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

by Victoria Cabot

  “I know, I know,” I said with a sigh. “That’s the max.”

  He looked up at me and smiled. “Right!”

  I rolled up my eyes. I was no longer tipsy but just tired, and somehow, this illicit situation wasn’t striking me as THAT bad. “Fine,” I said. “But can you hurry up? No need to like, you know, get me in the mood or anything.”

  “Ok,” he said. “But what about me? Don’t I need to get in the mood?”

  Seriously?

  I looked at him in askance. “Seriously?”

  He looked at me for a second, then shrugged. “You’re right – let’s go!”

  As if a starter pistol had gone off, he set to work unzipping my skinny jeans and trying to stick his giant hand in. I lifted my hips a little bit to allow him some better access so he could pull my jeans down a bit, and he yanked them off. I kicked off my heels and he brought them to my legs. I scissor kicked my legs till I had tossed them to the floor.

  Now Tristan really went to town. He moved my thong aside and before I knew it, he had two fingers rubbing my cunt lips with slow, gentle, strokes. I gasped as he stuck his middle finger inside of me, working me in circles and sending shivers up my spine. Soon, he was doing figure eight’s. Unlike a lot of guys, Tristan brought his mouth to mine and kept kissing me throughout this exploration.

  I was still really tipsy from the two beers and drinks prior, and truth be told, I was a little bit turned on from having Jon flirt with me and Tristan taking me.

  Watch yourself…

  Without telling Tristan anything, I opened my mouth and kissed back.

  I guess since you gotta do it, you might as well enjoy it too, right?

  I don’t know if it was my kissing back, or him interpreting it as me showing interest, but the moment I started kissing back, Tristan went crazy. It’s like someone had pushed a button moving him into high gear. All of a sudden, his hands were all over the place. He was pulling off my shirt. He was pulling off his shirt. He was unbuckling his pants. He was taking off my thong. He was taking off his boxers. He was untying his shoes.

  He kept kissing me all throughout – his tongue exploring my mouth.

  Where does this boy find all this energy?

  I think he must have gotten my clothes off in record time because before I knew it, he was fingering me again. I obliged him by spreading my legs for easier access.

  You want to come in front of him?

  I’ll admit, the thought crossed my mind as to whether I wanted to let him get me off, but I was tired from the long day, the food, and the booze. Plus, it actually started to feel pretty good. I could feel my insides start to feel warmer. I began to involuntarily start squirming on the sofa.

  My body needed to be touched. I was in that state. I needed to feel skin. I reached over and pulled Tristan onto the sofa. He willingly got on top of me, and began to line up his cock to the entrance of my sex.

  I was wet. I was so ready that I could tell my hips were thrusting up, trying to get his cock inside of me. Each time I thrust, I let out a moan of frustration. I could feel the head of his cock lined up near my outer folds, but I was having trouble getting it inside of me.

  I looked up at him with slitted eyes.

  “Tristan?” I asked, not in the mood for games. “Are you pulling back from me?”

  Tristan smiled.

  Asshole!

  I was in no mood for games. I brought my hands around from my sides to grab his ass.

  Oh mercy!

  I had curiously never wondered what it would be like to squeeze Tristan’s ass, but once I had my hands on them, I swear I must have gotten drunk all over again. His ass was nice and firm, not an ounce of sag in them. No fat at all on his frame. It was sculpted, if that was even possible and if I had to pick another word for it, I would use chiseled.

  Like Apollo, the Greek god, had chiseled an ass.

  Electricity went through my body as I felt his ass and gave it a squeeze. Instinctively, I pulled him into me. He was inside me, and I welcomed him with a lewd moan of pleasure. I rubbed my arms on his back, and my legs went up and down his thighs as I reveled in the touch of the skin.

  I needed his skin to rub me. To touch me. To be inside me. I needed to be touched. I needed to be filled.

  Tristan began thrusting into me. He was taking long, deep thrusts, in time with his breathing as he continued to kiss me. I couldn’t help myself and I moaned into his mouth wantonly. His tongue explored mine until my tongue fought back, wrestling his for control.

  I stretched out my legs and wrapped them around his torso as I arched my back up so that my body would meet his. I wanted my stomach to touch his glorious abs. The dude was cut and I wanted to run my body on his abs.

  He began thrusting harder into me and I gasped out in a seizure of ecstasy. But I wanted more.

  I wanted him to be deeper.

  Tristan had a nice, solid, ten-inch cock. But I needed more.

  You mean like a black dick?

  I needed to fill closer to him. I was writhing around on the sofa, trying to meld our bodies together.

  As if hearing my thoughts, Tristan did something that brought me back short.

  He paused for a second. I mewled in discontent, until I saw him grab a small pillow from the floor. It must have fallen when he was tearing off my clothes. He brought one muscular hand around me and slipped in under my butt. Then he proceeded to lift me up, pulling me towards him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and helped him as he slipped the pillow under me.

  I didn’t realize until he pulled me forward a bit until my face was looking at his marvelous sexy pecs but once he came back inside me…let’s just say…

  HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

  He was giving my clit just the right amount of pressure and I was going crazy. He began grinding his body against mine.

  OH MAN! OH MAN! OH MAN!

  I did the only thing I could do. I grabbed his ass with both my hands and helped him grind into me.

  This is it…

  I shut my eyes – or they shut themselves, I don’t remember but my toes curled and electric currents went up my body. He brought his chest down and I buried myself into it. He held still. He was deep inside me. So deep, satisfying the most primal of urges that prompt females to have sex.

  My entire body continued to convulse in orgasm. My walls quivered around his cock as it was inside me and I brought my legs around his, squeezing him tightly. I could hear him grunt in pleasure.

  My vision was blurry and my world was spinning, but I could understand at some point that he had brought himself lower so that our faces were on the same plane again, and he was kissing me.

  I didn’t refuse him, but accepted his kisses as best I could as the aftershocks in my body continued. My walls quivered involuntarily at times, squeezing his cock which was still inside me. I felt shivers, chills, and goosebumps as he began to kiss my right breast with his mouth.

  Eventually, he brought my knees up one at a time, supporting them with his elbows. As my legs were folded up, he began to thrust again. I knew this position and I knew that he wouldn’t last long. I was right.

  I lay there, near comatose from my orgasm as he worked into a frenzy. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.

  Girl, my orgasm just broke the Richter scale.

  He couldn’t get it any deeper, and I knew it was any second now. I tried to goad him on by reaching out for him, but my legs were high in the air and the most I could do was thrust my body. I began to give small thrusts when he started to come.

  Tristan’s hands went into action, trying to grab something and he caught a hold of my legs, trying to pull me in even deeper, trying to come inside me as deep as he could.

  I felt him inside me. I felt him squirt into me. A warmth went through me and I remember him gasping, then moaning, then slumping onto me. Eventually, he used his hands to get out of me.

  My head still swimming in pleasure, I fell asleep.

  I awoke the next morning. The
clock said it was 6:35 am. I was still naked and still on the sofa. But I was sleeping on a pillow and I did have a blanket over me.

  As groggy as I was, I could hear Tristan in the shower. He was getting ready for work.

  Does that boy ever sleep?

  But at this moment, all I cared was that I needed to sleep. I got up, wrapping the blanket around me and went to my room where I slipped under the covers and fell into a deep slumber until noon.

  The Tip

  I woke up the next morning hungover.

  Again?

  I didn’t want to do anything more than just crawl under the blankets and hide from the world. I was nauseous with embarrassment and confused out of my mind.

  What the fuck is happening to your life, Alicia?

  I used to have a loving family. My mom used to pick me up from middle school in a Toyota 4Runner. We used to go on family vacations.

  I lay there, thinking back to those days.

  But reality intruded. I had to piss like a racehorse.

  With a sign, I opened my shell created by my blanket and went to the bathroom.

  Thank the Lord that Tristan is at work today…

  I didn’t want to have to deal with him at the same time as I was dealing through my life. I freshened up a little bit – no use showering if I was going to be cleaning – and went to the fridge to get some lunch

  Halfway eating through leftovers, I had to stop. I put my food down, and before I knew what was going on, I was crying. I brought my hands to my face and felt the tears coming – unable or unwilling to stop them. It was like I had opened a dam, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

  Whoa, get ahold of yourself there, girl…

  But I couldn’t. Not after what had happened last night.

  Ain’t no thang. It was just a good solid fuck. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  It was becoming more than sex.

  No. Its. Not. Its just rent with benefits.

  At first I thought I could separate myself and make this a transaction-based exercise – some pussy for some roof. I could stay in control.

  I’m telling you, your still in control…

  But I was losing control! I could tell! I was losing the distance. I had gotten too close last night. Not just the fact that I had a massive orgasm. Not just the fact that I brought him close to me and kissed me. Not just the fact that it was the farthest thing from impersonal last night.

  You wanted him to fuck you?

  I had wanted Tristan yesterday. God forbid, I had wanted his hard, defined, chiseled abs. His devilishly pointed blue eyes. His unshaven days worth of stubble. His muscular arms and shoulders and back. His ten-inch cock. I had wanted him to take me. Once we got started, I had lost control.

  You didn’t want him. You wanted to get fucked…

  Maybe that was it. Maybe I just wanted the sex. It had been a while, come to think of it. The last time was when?

  When they were first inventing sex…

  That was it. I was desperate for some ass. I wanted to get fucked. To be touched, thrust into, fingered, and made to orgasm.

  I had to stop thinking about sex all the time!!

  It’s this fucking house…

  I had to find a way to get my mind off of this. I had to seek a different outlet. The most practical thing I could think of was to start my cleaning for the day.

  Ahem.

  By cleaning, that is, I meant “cleaning”. And by “cleaning” I meant snooping.

  To my own surprise, I had waited almost a full week before deciding to restart my snooping. I was surprised that I was able to live with someone I considered a pervert and a creep for that long. I thought to myself why I wasn’t worried to check up on him – that I was comfortable to trust that he wasn’t going to come stab me or strangle me and skin me alive in the middle of the night.

  But a leopard never changes its spots, so here I was, ready to violate his privacy by “cleaning” Tristan’s room.

  By focusing on these tasks, I was finally able to get some mental peace. I did some very quick work that would make it obvious I had been in his room – I changed the sheets, picked up the dirty laundry and put a load in the washing machine. I even brought in some fragrant candles. I did a quick organizing of the bathroom, and about an hour later, took stock of my work. It wasn’t bad. Obviously the next few days I would incrementally add to it, but from where it was before, to where it was now, Tristan should definitely appreciate the fact that he had gotten me as a roommate.

  He does. He gets to fuck you.

  Not letting myself dwell on Tristan fucking me, I got down to the real task at hand.

  I opened his drawers, and started to look through them.

  There was nothing hidden in the first two drawers. My brain had been expecting to find something out of a frat house. I was a little disappointed when I didn’t find a stash of drugs or porn. A part of me even considered that maybe I’d find a whole bunch of women’s underwear. Maybe they were from prior conquests? Hell, maybe he liked to put them on.

  I found socks instead.

  I found boxers in the other. Condoms and shorts in another. Shirts and t-shirts. Sweat pants and gym clothes.

  What the fuck?! He only has clothes in his drawer?!

  Not even a stray cigarette. The Pope probably had a more scandalous drawer of clothes than Tristan.

  Where else to look?

  My eyes scanned the room. There was a desk that he used for his personal office – I guess when he was too busy to walk the extra twenty feet to the home office in the third bedroom. But it was pretty much just a computer terminal on a desk. Nothing to search there.

  I walked over idly to the closet and opened the door.

  It was piled high with boxes and plastic bins. There was a safe as well as several briefcases which had combination locks.

  In front of me sat a giant box with permanent marker scrawl on it.

  I looked at it with widening eyes.

  It read: “Pictures…souvenirs…wedding pictures”

  Bingo.

  It was 4 pm and I still had plenty of time. My hands moved as if they had a mind of their own and I found myself opening the lid to the box and grabbing a large album, taking it with me as I got to the bed and sat down.

  You can’t sit on that bed where Tristan fucked you and look at pictures of his wife!

  Oh fuck. I jumped up and ran to my room, sitting down on my recliner and flipping to the first page of the album.

  Tristan’s wife was actually really pretty. I was pretty surprised. But why wouldn’t I be? The guy himself could attract just about anyone, a contestant for The Most Beautiful Person In The World contest. I was taller and more slender, her boobs were roughly the same size as mine, and we both had straight blonde hair. But she had a really nice smile and I looked at her and Tristan for a long time. They made a very cute couple.

  Maybe because he’s smiling.

  The smile definitely helped. I found myself looking at the pictures a bit harder. Where were they taken?

  The background looked pretty standard – I saw cars I recognized, even some stores, but I couldn’t place them anywhere in the city. I kept looking for clues as to where the wedding was when I saw something that brought me up short.

  A series of pictures had Tristan in a tuxedo, the entire royal bridal party posed on the steps to the entrance of a cathedral with a giant castle in the distance.

  That’s when I notice that in some pictures, cars were on the opposite side of the street from what I would be expecting here in New York City.

  Their wedding was in Europe. They went to Europe to get fucking married.

  What kind of storybook marriage did Tristan have with…I searched through the pictures until I found one that had been labeled ‘Tristan Carnahan and Nadia Moore – Forever In Love’.

  Tristan and Nadia had had the storybook marriage. Wed at a castle in Europe. Two gorgeous, beautiful people.

  So where did it all go wrong? Judging by th
e date on the pictures, these were taken eight years ago. What happened that brought such a darkness to Tristan’s life – with his wife no longer in the picture as he fucked me instead?

  I put the album down and walked towards Tristan’s room. There were literally stacks of airtight containers with pictures in them. The airtight nature kept the picture from being oxidized over time. The pictures were filled with happy faces of both Tristan and Nadia. I looked beautiful wherever I was – I found myself wanting to be her friend – as I saw them on yachts, clubs, restaurants, on hikes in snow-capped mountains and then, finally, in a room in their house.

  They were holding onto a piece of furniture. It was a baby bassinet. I looked down and saw that Nadia was very pregnant and showing.

  Tears came to my eyes as I flipped the pages and saw pictures of a baby girl. I looked just a few months old. I looked at the time stamps. Five years ago. The caption read: “Tristan, Nadia and Penny. The happiest family in the world.”

  There they were in Europe again, the three of them. Whatever city this was, I saw that they took a lot of pictures there. I could recognize some of the landmarks and monuments. They looked so inordinately happy.

  Tears were streaming down my face as I looked through the album.

  What happened to that life?

  I had no idea where that life had altered to what Tristan was existing in now. But I had no chance to ponder. My phone went off.

  I picked it up from where it sat on the bed.

  It was Tristan.

  Tristan: Are u home?

  WTF?

  Alicia: I am in the apartment.

  I wrote back. No way I was ready to call this home. I needed to figure out what this creep did with his wife and kids.

  But the practical side of me realized that I was sitting in my room with his wedding album. I quickly rushed to his room and put the album back in the closet, hoping he didn’t have any spycams that were watching me throughout the day.

  Oh fuck! What if that’s why he’s coming over?

  Shit. I hadn’t seen any. But even still, what if there was an organization system I had messed up when I put the album back?