My Stepbrother, His Highness: A Royal Stepbrother Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Victoria Cabot

  "That was... amazing," he said, his eyes almost sparkling with adoration.

  "Not really, mate…” I said, absent-mindedly, the feeling of Becca's body on my arms still lingering, hooking itself deep and refusing to go away.

  "What? It was, like... I don't know... You moved so fast!" Tommy kept going on and on, struggling to get the words out as he was too excited to do so.

  "Thanks. But I’m no hero, mate.”

  I stripped down to my boxers and lay down in the mattress, looking at the ceiling of the tiny room, my feet brushing against the wooden bar at the edge of the bed. My head was starting to hurt. I was too damn sober, and I needed a drink. Badly. But my body was too bruised and battered, and so sleep had taken priority over drinking.

  Still, lying there, I found sleep hard to come. Even though my body seemed like it had been run over by a tank, I still couldn't shut down. Maybe it was because of a general lack of women and drink but… Oh, who was I kidding? Those thoughts of Becca kept assailing me, crawling inside my head like the nasty little fuckers that they were and planting indecent images there.

  I mean, she was my stepsister. It probably wasn't right to picture her naked body over and over again, imagining the smoothness of her skin under my fingertips, her parted lips aching for my mouth... And knowing that she was somewhere in the house, alone in her own bed… Crap, I was going insane and if I didn't stop that train of thought soon I'd be sporting a hard on so massive I'd pass out from lack of blood.

  Too late. My 10-inch cock was already thinking of Becca and it had risen up, tenting the sheets like the fucking Eiffel Tower. I couldn’t help myself and I began to stroke it, thoughts of my naked stepsister’s eyes looking at me – her innocent yet sultry eyes. Before I knew it, I was gasping and shot out my fucking load. All over the fucking sheets.

  A fucking geyser of cum imagining someone’s eyes. That’s gotta be a new fucking low.

  I didn’t know how I’d explain having to do laundry tomorrow – the day after I got in. But tired and spent, my brain shut down. Sleep came and I drifted off to a world built on fountains of whisky and a multitude of perhaps too eager women. I was ready to stay in that dream for as long as necessary when I was pulled out from it by the sound of heavy machinery and deep voices.

  "What the fuck...?" I rolled out of bed and, barely able to open my eyes, stepped out to the balcony, the sun sucker-punching me right in the face. Below me, on the yard, men ran around carrying shovels and measurement instruments. A heavy hydraulic excavator rolled over the concrete, growling as it went, ready to bury its huge shovel and start digging.

  The goddamn pool. I had already forgotten about it.

  "We got here as soon as we could, Mr. Silas!" A man waved his yellow helmet at me, all smiles. Fuck, sometimes I wondered if I should measure my words more carefully. I probably shouldn't have given a hefty monetary incentive to the contractors so that they'd prioritize Becca's new pool over their other projects... But what was done was done, and I had promised it to the kids. Lack of sleep wouldn’t kill me anyway, even though there was a heavy pounding inside my head.

  As if to make matters worse, my cellphone started ringing, the Pearson name occupying the whole screen. Well, there was no running from it - it was time to face the real world. I picked up the cellphone and yawned into it.

  "Yeah?"

  "Good morning, Mr. Silas! I'll take it that you've had a good night?"

  "A good night, Pearson? I don't know about you, but spending the night sober doesn’t really make it good on my book."

  "That actually sounds excellent, sir!" Pearson chirped on, not giving two damns about my suffering. "I’m calling to inform you that I’ve sent someone over with new clothes. Casual attire and, of course, some clothes for you to wear to work."

  I surely was still sleeping, for it seemed I had heard the word work.

  "Work? What work?"

  "Oh, you'll start today working at Finnegan's. As your father ordered."

  I remembered my father saying something about a job, and Pearson lecturing me about Finnegan's, a bar that we owned through a holding company in the vicinity of Becca's house. Whatever he had said, though, I had registered it in my mind as the usual lecture about not torching the whole place down and keeping a low profile. Apparently he had slipped the word "job" somewhere in the middle of his speech. Shit.

  "Alright, alright... Like, a manager, right?" I figured a manager could still party it up and get close enough to the point of drowning in whisky.

  "No, sir. You'll be a helping hand."

  "Oh, come on. You gotta be kidding, Pearson."

  “Not at all, sir.”

  I sighed, already seeing how my father thought getting a common job was the perfect way for me to take a break from, well, being me, and develop some character, as he so often put it.

  At least he had the decency to put me to work in a bar.

  The next three weeks passed in a haze. Finnegan's was quite upscale and the place was always packed. Unfortunately, I spent most night in the storage room, piling up boxes and taking stock. I had a feeling that Bill, the manager, was keeping me out of sight - he probably didn’t want me going crazy and starting a riot inside his bar. That was a sensible thing to do, but even though I could empathize with the guy, that didn’t make me like him.

  He was a short balding man in his fifties with a paunch that stretched out his incomprehensibly extra slim shirts, and he was always barking orders at the bartenders and staff while he ambled from table to table sweet talking the customers. He got on my nerves pretty easily, but I had to hand it to him - the guy kept the place running like clockwork.

  What he didn’t know was that he could keep me out of sight… But he couldn’t keep me out of the booze. I had to spend a lot of hours on a room packed to the ceiling with endless cases of alcohol, so I always made sure I got my fill. I kept it under control, though, and so far, I had managed to avoid jumping over the counter and grabbing the first two hot blondes in sight.

  I didn’t know what my father would do if he saw I wasn’t learning my lesson (whatever it was) and I was in no mood to find out. Out of sight, out of mind.

  And, to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. I was busy during the afternoons and nights, and when I got home after closing time I was either too tired or too drunk to think about Becca. My sweet stepsister…

  Yeah, she was becoming a problem.

  The first few days I didn’t think too much of it and just attributed my wild imagination to a lack of sex. But, damn, every time I saw her around the house I had to stop and stare. Sure, I won’t lie - I was appreciating every curve of her body and my eyes always lingered a bit too much on her perfect ass… But there was something more too. I loved how simple she looked, how normal. She wasn’t a narcissistic Duchess, a pop-star or an actress. Sure, she could have the title of Princess, but she didn’t look like it or like any of the girls I used to take back to the palace (whenever I bothered enough to do that, I mean). She just looked perfect in her normalcy, more beautiful than all the other women put together…

  That scared me. It truly scared me that I was thinking like that. It just wasn’t me.

  My heart still beat faster every time I remembered how one time, as I was arriving home, smelling of whisky and smoke, I found her drinking water by the kitchen counter. She had been on her pajamas, disheveled hair and a sleepy expression. And I had just blurted it out, too drunk to care.

  “You’re really a beautiful one, love.”

  Her cheeks had become flushed and, after mumbling something, she just went back to her room. After that I tried to kill all the witticisms and just be polite-Silas whenever I met her around the house. I had to rein myself in or I’d end up crazy.

  We had some moments where I truly didn’t understand what the fuck I was supposed to do. I had a night off one night within a week of when I started work, and I was planning on taking my bike out and seeing what the town had to offer. I saw Becca come into the family r
oom. She was wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a tank top. It hugged her curves like a second skin, giving me a perfect view of that girl’s ass, My cock twitched – I knew that any woman would love to fuck the 10 inches I had dangling between my legs but at that moment, it started twitching for her. I was going crazy.

  Holy fucking Christ, I had to cool the fuck down. I sat down before Becca would notice that her stepbrother Prince was sporting a massive hard on. Unfortunately, the only place to sit down was the sofa in the living room. Where I could smell her. And stay crazy.

  She had the television on, and she looked at me, holding the remote.

  “Anything particular you want to watch?” she asked.

  I had looked at the remote before. Apparently you needed one remote to turn on the television, one remote for the cable, and one remote for the Netflix. Fuck me if I was going to sit there fiddling around three remotes to turn on a television. I just shook my head and continued to watch whatever was on, hoping it would distract me.

  It was some television show I thought was sports at first. It turned out to be what the Americans called news.

  Apparently some newsie would do a news story and report on it, like a good media man should. And then the anchor would invite two people and have them argue about it. After about five minutes of watching, I turned to Becca looking completely confused.

  “Where’s the fucking news?” I asked.

  My question hung in the air for a good minute. And then she smiled. I smiled back. Then we started laughing.

  And fucking laughing. Fuck me, it wasn't even that funny but I loved seeing her smile.

  A few days later she taught me how taught me how to do laundry. “You seem to change your sheets nightly,” she said with a smirk.

  “It's this house, love,” I said looking away. Fuck that. It was all her. And not getting laid.

  All that would change soon.

  Having a job helped keep me out of trouble and by extension on Becca’s good side. It was working too. I was working more hours than necessary and, since she wasn’t really a customer at Finnegan’s, I was seeing her less and less. Sure, it was hard to not think of her, but at least I was keeping the fire under control. Soon enough it would flame out.

  I was in the middle of my shift, already with a buzz going on, when the manager decided to pull me out from the storage room.

  “Do you know how to serve drinks?” He growled at me.

  I shrugged. I knew how to pour them and drink them. Not really a mystery to it, the way I saw it, so I just nodded.

  “Alright, you’re needed at the counter, our hands are full. Keep it low-key.”

  “Sure thing,” I told him, taking a long deep gulp from a bottle of scotch the second he turned his back on me. I whistled to myself as I went up the stairs, already imagining which girl would be the first to look at me with fuck-me eyes. What better way to bury all those thoughts of Becca than to go on a bender and fuck the hottest woman in the room?

  But then, the moment I propped my elbows up on the counter, I saw Becca waving at me from the middle of the crowd.

  Oh, fuck.

  6

  Becca

  Ok so maybe Prince Asshole wasn't being so much of an asshole the last couple of days, but I still didn't know if I wanted to go out and spend an evening with him.

  "Becca," my friend Muriel pleaded on the other end of the line. "He's an honest to God prince! And have you seen the pictures of him on the beach?"

  I sighed. Muriel hadn't made it to St. Penares on Spring Break with me, but had instead contented herself by reading up about him on every single tabloid website that she could.

  "I know, but my stepdad wants him to not be such a princely asshole when he's here," I said. "That's why he's working at Finnegan's."

  "Have you seen his chest?" Muriel asked, not even paying attention to what I was saying. "Or what about his abs? What about that package that he's got? Did you ever see it in the shower?"

  Right. Because I'm going to go spy on Prince Hung in the shower like some besotted little girl. As if I would stoop that low to catch a glimpse of my stepbrother. Can you imagine the field day that the tabloids would have? They may as well add a new desk and a few reporters just to cover me, the Ho Princess.

  "No, I have not spied on my stepbrother, thank you very much," I shot back angrily towards Muriel. Then with a sigh as I realized that Muriel didn't deserve to be at the receiving end of my unrequited attraction to my well-muscled and probably well hung stepbrother, I continued. "Listen, if you want, we can definitely go and hang out at Finnegan's and get some drinks and catch up. We can invite Lizzie and Beth along too. If Silas is there, we'll say hi."

  Muriel literally squealed at the other end of the line. "I can't believe you call him Silas, by name!" she cried out. "Okay, I'll be at your house around 6 and you can tell me all about him and we can go from there!"

  I sighed as I hung up the phone. There was not going to be any painting done today, but curiously, I didn't mind as much. I even decided to dress up just a little bit. Most likely Muriel would want me to play her wing-woman, and all of my friends would again just use me to get a chance to parade themselves in front of Silas. I didn't realize why that thought got me a little angry. Or was it jealous?

  Was I overthinking this? I couldn't be attracted to my stepbrother. Even if he had saved my life, and was more beautiful than any man had a right to be. I had to banish it from my head.

  And I really did try to banish the thought as I did my nails and spent some time on my hair that evening. I even told myself that as long as I was going out, I might as well try and look nice as I selected the black skirt and top that I was going to wear.

  Muriel came over and we had a couple glasses of wine as I showed her where they were building the pool and where Silas was staying.

  "You have to introduce me to him!" she said, holding on to me. "Make sure he knows that I'm single."

  I sighed. "Muriel, have you heard of my stepbrother's reputation?" I asked. "I don't think he'll care if you're single or not, if he wants you, he really doesn't let anything stop him."

  "Didn't you tell me he saved your life?" she asked as we called an Uber. "Did you kiss him afterwards?"

  "Excuse me?!" I asked, shocked because she had read my mind. I thought back to that moment, laying in his arms, and how more than anything else I wanted to wrap my arms around him, and pull him to the ground. How I wanted to forget about Tommy and all the little kids and lay on the grass and feel Silas' body on top of mine. Feel that thick, fat cock of his between my legs.

  "You know?" Muriel asked. "To thank him for, well, saving your life."

  Muriel saw the look in my eyes, and interpreted my look of desire as one of being grossed out. "It's not like he's related to you by blood or anything, Becca!" she said, blowing a sigh towards me. "And if he's going to be attracted to anyone, it's going to be towards you. You're the most beautiful out of the four of us going tonight."

  I waved away the comment as nothing more than a friend trying to make me feel better. Lizzie and Beth were at the bar and they were going to say the same thing probably. Regardless of whether I believed them or not, I wasn't going to go home with any guy. Sure, they came and talked to me all the time, but I was looking for love. Most guys were looking for a night. I didn't want to have to trade my body for love - it wasn't supposed to work like that.

  When we got to the bar, sure enough Lizzie and Beth were outside. Lizzie was smoking a cigarette and she waved over to us. We were ladies out on the prowl as we walked in.

  And as soon as we got inside, we realized that we were probably the prey, and not the predators as every set of male eyes turned towards the four of us.

  Head up, breasts out, back straight, we found our way to the bar. I did my best to look for Silas, but couldn't find him.

  "How's this?" Lizzie asked as we got to a table.

  But where's Silas?!

  I couldn't see him, but I didn't want my frie
nds to realize that I was looking for him so I looked instead at Muriel.

  "We can't see Becca's stepbrother," she said aloud as I breathed a sigh of relief and all the girls agreed that it was a pretty strong consideration.

  I craned my neck and saw Silas in the other end of the bar.

  How could you have missed him?!

  Silas had probably seen us, considering he was at least a head taller than everyone else in the bar. I gave him a weak wave as we walked up to the bar, closer to the center of the room and wedged in. He came up to us as Muriel and I stood at the bar counter.

  "Hey, love, fancy seeing you in a place like this," he said, flashing me a roguish smile. Had he not been my stepbrother, my panties would have most likely been soaked and I would have given up my V-card right then and there. But he was my stepbrother, so that just meant my panties were soaked.

  "Hey, Silas," I said and paused, looking into his eyes. His eyes were gazing at me and for a moment I let myself get lost in them, the voices of the people in the bar receding to the point where I could no longer hear them. I forgot where I was as I imagined falling from the balcony and his strong hands catching me, wearing Dad's shirt with a tattoo poking out. I wondered what so many other girls must have thought to themselves when falling for Prince Party.

  No, Becca! You're not falling for your stepbrother! This cannot be happening!

  I jerked out of my reverie. "Silas, this is my friend Muriel," I said gesturing towards her before turning to the other girls behind me. "And this is Lizzie and Beth."

  "So pleased to meet you fine ladies," Silas said with a grin. The smile on Muriel's face was priceless. If someone had come over and told her that all the problems in the world were solved, she wouldn't be happier than she was at that moment. It didn't help when Silas took her hand as it hung limply at the bar, picked it up, and kissed it. Muriel looked like she was about to faint. "I know just the thing for four perfect ladies such as yourselves," he said and stepped away.