"Hello, love," he says in that off-English accent of his. "See anything you fancy?"
This vacation is already getting off to a great start.
24
Ian
I swear my cock is twitching when I walk in the house and see Alicia standing there in that simple, elegant white dress that just comes up to her knees barely covers her shoulders. It's so fucking tight and covers her up just so nicely. It hugs her curves, and man, those are some goddamn delicious curves.
All our lives, she's been the good girl and I've been the fuckup. I've been the bad boy who gets in trouble. The one who goes around lifting up the girl's skirts. The one who wants to be fucking badass and joins the Military Academy.
All our lives, she's been the one that gets the good grades. She's been the one that makes sure everyone is okay. The peacemaker. The happy one. The one that they try to trot out as an example of what a Royal should be.
Give me a fucking break, I think to myself as I walk into the house. She's staring at my fucking cock.
I shake my head in disbelief. What is it about my fucking cock that attracts women of all varieties, shapes and sizes? I mean, this girl in front of me is hot, and I would do anything at all with her.
Hold up there one second, mate. I know she's my stepsister. I'm just saying if she weren't my stepsister…
Don't be a fucking wanker and tell me that it's gross. I fucking know. You think I want to do anything with her? Give me a fucking break.
But the thing is that she's gorgeous. Back before I left for the Military Academy, she honestly wasn't much to look at. I mean, she's had a growth spurt. She used to be flat as a board. Used to have no tits. Braces and glasses.
"Hello, love," I say looking at her and trying to give her a smirk. I can't be flirting with her though. She's my fucking stepsister. "See anything you fancy?"
Fuck me, what the fuck is wrong with me?!
"Ian!" she says, and it seems as if she's already angry with me. I have no idea why.
"Hi there," I say again, walking up to her. I didn't bother to put on a shirt when I walked in. I can't explain why. Just no need to be fully clothed when you're at home and with family. And yes, this girl is my family so don't you start getting any ideas.
"What are you doing here?" she asks me, narrowing her eyes with suspicious thoughts.
What the fuck is she asking me that for.
"What do you mean?" I ask her. "Aren't we supposed to have come here on vacation?"
She nods and I can tell she's totally distraught and not paying attention.
Listen, I know I have the body of a fucking Greek God, and I'm hung like a massive horse, but something else is bothering this girl. I can tell there's more to it than that.
Alicia walks over to the living room away from the window to get away from me it seems. She sits down with her back towards me as if composing herself. Whatever. Little Miss Sunshine doesn't want to be around the bad boy prince, I dig that.
Oh wait, I need to tell her about her mother and my father.
"Hey Alicia," I say as I walk over to her. "I got some news for you, love."
She looks at me and raises an eyebrow.
"What's that?" she asks me, not bothering to hide her disdain.
I take a deep breath. I was pretty surprised when I got the call from Father as well.
"There's been a state visit that your mother and my father went on, that's lasting a bit longer than expected," I tell her. She raises her eyebrows at me. Those wide innocent eyes that look at me in curiosity. God, her eyes are so fucking cute. "They're going to be a few days late in getting here."
She looks at me for another second and her cheeks go red. I have no fucking clue why. Go figure women. You think you know them, and then you meet one that makes you think you know absolutely fucking nothing.
"How long is a few days?" she asks me.
"Dad said at least 10 days."
She looks at me in annoyance.
"Ten days?" she asks no one in particular and gets up off the couch. I get a quick peek at her ass. God, it's a nice fucking ass.
Hey, fuck you, okay? She's my stepsister. But I can appreciate a good body when I see it. It's not like I'm going to do anything about it. Remember the fucking club last night? I can fucking control myself - I'm not some sort of animal. Despite whatever you may have read in the papers.
"I have to spend ten days with you?" she asks as if she's being asked to spend ten days having salt rubbed in open wounds.
"Hey, love, come on," I say, genuinely wounded but not wanting to give her the pleasure of seeing. "You act as if ten days with me is like ten days with a fucking leper."
She winces.
"Enough, Ian, I don't want to talk about it right now."
Well, that's fine by me. Little Miss Prissy doesn't want to talk to me right now. I shrug and make my way past the living room.
"Why are you even walking around without a shirt on?!" she screams out her question at me.
Bingo. So that's what's been bothering you, is it?
"What's wrong, love?" I turn around and ask her. "Don't like what you see?"
Her eyes go from fire to dead in the space of two seconds. Somethings wrong here. I get worried.
Listen, I know what you're going to say to me. That you've heard I'm a fucking wanker. I'm agreeing with you, okay? I'm a fucking asshole to ladies. But it's not like I do what I do on purpose.
I never lie.
And I'm never out to hurt people. I never go out and say to myself, oh hey, there's a nice looking bird. Let's go break her heart. Okay?
I love women. I love them in all shapes and sizes. All colors. As long as they're laid back and cool, I don't have a problem with them.
Hell, if it weren't for the female species, we'd all be a bunch of fucking brutes sitting around in fucking caves gnawing on mastodon legs. We wouldn't even figure out a fucking fire.
And right now, say what you say, but I can see that my stepsister is not having the best fucking day. She's in some sort of trouble.
"What's wrong, love?" I ask and move towards her.
She doesn't say anything. I walk up to the sofa that she's sitting on in the large living room and I sit down next to her. "What's going on that's got you so bothered?"
"Why do you care?" she asks instead.
Right. Classic dodge.
"Listen, I know I'm not as smart of as you, sis," I say and her eyes pop up to me. "But I'm still your brother."
"Stepbrother," she says back to me tersely.
"Stepbrother," I repeat. I need to repeat that to myself a couple times there sitting there looking at her wide almond eyes. Her beautiful nose. Her cute little chin. The way her hair is held back by her cute little ear.
Fucking Christ, man! She's my fucking sister!
Well, my stepsister.
It's okay if she's my stepsister for me to just look and enjoy, you know.
"Anyways, somethings bothering you and now it's starting to bother me," I say back to her.
That's right. If she's in a pissy mood, it's going to mean nothing but a sodden, sullen Alicia walking around the house. And she's going to get in my shit big time. So it's best that I figure out what the fuck is going on and make it better.
"What's the deal, love?" I ask. "Out with it."
She takes several long sighs, then looks down on the ground without looking at me. "Ben dumped me," she says slowly.
That fucking bastard. Never met the guy, but I've heard enough about that fucking prick to know he's a fucking idiot for leaving a girl like my sister.
Stepsister, I mean.
"I'm sorry," I say. I genuinely mean this shit. Little Miss Priss may be many things, but any man would be fucking lucky to be with a girl like that.
"It's not just that he dumped me, Ian," she says, continuing. "It's that he's been cheating on me, pretty much since we started dating."
Whoa there. That's one line you do not fucking cross.
"Wha
t?" I say, unable to believe what's coming out of her mouth. Someone would have to be seriously fucking mental to be cheating on this girl in front of me.
"I caught him yesterday. He was with my roommate!" she says, looking at me. Tears are starting to form. "On my bed!"
"What did you do?" I ask. I would have beaten the guy to a fucking bloody pulp.
"I didn't get a chance to do anything. When I started asking him why, he told me I'm bad at sex! That he needs to get laid during the summer and he thought that we had an understanding he was free to go off and be with everyone else!" Alicia is practically hysterical at this point. "Even though he's staying like three minutes from here, he says we should see other people."
"That's seriously fucked up, sis," I say back to her. Anger is clouding my eyes. I want to find this fucker and seriously teach him a lesson.
Alicia gets a look in her eyes. "Oh, what do you care, anyways?" she asks me, scorn dripping from her words. "That's what you always do, isn't it?"
Whoa, where did that come from.
"One and done, or something like that?" she asks. I wince. That's so not what that means.
"Listen, love..." I begin scooting close to her, but she won't give me a chance.
"Get away from me, you asshole!" she yells and stands up in a flash. "Stay away from me! I swear!"
She runs out of the living room and up to her stairs. I hear her door slamming.
This fucking asshole has cut my sister deep. And I'm not taking that lying down. I pull out my phone and call my head of security. What was that fucker's name? Ben. Ben Ebert.
"Listen, Preston," I say into my phone. "I need an address for a Benjamin Ebert. He's staying close by to me."
Preston starts looking at the databases that he's wired into. I don't know how he has access, but sometimes it's good to be the fucking Prince of another nation. You get access to all sorts of data that the government uses to keep track of its citizens.
Preston literally takes half a minute to find a vacation home registered under the last name of Ebert. That's it. It's a relatively short ride from here. I thank him and hang up.
Blood is still rushing to my temples.
I don't know what I'm doing but I get out of the house. Alicia doesn't stop me when I get on my motorcycle.
I know what you're going to ask. Yes, I grab a shirt from the downstairs closet. I'm not a complete brute, you know.
The ride is literally five minutes long. They have a house near the water, but obviously not as big as ours.
I see the fucker outside, sitting on the wide open lawn and reading on his fucking iPad. He's a doughy little fucker, with the eyes of a fucking mouse. What my sister ever saw in this asshole is beyond me.
I drive up and he looks at me with nothing but contempt. Wanker.
"Oi, mate, I need to talk to you," I say to him walking up to him.
He stands up. "What's this all about?" he says in a haughty fucking manner. Doesn't he know that I'm fucking royalty and he's just a fucking peasant?
I don't even waste words on this bastard. As soon as I'm half a foot away, I fucking punch him.
Right in the fucking face.
The guy goes down like a fat sack of potatoes.
"Get the fuck up," I say to him.
To his credit, he does. His fucking loss. He looks at me with hatred. "Do you know who the fuck I am, motherfucker?"
"Yeah," I say to him and use left hand this time to punch him in the stomach. He doubles over. "You're a fucking peasant cunt!"
This time I give him a sharp uppercut. He's got no chance and he lands on his back.
I walk up to him and look at him. He's not stupid enough to get up this time and get hit again.
Not a problem. I kick him in the side.
"That's for cheating on Alicia," I say.
He squirms and I kick him one more time. "That's for making her cry."
He's still, deciding that he's no match for me. This wasn't even a fight, really.
"I want you to fucking get on your knees and apologize, like the fucking bitch that you are. To her. Tomorrow," I tell him.
Then to ensure he got the message, I crouch down, lift his bloody body by the scruff of his shirt, and look at him.
Then I spit in his eye.
"Apologize to that woman, or I swear to God, I will fucking break you," I say as quietly and calmly as possible.
I throw him to the ground. He's crying. I don't fucking care.
Don't look at me like that, okay? I got angry. No one hurts my sister like that. I know, she's my stepsister. So what?
I get on my bike and ride back home.
25
Alicia
I don't know why I got so bothered by Ian downstairs, but I did, okay?
Was it okay of me to storm out of the living room like some love-sick little girl? Yes, it was, alright?
Why, you ask? Now that, I can't tell you. He was being so...nice? He wasn’t just being nice. He was being considerate. He was angry at what I was going through.
It doesn't make any sense. Ian's whole thing is that he hurts girls. He uses them. And then he loses them. How can he just sit there and listen to me and get angry?
That's not what he's supposed to do.
I didn't realize but I've stopped crying. I'm so in thought about why Ian was being like this. He's a Prince, after all. Maybe it's just something they teach. A way to empathize with your subjects.
But I'm not a subject of his. I'm Alicia Wright - and I can stand on my own two feet.
Right?
The phone starts to ring and I look at the caller ID.
"Ebert residence," it reads. I wonder why Ben is calling me from his land line to mine when he could have just sent me a text.
Is he calling to apologize? I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, he did basically admit to cheating on me for several years. But only after I caught him in my bed, having sex with my roommate.
I decide I'm curious and pick up the phone.
"Hello?" I ask into the phone, wondering what Ben has to say.
"Hello, Alicia?" I hear a voice ask. It's not Ben.
"Yes," I reply.
"Alicia, this is Mr. Ebert," the voice introduces itself. Ben's dad. I've never met him - Ben never thought it was a good time. In fact, he always wanted me out of the room whenever he was on the phone with his parents. Like he was trying to hide me. Other girls got to meet their boyfriend’s parents and vice versa, especially if they'd been dating for three years. But not me.
"Yes," I respond. I guess Ben must have talked about me, after all. My heart flutters just a little bit.
"Listen, Alicia, I don't know who you are. Ben told me that you were the person to call," Mr. Ebert continues and my heart, which had fluttered just a little bit falls back down to earth. Then gets trampled all over again.
"But my son has a broken nose, busted lip, black eye, and some very serious bruising, here," Mr. Ebert doesn't pause at all but launches into talking in his tough New York City accent. I remember Ben telling me his Dad got wealthy selling cars or something in the tri-state area. "Apparently, your brother came over and knocked the crap out of my boy not fifteen minutes ago, and that is not okay," Mr. Ebert is telling me.
I gasp. I didn't even know that Ian knew where Ben lived. What is going on?
"I don't know who your brother thinks he is or what is going on but the next time he tries to come onto my property and assault a member of my family, you tell him I'm going to be waiting for him," Mr. Ebert threatens me over the phone. "And you let him know it's not going to end well for his pretty face if he thinks he can just come over and pick on defenseless little boys."
I'm so angry at Ian right now. But a part of me bursts out laughing. Calling Ben a defenseless little boy is sort of hilarious.
"Are you laughing at me, young lady? Mr. Ebert asks me, his tone menacing.
"No," I reply, holding back more laughter. I can hear Ben in the background telling his Dad to get off the
phone. "No, I'm not laughing, sir," I say, trying to be very serious.
"If your brother knows what's good for him, he'll give my boy a wide berth," Mr. Ebert says. I nod into the phone but he's already hung up.
What the hell is going on? I ask myself what Ian could have done this time but realize as I hear his motorcycle pull up the past the gate and into the estate, that I can ask him myself.
Before leaving my room, I look at myself in the mirror and clean up my smudged mascara a little bit and put on some lip gloss. I make sure that you can't tell my eyes are puffy from holding back the tears. I don’t want Ian to see me like that when I get mad at him.
What? I just want to look presentable. Besides, if Ian thinks I've been crying this whole time, he'll find a way to distract me from what I'm really setting out to do. Which is get mad at him.
Ian comes into the foyer and I race to the stairs.
"Ian!" I yell and immediately he turns around.
Thank God he's wearing a shirt this time. It's a tight shirt, and I can still trace the contours of his muscles by just looking at him, but it's just not so...distracting.
What? Stop thinking that. He's not my brother.
He's my stepbrother.
"What do you need, love?" he asks me, completely calm in his demeanor.
"That was Mr. Ebert on the phone," I say, walking down the stairs. "He says you hit Ben. Is that true?"
Ian shrugs and walks over to the wet bar. "Nah," he says to me, turning his back. "I didn't hit him. I knocked the living shit out of the fucker."
"Ian!" I gasp walking over to him. Ian looks at me and jumps the counter to the bar. Now he's facing me from the other end of the counter. "You can't do that!"
"Why not, love?" he asks. "I'm fucking pissed off at him."
I don't know what to say. Why did Ian go and kick the crap out of Ben?
Ian doesn't wait for me to ask any more questions. He puts out two shot glasses and fills them with a vodka that was on the bar.
"Drink, love," he says pointing to the shot glass. He puts the bottle away and picks up both glasses and holds on out to me.
President Stepbrother...With Benefits: A Bad Boy Alpha Male Stepbrother Romance Page 21
