault somehow. I didn’t ask for some hot-headed dick to come into my life and be my brother.”

  “Step-brother,” He says sharply; “And I didn’t ask for a little uptight rich-bitch of a stepsister trying to give me life advice.”

  I shake my head and look away; “Why are you such an asshole?”

  “Because I’m good at it.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You seemed to be OK with it that night at-”

  “Knox!” I hiss, shooting a cautionary look back at the house, however ridiculous I know it is.

  He sighs; “Oh my God, calm the fuck down, Joan Jett. Look, I’m not going to blow up your spot, I already told you.”

  He takes a final drag of his smoke as he stands and flicks it into the yard, making me grit my teeth at the motion. He looks up at me, and his face seems to soften a little; “So what happened to your mom?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” And I don’t; not anymore, and not with this giant dickhead.

  “What, drugs? Cheated on your dad? Is that why he’s all strict?”

  “Look, forget it.”

  He steps around the table towards me, and I’m eying him until I realize he’s moving behind me, and I suddenly wrinkle my nose at him suspiciously as I whirl my head; “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you relax, you’re all wound-up looking.”

  He moves behind me, and I’m frowning and starting to rise out of my chair when I jump at the feel of his hands on my shoulders; “What are you-”

  I bite my lip and close my eyes for a second in spite of myself as I feel his strong fingers begin to dig into the muscles of my shoulders. It feels wonderful, and I almost moan out loud at the release of my tension before I stop myself; “OK, stop. Cut that out.”

  “Really?” I suddenly jump again at the sound of his voice right in my ear; “I’ve been told I’m pretty good with my fingers.”

  I blush a deep crimson, feeling shocked and scandalized by his innuendo. Well, let me rephrase that; I know I should be blushing because I’m feeling scandalized by his crudeness. Instead though, I think I’m just a little more curious than I should be.

  His thumbs dig deep into my coiled muscles, his fingers sliding down over my shoulders and down towards the front of my— Ooookay.

  “OK, you have to stop that,” I say quickly, pushing his hands off of my shoulders as I quickly stand and whip around to him.

  “Aww, we were just starting to have some fun, princess!” He winks at me, very obviously dropping his gaze to my breasts and arching his eyebrows suggestively.

  And if I wasn’t scandalized before, I am now by my own traitorous thoughts and my own imagination running far more wild than it ought to. He looks like temptation on freaking stick standing there half in shadow and half lit by the patio lights like some sort of “good-versus-evil” Renaissance painting. He absolutely exudes sex, with his rugged, suggestive smile, and those devilish eyes just hinting at something dirty, like some sort of raunchy and scandalous secret you’re just dying to have whispered in your ear.

  Um, yeah, you need to walk away from this right now.

  “Weren’t we?”

  I blink; “Huh?”

  Knox grins; “Weren’t we just starting to have a little fun?”

  I blush again before I drag my thoughts back out of the gutter and quickly cross my arms over my chest; “We were not about to have a little anything, actually.” I purse my lips together, shaking my own dirty little thoughts from my head; “C’mon, I have to take you to your room.”

  “Oh, yes please, princess.”

  I roll my eyes as I push past him; “Oh shut up.”

  So, little miss perfect has a weak spot. Little miss piano-queen, china doll is balanced like glass on her pedestal, and all it’s gonna take is one good nudge to knock her off. And for some reason, there’s something about shattering this girl and about stripping away her tightly-wound little habits that sounds like a lot of fun.

  And then, there’s also the idea of stripping other things away from this girl that has my mind wandering to darker, more devious and interesting places. It also has my cock stirring inside my pant as I lay back on the bare bed in the bare room. Forget her convictions and her high-strung ideals, now I’m just thinking about stripping those conservative khaki pants off of her and seeing what’s underneath. Probably granny-panties or something boring and grey and totally un-sexy, but in my mind, there’s this hot thought of peeling away that stuck-up exterior to find something naughty underneath like a lacy see-through thong.

  ...Or nothing at all, actually.

  Of course, there’s something about this girl too that’s got me so wound up right now that I’d probably even find the granny-panties hot.

  I grin to myself as I lay back in the bed and close my eyes, thinking about peeling those pants off of her, or popping the buttons of her conservative blouse one by one until I tear it away to get at the soft pink of her nipples. I’m grabbing my cock through my pajama pants, imagining tracing down her stomach past her navel, teasing the soft skin there before going lower.

  I want to see if how real a redhead she is.

  I’m just starting to groan a little as I pull on my cock, when suddenly, I stop cold.

  Fuck.

  This is my step-sister, for Christ’s sake; what the fuck am I doing? I stop and try to rationalize it in my own head for second. We’re not fucking related or anything, we’re both adults, and despite her prissy attitude and dressing like a schoolmarm from the 1800’s, she somehow gets my cock harder than anything in the world.

  Fuck it, it’s not like anythings ever going to happen with that anywa-

  It’s the buzzing noise that has me frozen in my thoughts for a second before it suddenly goes quiet again. I hold my breath and lean closer to the wall behind me; the wall between my room and hers.

  The buzzing comes again, quiet and muffled, but it’s got the blood rushing right back to my dick again as the reality hits me.

  You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  I listen closer, this time wrapping my fingers around my shaft as I press my ear against the wall. It’s louder with my ear against it like this, and when I’m pretty sure I hear what has to be a fucking moan, my cock throbs like steel in my hand.

  Holy fuck, she’s masturbating.

  I mean it’s that or she’s tattooing herself, but I somehow seriously fucking doubt that. I grip my cock harder and lean closer to the wall, listening to the muffled buzz of the vibrator and the quiet, almost imperceptible gasps falling from her lips as I stroke it up and down.

  I suddenly stop again and frown; fuck this. I mean, I don’t want to toot my own horn that much, but I’m pretty damn confident it’s me she’s thinking about in there after our little exchange before. And the more I think about it, the more it all just clicks. We’re both eighteen, we’re both adults, and we both want each other.