Hooked: A Stepbrother Romance

by Iris Parker

  Her curly hair fanning out around her flushed face.

  The way that the warm summer night did nothing to stop us from cuddling together in her bed, falling asleep together in exhausted bliss.

  I extended my arm, grazing her smooth skin with my fingers. She shifted slowly, mumbling something I couldn’t understand. It took all my control to refrain from reaching out to her, from pulling her waist towards me and snuggling her against my hips. I wanted to wake her with a sensual bite, to invade her mouth with my tongue once more, to caress her breasts and explore her secrets just as I had done a few hours ago.

  Even as my cock stirred beneath the sheets, I knew that it wasn’t going to happen. Tonight had been too good to be true, and I could feel it slipping away with the coming dawn. No matter how hard I tried, the odds were stacked against me.

  She was attracted to me, yes, and I’d known for some time that sex was at least in theory possible. But just having sex with Emilia was never going to be enough. It was like being on a lifeboat and slaking my thirst by drinking seawater, a temporary reprieve that only intensified the longing and devoured me from the inside out.

  I wanted more, needed more. I wanted to hold her against me, to hear her laugh, to make her laugh. To hug her in public, to come home to the same house and eat the same meals and sleep in the same bed. We had given in to physical temptation, but it didn’t mean she loved me. She never could; we would always be struggling against our past together.

  There was no one to blame but myself. Thirteen years ago, I’d been so full of self-hate that I had sabotaged anything that could’ve made me happy. I’d had feelings for her, even then, and so I’d pushed her in a way that could never fully heal.

  And so, like any dream, tonight needed to be a distant memory by morning.

  I just hoped that I hadn’t hurt her even more by allowing this to happen.

  I stood up slowly, making my way to the kitchen to retrieve my discarded clothes. The sight of Emilia’s shorts, still lying on the floor, filled me with intense arousal. As bittersweet as it felt now, burying myself inside her had been the best moment of my life.

  It was going to stay the best moment of my life, too. No question.

  Nothing could ever top that.

  “Simon?” her voice called from the distant bedroom, groggy and still half-asleep. It hit me like a ton of bricks that just a couple of hours ago, she had been mine. The woman I’d wanted for as long as I could remember. I’d had it all; her radiant smile, her lithe body, her sensual voice. Now that I had a taste, I knew that nothing else would ever compare.

  Just like I knew that I needed to stay away.

  I walked back to the bedroom softly, my heart aching with every step. As I entered, she flicked on her bedside lamp and squinted at me. Her eyes were watering in the sudden light. She rubbed her face with her wrist, looking unbelievably adorable, and my stomach roiled with longing.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, staring at the pants in my hands.

  “Back home.”

  “You mean the hotel?” The confusion and hint of fear in her voice made me feel sick.

  “I should go,” I explained, walking towards her automatically even as I meant to leave.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure this was a good idea,” I whispered, now standing next to the bed.

  The hurt on her face made me regret the words as soon as they came out. She paused for a while, her face buried in her bent knees as she sat up halfway, her small body propped against the fluffy pillows in her bed.

  “What part was a bad idea?” she asked finally. Before I could respond, she continued.

  “Really? What part, specifically? How hard your cock was? How I came harder than ever before? How we're irrationally attracted to each other? Because I still feel that attraction, Simon. It’s not going away. After this, it’s going to get much stronger,” she said, placing her palm on my leg. I could feel her fingers trying to curl around my thigh, her small hand not quite managing to wrap around even half of it.

  “None of that,” I answered softly. “And you didn’t do anything wrong, either. I did. Years ago. And I don’t think you’ll ever be able to forgive me. You deserve to be happier than I can make you.”

  Emilia’s fingernails dug into me a little during the long silence that followed, but whether it was in anger or just because she didn’t want to let me go, I couldn’t say. After what felt like an eternity in purgatory, she finally looked up and pulled away.

  “Put the pants down,” she said.

  I looked down at her, the yellow lamp light reflecting off her gorgeous green eyes. She looked different somehow, peaceful and determined.

  “I want you to put them down, and get back into bed. You won’t be doing me any kind of favor by leaving tonight. Understand?”

  Relief and elation flooded over me as I realized that I didn’t have to leave, the urge to laugh almost overwhelming. I didn’t have to suffer to protect her. I had been so worried she would see this as a mistake, but she hadn’t. Her words had highlighted how ridiculous I was being, and for that I was eternally grateful.

  I didn’t waste any time before hopping back into bed, reveling in the feeling of her warm body against mine. She stretched her arms around me, and I grabbed her like she was a lifeline.

  I crushed my mouth onto her inviting lips, teasing her tongue with mine. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze dreamy and unfocused.

  I wanted her, all of her.

  Raining kisses down across her chest, I ran my hand under the curve of her perky breasts. I cupped them in my palms, feeling their delicious weight while I caressed her nipples with my thumbs. I could feel them hardening beneath my touch as she moaned softly in my ear, and my own body responded in kind.

  Slowly, I let go of her breasts and made my way down her belly, reveling in the spicy scent of her body as I reached the soft patch of light brown curls just below her hips. She shivered under my mouth, and a soft cry coming from her lips as I reached between her legs and placed my hand over her most intimate part.

  She was wonderfully soft, wet and receptive. My cock ached with lust as I ran my mouth down lower still, pulling my hand away and placing my tongue against the warm bundle of nerves between her legs. The room spun around me as I tasted her for the first time, a natural rush that was only heightened by the pressure of her hands digging into my shoulders.

  I wanted all of her, and this was a good start.

  “Simon, please…” she gasped, her moans sending a jolt of excitement from my belly to my cock. She lifted herself up, grinding her mound into my face. Taking her hips with my hands, I pushed her gently back to the bed, holding her in place and completely at my mercy.

  “Please,” she whined in frustration, the dampness between her legs growing with each passing second. “Please.”

  I brushed her clit between my lips, licking and teasing, dragging the experience out until she was raving incomprehensibly. Her thighs and my chin grew slick as she thrashed in pleasure, coming undone in my arms as I focused on her pleasure.

  When neither of us could take it any longer, I grabbed another condom from my discarded pants, slipping it on and pushing inside of her with one amazing thrust. Her passage yielded without resistance, accepting me as if it were made for my cock alone.

  Immediately, she cried out beneath me, grabbing my shoulders and frantically urging me to go harder, deeper, faster.

  “Fuck,” I gasped, turned on beyond comprehension. My body clicked into autopilot, pushing in and sliding out. I’d always considered myself an experienced lover, but right at that moment, with Emilia, it felt like my first time all over again. She felt so incredibly good, so satisfying, that I couldn’t hold on for long. Already my body was tightening, my breath coming in short gasps.

  I buried my face in her neck, and it took me a second to realize that the deep, guttural growl reverberating through the bedroom was coming from my own throat. Emilia was clenching all around
my cock, taking me to the very edge as she came beneath me.

  She arched her back in full oblivion, her cries joining mine. The look of ecstasy on her face, the blissful sounds from her throat, the massaging spasms around my cock, it was too much for me to withstand. I spilled myself inside of her, my whole world turning upside down and imploding in a wave of relief and tension.

  I stayed inside of her for as long as I could, our hearts beating against each other’s chests in glorious unison. I could feel her soft folds all around me as I reached down, withdrawing just enough to remove the condom.

  She groaned in disapproval as I moved, but not for long. Taking her into my arms, I rolled her on top of me, her hair tickling my face as I basked in the sensation of her chest pressing into mine.

  She purred contentedly as I kissed her, sleepiness creeping back into her gorgeous green eyes. I moved her one last time, so we were each lying on our side facing the other, before I began to run my fingers along her back.

  “We could do that a million times, and you would still be the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning,” I whispered into her ear, feeling both satiated and starved.

  I could feel her heartbeat returning to normal, though I wasn’t sure if mine ever would. Her soft smile as she drifted back to sleep was all the reassurance I needed, though.

  Whatever came next, this was worth every moment.

  Another win, another night of meaningless sex with a stranger.

  Each one of them is different, but yet they’re all the same.

  Not her.

  When I woke up in Simon’s hotel room last week, it had been the best night of sleep I’d had in years.

  When I woke up in his arms this morning, naked and just a little sore from where he’d filled me, it was the best night I’d had in my life.

  His strong hands lavishing attention on my breasts, feeling his penis growing impossibly large beneath my touch—it had all been an eye opener about what sexual satisfaction really meant.

  The long, warm shower that followed in the morning had turned into the most playful foreplay I’d ever experienced, leading to another round in bed with him, leading then to another shower to rinse the sweat we’d worked up.

  Today was the fourth of July, but I knew the fireworks in the sky tonight wouldn’t hold a candle to the fireworks we’d had in bed last night.

  The fireworks we’d hopefully have again.

  Even so, none of it could compare to the feeling of elation that I’d felt when we walked into Johnnie’s together. Securing the most remote booth we could find, I plunged my eyes into his and reveled in Simon’s presence. The smug smile on his face that, for once, I was sharing.

  He was by far the most striking man I’d ever met. He was by far the most striking man I’d ever met. His jet-black, full mane of shiny hair was a stark contrast to his striking blue eyes. His body was so ripped that it made women stop and stare when he passed them on the street.

  Of course, it wasn’t his physical appearance that was making my heart race this morning. As he sat across from me, radiating contentment whenever he looked my way, he seemed like a completely changed man. No longer the teenage asshole who’d set out to destroy my reputation and life, he now possessed a confidence and emotional maturity that many people never achieved.

  From hard, bitter soil, Simon had grown a beautiful soul.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked as I studied the way his eyes crinkled from grinning so wide.

  “You,” I said.

  “What about me?”

  “You’ve changed,” I observed, making the understatement of the decade.

  “I had to,” he shrugged.

  “No, you didn’t. You could’ve stayed the same old bastard and made a fortune, enough to buy yourself an army of sycophants who would’ve thanked you for spitting in their oatmeal,” I teased, reveling in how much of a difference a single night could make. Suddenly, our past no longer felt taboo. We could talk about it, we could laugh about it.

  “Trust me, I did have to. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Besides, I made the fortune anyway,” he chuckled, grabbing my hand and stroking my wrist with his calloused fingers.

  His eyes lit up even more as Johnnie walked over to our booth. I scrambled to untangle my hands before he reached our table, knowing that the eagle-eyed restaurateur wouldn’t miss a beat of the interaction between Simon and I.

  “Happy Fourth! What can I do for you two this morning?” Johnnie called, smiling like the cat who’d got the cream as he looked us over and began taking our orders. He was humming a song to himself by the time he returned with our coffee, explaining that his French mother had always sung it to him when he was a kid.

  “A love song,” he said with a wink before darting off to make our food. Simon and I stifled a laugh, half mortified and half thrilled that we’d been caught so quickly.

  “We’ll have to be more careful at the center. We’d lose too much credibility if word got around,” I said between giggles, absent-mindedly playing with the napkin holder as I spoke.

  “What, ashamed of me already?” Simon asked, making my heart jump.

  “It’s not that,” I insisted quickly, my eyes darting back to his face only to find that he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Relax, it was a joke,” he said with a laugh. “Yes, we need to be more careful.”

  Johnnie came back with a tray full of delicious treats, much faster than we’d hoped or expected. Simon had sausage and egg, while I got one of the diner’s locally famous summer zucchini soups.

  Both dishes were adorned with little flags, and Johnnie seemed to be in quite the patriotic spirit as he went on and on about wishing us a happy quatre juillet in an accent that even I could tell was awful. Johnnie had always been quite proud of his heritage, despite being the prototypical American diner owner.

  After he left, I took a sip of my soup and moaned into my spoon with satisfaction.

  “I think he’s trying to impress me because I’m European,” Simon laughed, cutting part of the juicy breakfast sausage.

  “I’m not entirely sure that telling an Englishman that you’re French is the best way to impress him,” I shrugged.

  “Maybe he’s unaware of a few centuries worth of military history?” Simon offered.

  “I guess,” I answered, groaning with approval as the creamy soup hit my taste buds. It was phenomenal.

  “Stop it, Em,” Simon said suddenly.

  “Stop what?”

  “Moaning like that.”

  I quirked a confused eyebrow at him.

  “I’m starving too, but seriously, you’re killing me here. If you keep that up, I’m going to be able to lift the table.”

  “But you can already lift it,” I answered, taking another spoonful of soup.

  “I meant without using my hands. Seriously, just watching you talk is hard enough. Hearing you moan like that, I swear my pants are about to rip,” he explained, grabbing my chin in his fingers and wiping a fleck of zucchini off the corner of my lip.

  “Oh,” I whispered, suddenly a lot less interested in my breakfast.

  “C’est l’amour,” Johnnie cooed as he popped back up from nowhere, his baritone voice so off-tune he managed to perfectly hit the exact opposite of every note.

  My heart sank as the restaurateur grabbed a chair and pulled it up to our table, sitting on it backwards and crossing his arms along the backrest.

  “So, Simon, tell me more about England! I hear the Queen is getting more and more relaxed lately, any truth to that?” he asked, continuing before Simon had a chance to reply. “It’s only fair, really. I mean, we killed all our royals a thousand years ago. The Revolution and all. I guess that sooner or later every country ends up in more-or-less the same place, right?”

  I looked over at Simon, struggling not to laugh in my soup as he struggled to find the right answer to that question. Leaning back, I remembered the boyish look on his face when we came into the diner less
than half an hour ago. As Johnnie’s questions became even more ludicrous, I watched a bead of cold sweat appear on Simon’s forehead as he tried to manage polite replies to everything.

  Stifling a giggle, I realized that I felt good. Bubbly and energetic, immature and euphoric. Maybe it was the food, or maybe it was just because I’d gotten more than two hours of sleep.

  Maybe it was because Simon’s smell was still lingering on my skin, sending a little thrill every time I took a deep breath.

  Whatever it was, it felt amazing. Looking into Simon’s eyes as he struggled to explain why English judges still wore powdered wigs, a smile crept up my lips.

  Taking another sip of soup, I moaned loudly into my spoon.

  Her moans could have killed me.

  Her laughter, too.

  Not to mention the way she looks at me.

  I want her, all of her.

  I want her to be mine.

  “Hi Simon!” Jessa shouted as she whizzed past me, climbing down the hill with a tray of food in her arms. The watermelon was decorated with the same little paper American flags that Johnnie had used in our breakfast, a tradition that stretched back to at least my own childhood. Nostalgia seemed to permeate the air, and nothing seemed to say Fourth of July quite like this park, those decorations, and the fireworks that would follow later.

  “Hey Jessa,” I waved back, feeling a sense of community as I looked around West Field. It didn’t look much different today than it did when I was younger, coming here with my mother to eat, play, and have fun. It had never been the best neighborhood, but celebrations like these helped bring people together in a way that I had yet to truly experience again since becoming wealthy. Soon, everyone would be mingling and laughing, carefree if only for today.

  Of course, I’d never appreciated that at the time. I’d been a stupid and misguided kid back then, and my decisions had led to awful consequences. Then, a couple of years later, I managed to make things even worse.

  It really was high time to make amends.

  In the distance, I spotted Emilia, busying herself around a booth that had decidedly not been there when I was younger. As interesting as that was, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her smile, too, had not changed over the years, even though the rest of her had. Today, her long hair was tied into a long braid that I’d watched her put together this morning, hiding the evidence of what we’d been up to in bed all night. Her skin was still just a little flushed, decadently reminding me of the way she’d turned dark red when I had made her come with my mouth for the first time.