Stepbrother Romance 3 - Addicted: A New Adult Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Taylor, Tawny

  Well fuck him. This time I wouldn’t let him do that to me. This time we were going to stay and battle this out. Even though Kent could be an absolute asshole, I knew there was a better man in there, a giving, generous, selfless man who loved better than any man I’d met before. That was why I loved him. Not because of his dick.

  “Aren’t you going to leave now?” he asked, his voice cool, calm.

  “No. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” I crossed my arms over my breasts. “I’m staying right here until you throw me out.”

  He yanked on my arm, jerking me onto my back and crawled on top of me. “Then maybe we’ll go another round? Since you’re here, naked, in my bed, awake…”

  “You’re trying to push me away.” I snapped, glaring into his eyes as he rubbed his thick cock against my pussy. “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. What won’t work? This?” The head of his cock nudged my opening and a little pulse of heat bloomed in my center.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh. Good.” He reached down, fingering my clit.

  Ohmygod, he was good at that. Really, really good. He had a point. I hated to admit it, but he did. I loved the way he touched me. I loved the bad boy hunger I saw glittering in his eyes when we were alone. I loved the way he tasted, the way he filled me, the way our bodies moved together as we made love.

  But that wasn’t all. That was where he was wrong. And somehow he would see that. Eventually.

  The wetness he’d teased from me eased his entrance. His cock slid deep inside, the long, slow stroke making me quiver. Prickles of pleasure danced over my skin, making me feel hot and cold at the same time.

  “You’re better off hating me, Shayne. Hate fucking is a lot more fun,” he said, eyes shimmering with lust.

  I raked my fingernails down his broad chest, watching red stripes bloom on his smooth skin. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, see what I mean?” he said, his voice a growl. He bent his elbows and nipped my lower lip, making me yelp.

  Then I grabbed his face and pulled, unleashing all the emotions blazing through me in my kiss. Fury. Passion. Frustration. Anger. It all came tumbling out. And he responded by kissing and fucking with such feral abandon, my head was slamming against the headboard. But I didn’t care. We were telling each other, with our bodies, what we couldn’t with words. That we cared. That we were scared. That we were hurt and angry and determined.

  His touches were just as rough as his kisses and thrusts. He didn’t trail a fingertip across my skin; he raked his nails down my legs. He pinched my nipples and rolled them until they were deliciously tender. He flipped me over, onto my stomach, lifted me onto all fours and smacked my ass as he fucked me hard.

  And I slammed back into him, greedily taking everything he gave, including the cum when it spurted deep inside me. The heat and increased fullness touched off my orgasm and then I was gasping and quaking, wave upon wave of carnal pleasure thrashing over me.

  So that was hate fucking. I liked it. A lot. But not enough to stop loving him.

  I woke alone. It didn’t surprise me. Kent had to leave for work. But that still didn’t make it easier for me to accept. When I was little, my mother used to sing some old song all the time. The lyrics went something like, “I’ve grown accustomed to her face. She almost makes the day begin.” At the time, I didn’t know what that song meant. I kind of got the idea. But I didn’t really get it.

  Not until now. Not until Kent.

  Starting the day without seeing his face just didn’t work for me. And yes, that scared me. A whole hell of a lot. My heart was in his hands. He could pulverize it. I’d freely, willingly, given him that power.

  I rolled onto his side of the bed, buried my face in his pillow and inhaled. I could smell him there. It made my heart feel lighter. God, I was so crazy in love it was sickening.

  The doorbell rang and I jerked upright. Who would be ringing the bell on a weekday morning? Curious, I rummaged in his drawers for a t-shirt and pair of shorts and scampered down the stairs.

  A man in a white uniform smiled when I answered and handed me a cardboard box that emitted a mouth-watering smell then wished me a good day and loped down to the walk.

  What was this? Some kind of food delivery? Just as I was turning to head inside there my cellphone sang a song somewhere. Where? My car. Who? Was it Kent?

  Dumping the package on the front porch, I sprinted to my car, where I’d left my phone. I plunged my hand through the open window and grabbed it. Kent! It was Kent. Wheezing, I hit the answer button and huffed into the phone, “Hello?” Did I miss him? “Hello, Kent?”

  “Are you okay?” Kent asked.

  No, I didn’t miss him. “Yes. Fine. Just left the phone in my car and didn’t want to miss the call.”

  He chuckled. “Were you expecting a call from someone?”

  “No. But I was hoping for a call. I hooked up with this really hot guy last night. We had the most amazing hate sex ever…”

  “You did? With who? I’m going to have to kick his ass.”

  I couldn’t help giggling. I adored how protective Kent was. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

  He audibly exhaled. “Fine. But if he hurts you, he’s in for a world of pain.”

  “I’ll make sure to warn him the next time I see him. Which will hopefully be tonight?”

  “Tonight. Sure. Dinner. How about six?”

  I did a little happy dance. Could he have finally pushed aside his reservations? Was he ready to give this thing between us a chance? “I need to check my calendar.”

  “I don’t take no for an answer.”

  I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. I sighed, and, trying to sound completely and utterly put out, said, “If you insist. Then I guess it’s a date.”

  “Excellent. Now that we’ve settled that, we can discuss the reason for my call.”

  Confused, I asked, “Which is?”

  “You’ll be receiving a delivery within the next half hour.”

  I spun around and eyed the box on the porch. “Already here.”

  “Excellent. Did you open it yet?”

  “No. I didn’t have the chance. Should I? Whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

  “Yes, most definitely. It’s your breakfast. I haven’t been shopping in a while and wanted to make sure you had something decent to eat.”

  Really? Could this man be any more wonderful? “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I did. Now go. Enjoy your breakfast before it gets cold. I’ll see you at six.”

  Click.

  No goodbye. Just like this morning.

  It seemed that was the way he was.

  Kent Payne didn’t handle goodbyes well.

  Chapter 4

  By five fifty-five I was looking as good as a girl who’d left home in a mad rush with only her basic essentials could look. Which wasn’t saying much. I didn’t have any dresses with me. Didn’t have much makeup. Didn’t have any hair gadgets, either.

  Regardless, I was so excited about our date tonight I felt like I might jump out of my skin. But I was nervous too. After last night’s conversation, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Sure, our chat on the phone this morning had been friendly, flirty. Fun. But last night things had gotten a little intense. Was Kent still convinced this thing between us would be bad for me? If he did, I had to help him see things from my perspective. But I had to do it cautiously. I didn’t want to come off as pushy or desperate.

  Ohmygod. Five minutes to six. My heart fluttered.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror one last time and then hurried downstairs to greet him. I went to the kitchen and helped myself to a cold bottle of water from the fridge. I plopped down on a bench at the island and sipped. The numbers on the kitchen’s digital clock clicked over. Five fifty-six. I checked for messages on my cellphone. Nothing from Kent. Nothing from the electrician I’d called earlier, either. I was wa
iting for him to get back to me. He was booked all week but said he’d try to work me in sometime.

  Six o’clock came. Six o’clock went. Six ten. Six twenty. Six thirty. I checked my phone again. One message. From the electrician. He couldn’t make it until next week. Nothing from Kent. I relocated to the back deck, sitting at the edge of the pool and letting my legs dangle in the water.

  It was a typical summer day in Michigan. Muggy. Hot. The sky was painted a glorious cerulean blue, a few white fluffy, cotton candy clouds plodding along in slow motion. An almost imperceptible breeze stirred the tree leaves but did nothing to ease the heat. At regular intervals the cicadas sang their buzzing song. It was the epitome of a lazy day of summer. But my stomach was growling. And Kent was now almost a full hour late.

  Snippets of recent conversations echoed in my head. Simple is the last thing you get with me. My life is anything but simple. Was this what he meant? That he would be tied up at work all the time? That planning something as normal as dinner together would be a big problem?

  I stared at what was left of Mom and Dirk’s imploded carriage house. Now there was a couple who was happy. It had only taken my mother over two decades to meet a man who made her realize all men were not assholes. But now she was over-the-moon happy and in love. And they were romping around Alaska. Right now. Together. Snuggling in front of a fireplace. Hiking with their fingers tangled. Enjoying the beauty of a world I’d never seen.

  I wanted their life. I wanted their love and happiness.

  At seven, I couldn’t wait any longer. Grumbling under my breath, I dug in the cabinets, located a jar of sauce and a box of pasta in the very back. I filled a pot with water.

  Was he intentionally trying to be a jerk to scare me off? A phone call or text would have been nice.

  By the time my noodles were cooked, my temper was even hotter.

  A text. He couldn’t bother to send me a simple text? Or was this his way of making a point?

  That had to be it.

  I dumped the jar of sauce onto the strained noodles then slapped some onto a plate. Of course, Kent picked the perfect time to stroll in—just as I was sitting down to eat.

  The late, non-texting poop-head plopped his briefcase on the kitchen island and looked into the pot, sitting on the stove. “You made yourself something to eat. Smells great.”

  “Thanks,” I grumbled.

  “You’re upset.”

  No kidding.

  I didn’t roll my eyes. I deserved something for that. A pat on the back, at least. “Of course I’m upset. We had plans tonight. You didn’t call or text. That would have been the polite thing to do.”

  “I’m sorry. I was in meetings all day and couldn’t break free.” He pulled a plate out of the cabinet and helped himself to some spaghetti. “Smells delicious.”

  “Thanks,” I snipped.

  He sat next to me at the island. “I’m sorry about our plans. I was looking forward to something a lot nicer than this. Though I’m not complaining. You cooked.” He poked at the noodles with his fork, twirled it until a huge mass of spaghetti was wrapped around it and then stuffed it into his mouth. “Mmmm…” he said as he chewed, sauce globbed on his chin.

  He was trying to make me laugh. It wasn’t going to work. I was mad. Mad!

  After swallowing, he changed tactics, scooping some un-twirled noodles into his mouth and slurping the dangling ones. The sight of him in his expensive suit, slurping spaghetti like a two year old was slightly adorable. But I was still mad. I was not going to laugh.

  He took a third mouthful then leaned close, puckering his sauce-covered lips. “This meal is delicious. The cook deserves a great big kiss.”

  Swallowing a chuckle, I shoved him. “Get away from me.”

  He smacked his lips, making loud smoochy noises, and I rolled my eyes. “Come here, baby.” He reached for my shoulders but I knocked his hands away.

  It was not just a little difficult, keeping up the angry act. It was almost impossible. When this man wanted to be silly and charming and goofy, he could be. And I loved that about him, too. “This cook wants no kiss from you.”

  “Why not?” He widened his eyes, looking all innocent and clueless, blobs of red sauce clinging to his chin and mouth. “Am I not kiss-worthy?”

  “That, you are. But I’m upset. Can’t you see that? I’m angry you didn’t text me to tell me you would be late. I know you’re intentionally trying to scare me off. You think that if you treat me shitty enough, I’ll give up and go away. Is that what you want? Because I’m confused as hell. One second you’re swearing you want me forever, and the next you’re pulling crap like this, either making excuses why we shouldn’t be together or blowing me off without even a quick text and then acting like nothing’s happened.”

  Kent’s demeanor took a sudden, visible shift from playful and adorable to uber-serious. He dabbed off the sauce and set his napkin on the table. Then he sat there, looking at me, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it.

  Finally, he managed, “I’m sorry.”

  Accepting his apology I nodded, but I didn’t speak yet. I wanted him to say more, to acknowledge why he was acting so hot and cold. Did I have it wrong? Or was my assumption right?

  When it came to relationships, I was a little green. I hadn’t been in a serious relationship before. All my past boyfriends had been fairly casual. So this was all new to me. I didn’t even know, really, what this was. We weren’t actually dating. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. We’d slept together and we were step-siblings. What did that make us? Steps with benefits? Ick. Not in my book.

  And I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Kent thought about us either. Did he see any kind of future for us? Or was this just something he was enjoying now, while he waited for his divorce to finalize? Would he move on once he was legally free? Would he fall in love with some other woman and marry her and leave me behind?

  Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry anymore.

  It was time to finish what we’d started last night. We’d talked. But had we really settled anything? No. We needed to hash this out. Before things got any more complicated between us.

  I pushed my plate away, indicating I was done eating. “Kent, I’m so confused.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I said we wouldn’t have sex again. And then we did. And now you’re upset. And I feel like shit.” He shoved back from the island and raked his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean for that to happen last night. I mean…” He looked at me and visibly swallowed. “Shit, no matter what I say I’m going to look like a complete tool. You’re too good for me.” He huffed. “Much too good for an asshole like me.”

  So he was back to that again. I was all good, and he was all bad. And I didn’t deserve his shit.

  It was getting old. I wanted to smack him upside his head.

  “What do you want, Kent?”

  “I want you to be happy.” His answer came easily. He didn’t hesitate. Not a second.

  “I am happy,” I told him.

  “Except when I act like a fucking douche,” he corrected.

  True. Very true. “Yes, except when, yes, that.”

  “Which is pretty much whenever I’m around you.”

  I shook my head. “Not all the time.”

  “A lot of the time.” He jammed his fingers into his hair again. “I can’t keep my fucking hands off you. I keep trying.” Shaking his head, he grabbed his plate and dumped it in the sink. Then he turned to face me. “When I saw you sleeping in the car, it was like a kick in the gut. I know I should have left you there. It would have been the smart thing to do. But you looked so vulnerable. What if someone saw you there? Your car door wasn’t even locked. The windows were open. You could have been raped.”

  “Someone see me? In your driveway? In my car? How many bad guys do you suppose hike down your mile-long driveway to peer inside cars?”

  “You never know.”

  His sense of protectiveness was sweet. I c
ouldn’t deny it, though he was being a smidge paranoid in this case. The odds of a rapist taking a stroll down his driveway in search of his next victim were slim to none. But hey, he cared. I considered pointing out that he could have locked the door, but I decided not to. He was on a roll. He was talking openly, honestly. I didn’t want him to clam up.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I conceded. “I was just so tired, and it was so late. I didn’t have a place to stay. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping.”

  “So I learned.” My face warmed. A few other parts did too as memories of that wonderful, beautiful night played through my mind. Three times now I’d had sex. All of them were with Kent. And they’d all been wonderful, exciting, special, memorable and nothing short of spectacular. Was it no wonder I felt all warm and fuzzy whenever he came near?

  Particularly when he was being sweet or protective or heroic, like he did the night Mom and Dirk’s roof capsized on them and he climbed over a massive tree and ripped open their blocked door with his bare hands--in the middle of a wicked thunderstorm.

  Sometimes I felt like I was dealing with two people. The Kent who did truly selfless and brave things for others. And the Kent who blew me off, fucked every woman in sight, and tormented me until I broke down. I loved the first and hated the latter.

  He cleared his throat and folded his arms. “Anyway, the point is I shouldn’t have…touched you.”

  “So you’re backtracking once again.” I jumped from my stool, snatched up my plate of pasta and added it to his, in the sink. I stood nose-to-chest to him and glared into his eyes. “Is that what’s going on? You’re telling me you shouldn’t want me, don’t want to want me. Won’t do it again. Until the next time I happen to be conveniently within reach. I’m getting awfully tired of this.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m an asshole.”

  “Hello, it isn’t your fault,” I said, waving a hand in front of his nose. Was he really so blind? “You didn’t force yourself on me.”