by Nicole Snow
“Don't you dare call me that!” Claire purses her lips and wags a finger. “Jesus. Are you always so crude?”
I turn around and shrug, crossing the room for the Gatorade I left sitting by the window. “Maybe, if you're a fucking prude all the time. Shit, I was hoping you'd lighten up and come alive outside the club. Guess you carry that stick up your ass wherever you go, huh?”
Her eyeball twitches. The girl looks like she's gonna explode.
“You're...you're...” It's cute. She's really at a loss for words.
Go ahead and say it. Yeah, I'm a rat bastard, and I'm easily entertained too. I'm pushing her to her fucking limits and loving every second.
I stand behind the sofa, hiding the savage wood I've got popping in my shorts. It wants inside her like a battering ram. My dick's dumb – it can't comprehend there's a major taboo blocking us from getting down and dirty. Or maybe I'm the idiot for just now seeing a few more fireworks when I think about holding her down and slamming my cock as deep as it'll go.
Step-sis or not, there's no damned way I'm letting her see how much she turns me on. This attraction's just a game as long as she's in this house, and I'm the one in control.
“Well, spit it out. I'm what, babe? The biggest swinging dick who ever crashed into your life?”
Fuck it. I wanna set her off. I step past the couch sporting my massive boner, but she's too pissed to look below the waist.
“I was going to say the biggest piece of shit I've ever met.” The words come out like she's foaming at the mouth.
“Well, we're in the cesspool together now. Better get used to it,” I tell her. I've had my fun, and now it's time to diffuse the situation before she bolts the fuck outta here and never comes back. “Tell you what, Claire, you forget about the last two brushes we've had and I'll do the same overnight. I'll give Dad the cozy little family breakfast he wants tomorrow morning. You'll settle in and do the same.”
“I'm not listening to your suggestions,” she snaps. “I'll do whatever I want.”
I shrug long and hard. Not just to brush her the fuck off, but because it feels damned good after a heavy workout.
“Your funeral. I'm just trying to make the most of a shitty situation, and I'm not hearing any good ideas from you.”
“Shitty situation!?” She screams, balling her little fists at her sides, shaking them like rattlers. “Stay the hell away from me. I don't care what's going on between our parents, Ty. Let me make this loud and clear, right now – I'll never be family to you. I don't even want to your friend. We've spent all of half an hour together, and you're the last guy I ever want to deal with.”
“Cool.” She blinks in surprise as I take a long pull from the blue juice in my bottle. “No, really. You're bitchy. Direct. Honest. I like that. I'm not much for bullshit. I threw my cards on the table, and so did you. Now that we've got that shit outta the way, we can figure out how we're gonna live under the same roof without driving each other absolutely fucking loco.”
“Argh!” She punches the air one time with both her hands and turns.
She's had it with my shit, and I'm not real inclined to deal with her either. Seeing her flip her back and give me a nice view of that hot little ass as she stomps away feels a helluva lot better than more talk anyway.
I follow her, keeping my distance, watching as she stops by the main entrance and freezes. I wanna bust another gut, laugh in her perfect face, but I don't. I stand there and wait, feeling the sweat drying on my body.
With a heavy sigh, she spins, knowing I'm there. “Are you going to point the way to my room, or do I have to figure it out myself?”
I stick my thumb out. “Down one floor. You'll see a big door for the laundry room. That's where you wanna turn, and then go all the way around the corner to the next hall. You've got the one with the purple walls and the beach view, right next to mine.”
“Huh? We're neighbors? In this huge of a house?” She croaks, and I half expect to see her wither right in front of me. “Jesus Christ.”
Surprisingly, she takes it in stride, and I watch her sashay angrily down the steps. She pulls open the door to the lower floor and her footsteps are softer, fading 'til it's hard to believe she was really right in front of me at all.
I don't follow her down there to my room because I've got to shower and wrap up some other shit.
It's a little too warm in the house. I need to find Joan to make sure the temperature controls are set just right. This place is so fucking big it always takes an adjustment or two when the seasons are shifting.
For the first time this year, I'm actually looking forward to summer. Having Claire behind my wall's gonna make it a lot more interesting.
The next day, I'm the first one in the dining room. Don't have a damned clue what time our parents got home.
Shit, parents. Plural.
It's been so fucking long since I've thought about that word. It's alien to everything I know. And whatever the hell happens, the prissy Congresswoman Dad married for reasons I'll never understand will never be my ma.
She died skiing on the slopes outside Olympia before I barely knew her. There's never been anybody but Dad, busy CEO and father-of-the-year. Or at least that's the way he presents himself to the smiling reporters.
The real Gary Sterner raised me. I respect him the way a peasant pays respect to a hard ass tyrant.
Whatever. It's his right, I guess, and it's not his new lady's fault that she saw something in my old man. I swear I'm not gonna give her too much shit as I wash up and head down to the dining room.
I've got Claire for taking the brunt, after all. And you'd better believe I want to give her a whole lot more than total crap. I want to give her everything I got, hard and deep and raw. I want to fuck her breathless, fuck her 'til she's biting my shoulder, slam into her tight wet cunt 'til my dick's so numb I can't even feel it.
I stop and lean on the staircase's banister for a moment. Gotta collect myself. This thinking's dangerous, and I know it.
Wish I could figure out what the hell it is about this chick that keeps lighting me on fire. Every time we're in the same room, it's like there's a storm building underneath my skin, thunderheads so fierce and primal I'd be scared if it didn't make me tingle so damned good.
Love at first sight? Fuck no.
I don't believe in that shit. Lust at first sight, on the other hand, just might have some serious truth behind it.
My lungs pulse relief when I get downstairs and see she's not there yet. It's just Dad, sitting on his throne at the head of the table like he always does, and a dark haired lady at his side I can only assume is Amanda Frost.
No, Amanda Sterner. My new step-mom. Shit.
“Tyler!” She stands up when I come in like I'm the damned President or something. I wonder if it's the same way she bolted up at the State of the Union speeches back in DC. “We've been waiting for you kids. It's so good to finally meet you!”
She puts her hand out. Dad's watching me like an eagle about to swoop in on its kill.
I skip the handshake and give her a hug. She clings to me tight, pleasantly surprised by the gesture. I hope like hell my father's just as pleased – maybe he'll lay the fuck off and cut me some slack. It's gonna be hard as hell behaving myself with Little Miss Perfect due any time.
“Pleasure,” I say. “How was Denali?”
“Ty, why don't you sit down and grab a plate?” Dad cuts in, before she can answer my question. “We don't need to stand around gabbing like rednecks when we've got this wonderful spread. Have you seen Claire?”
“I met her yesterday,” I tell him, dropping into my seat. “She was tired. Seems like meeting you was a lot for her to take in.”
His lips twitch. I smile, wondering who the fuck's really bottling shit up the most and practicing their best behavior. Not just me, apparently.
“Oh, I should've gone down myself to check on her,” Amanda says. “Maybe I should anyway, just to make sure...”
She
starts to get up, but Dad lays a protective hand over hers. “Nonsense, Mandy. I'll send Joan to give her a wakeup call. I don't blame the poor girl for sleeping in. She's been under a lot of pressure.”
Dad's about to tap the button for the intercom on the wall behind him to call our housekeeper, when Claire comes trotting in. She looks neater today. She's wearing some fresh shit her mom must've picked out and stashed in her room.
It's a nice white summer dress. I'll be fucked if it doesn't make her tits look like heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream. My dick's been reasonably well behaved this morning 'til now.
I'm fucked the minute I take a good long look. It instantly pops up and starts straining in my pants, giving me the mad desire to carry her outta the dining room, find a quiet spot to throw her on the floor, and bury my face between those perfect fucking globes while I piston between her legs.
“Claire!” Amanda jumps up again, beaming. “I'm so glad everybody's finally in the same place. Sit, sit. The food's nice and hot.”
Nothing like a hot breakfast to smooth things over. I stack my plate high with pancakes, sausage, and extra scrambled eggs, watching Claire sitting across from me. She gingerly picks a few pieces of cantaloupe and slaps them onto her plate before she finally meets my eyes.
Brave girl. Sexy girl. Woman I can't resist.
“You always eat like a bird, or is it just the summer heat?” I stuff a bite into my mouth and point my fork at her.
“I'm still getting over my stomach trouble yesterday. Just having something light.”
“Ty.” Dad's evil eye twitches.
“He's right, honey,” Amanda cuts in. “You really should have a little protein. I imagine you know a thing or two about eating healthy, Tyler.”
“Ty. We don't do that Tyler shit around here.” I tell her, soon as she looks at me. “Yeah, I try to keep it lean and healthy when I'm training. Other days, a guy's gotta eat. It's the best season for it, after all. Love my protein.”
“Training?” Claire speaks her first word of the day to me, cautious and questioning. “What do you play?”
“I'm into this underground MMA shit. Nothing like getting up close and personal with some psycho fighter to test your strength. It's good for this body and great for my charity. My club hosts matches sometimes, with most of the proceeds going to a good causes.”
“Good causes,” Dad growls, stabbing at his food. “I think a better cause would be focusing on expanding your business, son. Do you realize how much more you'd be able to raise for folks in need if you made Club Zing a franchise?”
We lock eyes. It's the same goddamned shit we've been through before. On the surface, Dad wants me to make something of myself, become my own self-made millionaire so I'm not forever in his shadow.
But I know at the root it's the same bullshit. He wanted the perfect son. He thought he could raise one part-time, fill the gap left by ma's death with endless maids and tutors.
Obviously, it didn't fucking work.
He got me instead.
Drinker. Playboy. Fighter.
Not his little prince, hanging on his every word and jonesing at the chance to take over his multi-billion dollar empire.
I don't hide what I am. I get down and dirty in the ring when I'm not fucking some slut's brains out in the nearest room. Got no apologies about it neither – I've busted a few teeth and blooded noses in my time. I've left bruises on my opponents so hard they'll be feeling them for weeks. And I've taken my share of pain too.
Yeah, it's fucked up, but I'm not gonna stop. The bastard across the table can't make me with his guilt trip and fatherly glare, and neither will these two freaks joining the family. No, make that one tight wound freak and her very fuckable daughter.
“I know I'd raise a lot, and probably turn into a flabby old fucker too. Not interested, Dad. I'm planning to live a good long life and stay fit. Work hard, play hard. Don't tell me you wanna have this argument again?”
I watch his fingers writhe as he grabs his coffee and brings it to his lips. If we were alone, the cup would be half-depleted by now, losing half its shit on the table when he slams it down like a stone. I'd be grabbing my plate and running off to my room, leaving his sorry ass screaming after me, pouring out all the impotent rage I set off in his skull.
“I don't want any arguments today, Ty,” he says, stuffing his emotions. “I wouldn't dream of ruining our first family breakfast together. We'll just have to agree to disagree.”
Amanda plasters a big grin on her face. Yeah, she's a tough old bird, but she's got some of her girl's looks too. She must've been quite a number back when she was Claire's age.
“So, how about the Denali wedding? You got any pictures, or was it all just done on the fly?” I'm really pushing my old man's self-control.
He shoots us the biggest, fakest smile I've ever seen. “Only a few. You'll all see them later. Truth be told, we couldn't contain ourselves. There wasn't much time for a proper photographer. When Mandy said yes, it was right off to the park. We had to get it done.”
“And it was perfect.” Mandy slides her hand into my dad's.
Claire looks at me, an eyebrow raised, while they kiss. Little Miss Perfect and me are on the same side here – grossed out and seriously suspicious.
I can't figure out what the fuck's going on. Nothing about the insta-wedding computes. I want to believe the Congress queen's tapped some unseen, softer side of my dad that's been dead since I was a kid, but I'm not gonna fall for it yet.
“So, Amanda, tell us what it's like being in the belly of the beast,” I say, changing the subject. “Is Congress really the clusterfuck we see all the time on TV?”
She blinks. Claire stifles a laugh. Dad looks at me like I've just moved up on his shit list.
“Ty, don't be rude.”
“What? Don't say you're gonna blame me for taking a sudden interest in politics.” I look around the table with the same bullshit look that used to drive my teachers crazy in high school.
Amanda shakes her head vigorously – another thing she's got in common with daughter dearest. “Trust me, I get it all the time. It's inevitable when you've served three long terms and survived the campaign trail. If I didn't have a thick skin by now, I'd be nothing but bones.”
Her eyes flash bright and she flicks her hair back. “Honestly, Ty, the game we're playing isn't so different. I'm sure you understand after growing up with a powerful businessman for a father. Heck, you're managing a club yourself. You understand compromise, work, and good old fashioned 'getting things done.'”
I snort. “Wasn't that one of your campaign slogans?”
“Very good, young man. Looks like you're as smart and attentive as your father.” She watches me shrug.
The weird compliment rolls off my back. Fuck, how hard is it to watch the news? It's not like there aren't a billion bullshit ads every two years while assholes are out politicking.
“You're on your way like my Claire. I'm so glad neither of the kids in this family are drunk on the youthful idealism that trips up so many young people.”
“Mom...” Claire waits 'til she's got her mother's attention. “You're being a little cynical, don't you think?”
“I think she's a realist. That's fine and fucking dandy by me.”
Little Miss Perfect flips her face toward me and gives me a glare that says I didn't ask you, asshole. I don't even look at Dad because I know he's on his last warning stare right now.
“Come on. Don't let my language shock you, sis,” I tease. “Surely, your ma's heard some serious shit talk on the campaign trail and up on the Hill. How many reps does New York send to Congress? Those fuckers alone talk like animals.”
“God damn it, Ty!” Dad's fist hits the table, and everybody jumps. “One morning. That's all I asked for.”
He wipes his brow and turns to his new wife. “I'm very sorry, Mandy. I warned you about my son. My biggest regret is never being able to get his potty-mouth under control. I'm sure the dirt goes str
aight to his head too. It's a shame I neglected to shove some soap in his mouth when he was little.”
Amanda sniffs and smiles politely, like she's at a loss for words. Dad lingers a moment longer, then rips himself up off his seat, and goes stomping toward the stairs. He learned a long time ago that sending me to my room doesn't do shit – and it's not even an option since I hit my twenties.
“I'm afraid Claire isn't the only one who's been under some stress lately. This marriage is such a huge shift for everyone. I'd better go check on him.” Amanda's chair scrapes the floor, and she stands up on her heels.
Well, at least she's not looking at me like I just took a dump on the table. Neither is Claire, surprisingly. The chick looks totally stunned, almost sympathetic.
I should be happy someone else finally sees my father for the jackass he is, but it doesn't matter. Her tight, twitchy little lips wrapped around my cock are all I can see when she looks at me like that.
“Hey, I'm so sorry to cut this short. It's wonderful to meet you, Ty. I'm sure we'll all get to know each other better once everything calms down. We've got the whole summer.” Amanda nods apologetically, and then she's off like a bullet.
The woman catches herself before she crashes into Joan, who's come to clear the plates. The old maid gives me a sassy look. I'm lucky she finds my shit amusing and doesn't think I'm a total devil. She's the closest thing I've had to a mother since my real one died.
“I'm so sorry!” Amanda barks, steadying herself on the wall so she doesn't topple over on those tall black heels. “Kind of in a rush.”
“No need to apologize, madam,” Joan says, clearing a path for her.
“Oh, that reminds me – you kids both have the day off, don't you? Why don't you take some time to get to know each other? It's beautiful out there!”
I follow her smile to the window behind Dad's empty spot. She's right – it's really a gorgeous summer day. Blue skies, not a cloud in sight, the ocean rolling, stabbing a thousand middle fingers at the heavens.
