Stepbrother Desires (Billionaire Contemporary Romance)

by James, Bianca

  STEPBROTHER DESIRES

  Bianca James

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 Bianca James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in full, without express written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Disclaimer

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters depicted are aged 18+ and all sexual acts depicted are consensual and occur between non blood relatives.

  About the Author

  From the time she opened her Mom’s laptop as a small child and wrote her first story, Bianca James knew she wanted to be a writer, although her Mom probably wouldn’t approve of her current stories.

  As an award winning freelancer, Bianca has made her mark in the world of magazine journalism over the past decade, during which time she has been a voracious reader of erotica and romance.

  Now, she has found her true calling – writing hot, uncompromising and highly entertaining erotic romance.

  With a penchant for sexual fantasies (yes, we all have them, even if we like to think that we don’t) Bianca’s stories are never predictable and always push the sexual boundaries to their limits, including some acts which many may regard as taboo. Never say never is a recurring theme in her stories as Bianca believes that exploring sexual boundaries can have a profound and exciting impact on other aspects of life.

  Bianca enjoys her new calling with a passion and hopes you will enjoy reading her stories as much as she does writing them.

  Sign up for her mailing list to be notified of special offers and new releases.

  Stepbrother Desires

  Chapter 1

  Anna

  Shit! It really shouldn’t be this hard. Should it? I thought, just before I landed square on my ass.

  I’d seen the bimbos on YouTube doing this stuff and they made it look so easy. What should have been a smooth, sexy dismount from the dance pole quickly turned into a total train wreck. I hit the deck hard and fast. Straight away I knew there was going to be some serious bruising the next day.

  After months of practice and countless lessons, I was still struggling with some of the basic pole dancing moves and spins I needed to execute before I could progress to the more advanced routines. But, things weren’t going to plan. Alright, that was the biggest understatement since Noah said ‘looks like rain’. I couldn’t even see the plan from where I was standing.

  What I could see, though, were the chances of remaining financially independent and being able to pay my college tuition as a Pole Dancer ebbing away by the minute. I couldn’t let that happen. There was no way I was going back home and asking for a handout. Not while he was still there and not while there was even a slim chance of making it on my own.

  It seemed like a great idea at the time. After all the kickboxing lessons, many months of serious weight training, regular Swing Dance classes and some intense yoga sessions, I thought I was athletic and flexible enough to pull off some decent moves on the pole. It looked like a pretty easy way to earn my living expenses and college tuition. The money sounded good and from what I could tell, you didn’t exactly need a doctorate in nuclear physics to get a job in a ‘Titty Bar’.

  OK, so now you’re judging me. I can tell. Sure, Pole Dancing isn’t exactly glamorous. Yeah, it has a sleazy reputation. But that reputation is more because of the dirty, drunken old men who hang out at the strip clubs than the girls who actually work there. Well, that’s how I see it, anyway.

  And wasn’t it only a few years ago that they tried to get Pole Dancing into the London Olympics. So, technically, it’s a sport, then, isn’t it?

  A lot of things had changed since I left home for college, trying to escape the aching need, the hollowness I felt at being in the same house as my stepbrother. One of the biggest changes, though, was how I looked. I barely recognized myself as I looked at my reflection in the huge mirrored wall that surrounded the pole stations in the studio. Even lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, I could see how obvious it was that I wasn’t the curvy, OK, chubby stepsister any more. That girl was so yesterday. Even my mom, who hadn’t seen me in almost a year, would barely recognize the lithe, toned, hourglass figured girl who stared straight back at me. All the hours at the gym, kickboxing classes and a hell of a lot of discipline in the kitchen had finally paid off in spades.

  Maybe I was ready to meet someone. Someone special. Someone I could truly be with, heart and soul. Someone I wasn’t forbidden to fall in love with.

  Laying there, trying to regain my composure I realized how far I’d come, how much I’d grown up, since I left home. A couple of years ago, I’d have been so embarrassed at making such as ass of myself that I probably would have cried like a girl and run to the bathroom. But that wasn’t the new me. Not now. I wasn’t a runner like I’d once been. I’d learned to stand my ground and tough it out. I was a better person for it, too. If only I’d been tougher back then. If only I had the strength not to have run away. Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to go to college in another city. Maybe I wouldn’t need to get a job in a Titty Bar to pay the bills. If only.

  “Hey, Anna! You OK down there? You haven’t pulled anything, have you?” Kandice’s voice broke through my reminiscence. “Back on the pole, girl. That steel ain’t gonna work itself, now.”

  Kandice was a great instructor, but she was all business and I was sure she pushed me a lot harder than the other girls in the class. Maybe she knew I was serious about this, unlike most of the others who were just there for a bit of fun and fitness. I’m sure some of them were only there so they could tell their friends and coworkers about their pole dancing classes to make their otherwise mundane lives seem less tragic and a lot more interesting than they really were.

  Chapter 2

  Tyler

  The building maintenance guy peeled the last of the backing layers from my name decal, now stuck permanently, or as permanent as anything gets around here, on the crystal clear glass wall of my corner office.

  T.J Reynolds III

  VP Organizational Planning

  Named after my great grandfather and founder of the Reynolds Oil & Gas, Tyler Jefferson Reynolds, I stared at the name a little too long as the maintenance guy shuffled awkwardly, in respectful silence, unsure whether to take his leave or not.

  “Have I done something wrong, sir?” he asked timidly.

  “Yes,” I said softly to myself. “Oh, no, sorry, everything’s fine. It’s perfect. Thanks,” I said aloud. “I’m not used to seeing my name all formal like that. I guess I’m not just plain old ‘Ty’ around here, am I? I’m not in college anymore.”

  Unsure how to respond to my rhetorical question, the maintenance guy, Al, according to the badge pinned to his sharply pressed cotton drill shirt, picked up his tool box and turned to leave. I suddenly felt different. Like things had already changed for me and were going to change a whole lot more now that I was becoming an integral part of the family business and people like Al were going to be treating me different to what I was used to. My fun in the sun college days were well and truly behind me, now. Al and a whole bunch of other employees were going to be counting on me to make decisions and keep them in a job.

  “Well, Son, how’s it feel to be a permanent fixture around here?” I felt my father’s hand clamp down on my shoulder as he approached from behind. We both stared at my name and title on the glass.

  “Surreal, Dad. That’s the only word for it.”

  “Now, don’t get too comfortable
. You’ve got a lot to prove and the board will be watching you. Closely. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I know, Dad. I’ve heard it all before.” I tried hard to remain respectful while we were in earshot of the staff, but it still rankled that he kept beating the same old drum over and over again, like I was a child and had to have everything repeated.

  “And that signage isn’t straight.” He shook his head as if to admonish me for accepting such shoddy work. “Get it done again. Call maintenance and put a rocket up their ass. That’s your first job.” He turned on his heels and was striding to his office before I could tell him that it was actually perfectly straight.

  It had always been like that with dad. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. Anything I thought was alright or that I enjoyed, well, he’d either tell me I could do better or belittle my interests or hobbies.

  And when it came to women, he was even more acid tongued. I sometimes thought it was because of him that my stepsister, who I nicknamed ‘Wimp’ left home the way she did, not even saying goodbye to him, or me when she moved out. Her mother, dad’s third wife, always sided with him. She knew which side her bread was buttered on, that’s for sure. That’s dad, though. He can be such a narcissistic bastard. An insensitive one at that. He’ll destroy a relationship between mother and daughter, stepfather and stepdaughter, stepbrother and stepsister without even noticing the fallout, least of all give a damn. My old man can be a real prick sometimes.

  I don’t know why, but thinking of Wimp creates a strange sense of longing in the pit of my stomach.

  What the hell is that about?

  I tried to shake it off and proceeded to unpack my box of personal crap to make my office feel more homely. The nagging feeling of emptiness lingered for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 3

  Anna

  Something was wrong. Like, seriously wrong. Excruciating pain. Every muscle aching. Every limb blistering with pain even before I moved a single muscle. I hoped someone got the license number of the bus that ran me over. At least I could sue someone’s ass off.

  Advil. Bathroom cabinet. Too far away. No, you can do it.

  Gritting my teeth, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and started to stand up. Bad idea. Every joint, every muscle fiber screamed in protest. The bathroom might as well have been on the next block. Walking the few steps to reach the Advil seemed like a gargantuan effort.

  Come on, stop being such a wimp. The sooner you pop some pills, the sooner you can start feeling human again. I tried to convince myself, but I’m suddenly reminded of my stepbrother. Again. I used to hate it when he called me that. He was always making fun of me and picking on me. I should have hated him for that. Instead, I …

  That’s when I noticed the bruising and thankfully, it distracted me from my thoughts. There had been a couple of small ones yesterday, but overnight those had grown larger and darker. And they’d multiplied. My arms and legs were covered in them. Big, ugly, discolored patches. Could this get any worse? Struggling to straighten up, I realized that, yes, it can get worse. I hobbled toward the bathroom, each step a new adventure in pain.

  Maybe, just maybe, I overdid it a little in class. Alright, dammit, a lot. I want to get this nailed. It’s so damn hard and I have to make this work. If I don’t, I’ll end up having to go back to … I couldn’t even finish the thought. I tried to direct my attention to how I came to be in so much pain in the first place.

  When I first joined the Pole Dance class, it started off pretty easy. Then it got real challenging mighty fast as the basic techniques and spins were put together to form complex routines, requiring the transitions that I quickly learned to dread and a great deal of coordination and strength. There were countless spills and a hell of a lot of bruises along the way.

  I’d done well learning the classic Fireman, Front Hook and Back Hook Spins, and I thought I looked pretty hot when I finally got the hang of the Martini Spin, if I do say so myself. After all, what could be hotter than a dance move named after a cocktail!

  It was around that time that I met Melissa. She approached me during a rest break.

  “Hi. I’m Melissa. I couldn’t help noticing how good you are at this. Have you done it before?”

  No! Not a talker. Go away. I’m not here to make friends or listen to your problems. At the time, there was no way I was in the mood to be meeting people and making friends.

  “No, never done it before. I’m Anna, by the way. You’re working the pole behind me, right?”

  “That’s me. I nearly walked out when I got here for the first class. I was so nervous. Seriously, I thought I was going to be sick. Then I saw you and you looked so confident and at ease. It kind of made me feel more relaxed, so I stayed. Glad I did, too. It’s hard work, but so much fun.” Melissa replied, looking awkwardly at the bottled water stacked on the table behind me.

  “Sorry. I’m in your way,” I said as I handed a bottle to my classmate. “I’ve been called many things in my time, but calming influence has never come up before.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been watching what you do. It really helps me follow along. I’m struggling with some of the moves, so I just follow your lead.”

  “That’s fine, just promise you won’t laugh when I try my Bunny Slide or Wide Squat and end up looking totally not sexy. I’m OK with the athletic side of it, but I’ve never thought of myself as the sexy, seductive type. I feel so awkward doing that stuff.” Wow, I can’t believe I actually opened up like that to a complete stranger.

  “Really? Are you serious? You looked awesome on the pole, but when you do the floorwork, you look like you really own it. Not trying to weird you out, but I thought you looked drop dead sexy.”

  “Well, thank —”

  “OK, ladies. Who’s ready to up the ante and try a Cross Knee Release?” shouted Kandice as she clapped her hands, signaling the end of the break.

  Chapter 4

  Tyler

  I pounded the heavy bag like a man possessed. My leather gloves making a satisfying sound as I landed a series of good, clean blows to the bag.

  “Use your combinations!” shouted Manny, my trainer. “Upper, hook, cross. Jab, upper, hook, cross. Cross, hook cross!’

  Sweat poured off me as I tried to focus on the three combinations, but my mind was elsewhere. I’d hope that a hard session at the gym and few rounds on the heavy bag with my trainer might help me forget the nagging feeling I’d been struggling with all day. So far, it wasn’t working.

  Team sports or tennis never floated my boat. And golf? I never really saw the point of it. Boxing was the only thing that ever felt ‘right’ for me. I’d always enjoyed the cardio aspect, the technique and skill involved, the footwork and the confidence boost I got from being able to handle myself in the ring. I’d never been in a street fight and didn’t want to get into one, either, but knowing I could handle myself and take out an opponent with a few well-timed and accurately delivered combinations made me feel good.

  All day long, I’d battled a gnawing feeling in my gut, an emptiness that welled inside me from when I first thought about my stepsister. I suddenly felt sick at the way I used to treat her. Ever since she and her mom moved in with us I’d felt threatened by her. That’s why I used to act out and tease her or make fun of her at every opportunity. It seemed harmless at the time, but now that she was gone, I was missing her.

  “Come on Ty. How many times I gotta tell you? Take some shots, move out of the way then keep attacking from the side. Work your way around. Use your combinations,” Manny coached, removing the chewed cigar stub from his mouth. “If you stay in the kill zone, you’re finished. That’s why they call it ...” Manny paused to make his point. “The-Kill-Zone,” he enunciated using his cold, soggy cigar to punctuate each word.

  “And keep your guard up. God help me, Tyler. You could pay a monkey to train you for all the good it does having me yell at you tonight.”

  As the round timer sounded and the final 3
minute round ended, I walked across the sweat spattered floor to retrieve my water bottle. “Sorry Manny. I do listen, you know I do. I’m just not with the program tonight.”

  “Yeah, I could tell something was up the minute you shaped up to the bag. New job gettin’ to ya?”

  “Hardly.” I shook my head, wishing it was that simple. “Nah, it’s nothing. I don’t even know what it is. I just started thinking about my sister today, that’s all.”

  “Sister? You never mentioned a sister. Thought you were the only jar on the shelf?”

  “She’s my stepsister. She had a falling out with my old man, or something like that, a while back and left home under a bit of a cloud. Haven’t seen or heard from her in a while. No idea why I started thinking about her today, though.”

  “Maybe you’re thinking about seeing her at your engagement party?” Manny offered.

  “Oh, man. Don’t even ...” I swallowed hard. My shoulders slumped at the mention of it. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to be engaged to someone you can barely stand to be in the same room with. She’s an annoying little trust fund brat.”

  “She’s hot!” Manny added, trying to lighten the mood.

  “There is that, I guess, but … seriously?”

  “Your old man won’t take no for an answer, hey? I thought that the whole ‘corporate merger through marriage’ thing didn’t happen in this day and age.”

  “You should try telling my old man that. He wants our family business in bed with Irvine Oil and he thinks that by getting me hitched and in bed with Princess Jessica, he’s as good as got the job done,” I explained.