Forbidden Stepbrother

by Carmen Falcone

  “I’m coming just by talking about it,” she said, humping his fingers. “Finger me faster.”

  He inserted one more finger into her pussy, and curled it against her inner walls. She bucked, impossible to keep still. He upped the pace, taking her to a crazy level of awareness. She thrust her pussy into his fingers, bucking, whimpering, panting. Soon, a delicious tingle moved from her core to the rest of her body and she quivered.

  He thrust his rod into her anal passage, but she was still so soft and fuzzy because of the climax that she didn’t tense up as she imaged she would. Some discomfort tensed up her back for a moment, and he stopped moving.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Her head bobbed, the emotions swirling together like cake batter. “Y-yes.” Except she was far from okay. It dawned on her as he carefully moved inside her backside she had to find a way to let him see they had to be together.

  “Relax. I’ll take care of you Tiffany,” he said, bringing both hands to either side of her waist. Would he take care of her other than sexually?

  “In every way,” he said in a voice carried with emotion, reading her mind.

  She let out a sigh and the ache diminished; as he murmured in Spanish what she hoped would be promises of a lifetime together. Would they be able to overcome their past and build a future together? She wanted it more than anything.

  “I’m trying to be careful Tiffany. You feel too good.”

  “Oh Santiago. I’ve dreamed of you for so long. Fuck me. Take me and make me yours.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you sweetheart.”

  “You’re not,” she said, thrusting her hips into his cock.

  He groaned, both hands gripped her sides tighter and his dick retreated a bit then crashed back, plunging into her and making her his. She moaned, and with a few more thrusts, he let out a long groan and shivered over her.

  No longer able to handle the pressure, she fell on the bed. He did the same, and they both laid next to each other, exhausted. “I think you’ve officially just broken my body, Santiago,” she said playfully.

  He chuckled, gently stroking her hair. “We’re finally even, amada.”

  Her blood froze. She wanted to speak but hesitated. Did he just bring out the fact he lost his leg when she drove the car and lost control as a joke? She shook her head.

  He leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Relax. It’s a joke.”

  “Is it? Because for so long I felt so guilty for losing control over the car and—

  He shushed her, and her heart fluttered. “Let’s go to sleep, my love. We’ll talk things over tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered and fluffed her pillow with a silly smile on her face. Because not only did she believe they’d talk tomorrow, but she also hoped there would be a tomorrow for the two of them.

  Chapter 8

  Santiago rubbed his eyes. Tiffany had slept through the night, and when he woke up to check on the weather, he’d watched her for a good while.

  Tiffany Burrows, in bed with him. The memories of the previous night flashed through his mind, making his pulse spike and his cock harden. He had shared the hottest night of his life with her. One he would never forget.

  He disengaged from her arms and slid out of bed. Electricity had returned overnight and the heater had kicked in, so he chose to put on his blue pajama pants. Shy rays of sunlight pierced the clouds. Some of the snow would surely melt, but he doubted he’d be able to have a skiing lesson today. Making a mental note to contact his instructor, he left the bedroom, brushed his teeth, and headed to the kitchen.

  The cat purred at him while he grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and proceeded to open the refrigerator door.

  “Hi, cat,” he said to the feline.

  The cat purred again, then sat in front of him. The eyes seemed bigger, more alive than the previous night. Maybe she wanted some food.

  Grabbing the milk carton, he yawned. Then, he poured some of the contents into the bowl, and lowered it to the floor. The cat didn’t waste any time, and lapped it.

  “Isn’t your life simple?” he mused, and again, was jealous of the cat. He curled his fingers into a ball. Damn it. Restless, he tapped his foot on the wood floor. He would have to talk to her, but what exactly would he say? When she told him she loved him, his heart raced so fast he thought he’d have a cardiac arrest.

  He switched the coffee machine on, and leaned against the counter. Some caffeine would help him know exactly what to do. He eyed the pie, the same one she had eaten so adorably the previous day.

  “Morning,” she said, and he turned to find her walking in his direction. She wore his cobalt sweater, and it covered just past her thighs. She pulled it down. “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t resist putting on your sweater. Plus, I didn’t feel like going through my things and looking for clothes to wear.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, and looked at her for a lingering moment. “You look better in it than I ever would.”

  She touched her hair, teasing the tousled short cut. “When I asked for a haircut, I asked for vintage Mia Farrow. But then, it turned out, well, this,” she pointed at her hair.

  Lovely. He bit back a smile. “Would you like some coffee? Some toast? Cereal? Eggs?” he asked, tearing his gaze from her and focusing on the beeping coffee machine.

  “No I’m good,” she said, and opened the refrigerator and withdrew a carton of orange juice. “Thanks for giving Louise her breakfast. I can’t believe I slept so much.”

  “Why?”

  She grabbed a goblet from the cupboard and poured water from the fridge. Before taking the glass to her mouth though, she stared at the contents for a while, seemingly lost in thought. “Remember I mentioned I’ve been having problems sleeping lately? That’s one of the reasons I came here, for some time off from work,” she finally said.

  No wonder she’d had those dark circles under her eyes the previous day. “I understand. Tell me more about it,” he said, and had a swig of coffee.

  She traced the edge of the goblet. “The past few years, I just wanted to be on the go. Doing things. I don’t like to stop.”

  “What happens when you stop?”

  “I feel lonely. And I think about stuff.” The words came from her mouth, but he related to them more than he wanted.

  Keeping busy and on-the-go had helped him stay sane. Wasn’t that why he came to the cottage? To master skiing for his new TV show, even if it was exhausting? What a fool he had been when he’d thought they had little in common. Right now, looking deep into her gorgeous blue eyes, it was hard to think, period. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened to Patricia.”

  She folded her arms. “Why not? You have.”

  No. He wouldn’t let her slip into defensive mode when they were addressing such important matters. He put his cup on the counter and stroked her cheek. “I’ve done a lot of things I regret.”

  “Do you regret making love last night?”

  No. “Do you?”

  “Not at all.” She stood on her toes and pulled his head down. She touched her forehead to his, and he closed his eyes.

  Control hung by an instable thread. He swallowed hard. Damn it. Why did her words carry such weight? They had the power to make his heart sing, his body hum. His lips covered hers, and she linked her arms around his head before pulling back.

  “You haven’t answered, Santiago… Are you sorry we had sex?”

  “No,” he said, and toyed with the collar of the sweater. She licked her bottom lip, and he saw craving in her eyes. “I’m not sorry I tasted your sweet pussy.” He pulled her to him, his hands hovered over her breasts. The tight tips strained against the thick fabric, and he circled them with his thumb. “I’m not sorry I fucked you hard and fast.” He dropped his hands down to her ass, and pulled her to him. She molded to him perfectly.

  She gasped. “Go on,” she said, her eyes focusing on his lips.

  “I’m not sorry I claimed your every entrance,
” he said, air sucked from his lungs. All his blood rushed to his hard-on. He fused his lips on hers in an urgent, instinctive, passionate kiss. She responded with the same level of need, her teeth nibbling his lower lip.

  He pulled the sweater over her head, and voila, she wore nothing underneath. In the daylight, she was even more delectable than at night. Her breasts hung full and firm, and indents marked her waist. Her belly was round, fleshy, womanly. And her delicious thighs were the perfect gates for what lay between them.

  Clearing the contents from the island, he lifted her and placed her on the granite slab. She squirmed, leaving no doubt she wanted him.

  Last night, it had been dark. Today, he wanted to catch every nuance of her face, every shape of her body.

  She spread her legs apart, and he dropped his pants. He pulled her to the edge of the island, and then he plunged into her. The moment his pulsing cock penetrated her tight, warm sex, he thought he might die. The delicious sensation—the best thing in the whole damn world. Almost as good as kissing her. As good as seeing her smile.

  He flicked her clit with his thumb, his cock thrusting hard into her.

  She stretched her legs over his shoulder, and he leaned down, surprised at how wonderful it was to be surrounded by her. Never, ever wanting to let go.

  “You have to tell him, Trish. Tell Santiago.”

  Santiago looked at her sleeping face and he frowned. After they had made love in the kitchen, he carried Tiffany to the bedroom, where she’d fallen back to sleep and he’d rejoiced in watching her. For the past hour, Tiffany had muttered a few incoherent words that slowly became more and more understandable. What in the world could she possibly know about Patricia he didn’t?

  She woke up with a start, maybe from her own nightmare. Her breathing labored. He didn’t miss how her eyes widened at finding him, fully dressed, on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “What? Yes.” She shook her head, and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I haven’t had those nightmares in a while. Must have been seeing you again that triggered them back.”

  Waking up, she was lovely. His body leaned forward, but he fought the urge to erase the distance between them and kiss her. Or hug her. He cleared his throat. “You were mumbling in your sleep about Patricia telling me something.”

  She lifted her hand to cover her mouth. “Oh.”

  “What?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What did I say?”

  He stood, suddenly too restless to continue so sit on the bed. What would she be hiding from him? “You must know. Tell me sweetheart.”

  She blinked a couple of times, then frowned. He could read the fear darkening her pupils, and he didn’t like any of it. His gut clenched, and he mentally braced himself for bad news.

  “I- I don’t even remember, must have been part of the dream.”

  “Tiffany, you’re lying,” he said, raising his voice. “Tell me.”

  She pulled the sheet up along her neckline. He wondered if she wanted to just cover herself and disappear so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. “Some secrets are best left buried.”

  No. He, for one, hated secrets. Living with his own did enough damage. “Then we’ll do some digging,” he said, pacing the room. As if on cue, his hip tingled. He had chosen to keep his prosthesis on while they had sex, both times. The idea of showing her his scars still made him uneasy. “Tell me.”

  She drew in a breath, closed her eyes, then inhaled and opened them. “The baby Patricia carried wasn’t yours.”

  He froze. For a moment, the only sound he heard was his heart beating wildly against his ribcage. There was no warmth, just a merciless chill sweeping through him with the intensity of an earthquake. Could it be true? “What?”

  Silence.

  He parted his lips to speak, when she lifted her hand in mid-air, urging him to let her continue. Her eyes watered, and her facial expression gloomed. “She told me a couple weeks prior to the accident. That night at the party, I saw her drinking alcohol and got really mad at her. I’m no expert, but drinking alcohol early in the pregnancy isn’t recommended and could harm the baby. We argued, and I didn’t want to have this huge fight in front of everyone. So I asked her to go on a drive and talk about things.”

  “Who was the father?” he asked, and the cold in his veins melted into red hot anger. Why would Patricia fool him?

  Tiffany rubbed her temple. “An ex she ran into when you guys broke up.”

  “But she wanted to make it pass as my baby?” he asked.

  She slipped off the bed, and wrapped herself in the sheet as she grabbed her clothes from the floor. “Yes. She loved you though, and knew you would make a better father. The other guy was a mistake.”

  A mistake. The word punched his gut. The mistake would have been lying to him. “Did he even know she carried his baby?”

  She wriggled into a pair of jeans, and avoided looking at him. “No, as far as I know she never told him. I asked her to tell you. I said you had the right to know.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She pulled a sweater over her head, and tossed the sheet on the bed. “Because it wasn’t my place.”

  “Not your place? You’re talking about people’s lives, Tiffany. My life. Some kid’s life. Why didn’t you tell me after she died?”

  “Because telling you would have been even worse. Can you imagine? I would have taken the last thing you had of her, the memory of a loving woman. And you’d hate me even more,” she said the last sentence in a small voice.

  His temples throbbed and he rubbed them like they were about to burst. “Is that what it comes down to? My feelings toward you?” Was she so selfish she didn’t want to make things worse for herself? He’d carried the weight of Patricia’s death for years, unable to shuck off his guilt for failing to save her life and the life of his unborn child. If only Tiffany had been honest with him about the truth. Maybe then he’d have been able to move on.

  She lifted her chin. “No. Of course not. I mean… maybe a little. But just because I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, doesn’t mean I was wrong.”

  “Deceit is always wrong. Can’t you see that? You lied to me. Hell, you still do. I had to yank the confession from you. Just when I thought you couldn't surprise me, Tiffany—"

  She erased the gap between them, but this time not to kiss him. With an angry spark in her eyes, her lips hardened into a flat line. She gave him a layered look, as if she stood on the opposite side of a boxing match. “And because of you, I broke it. You know what? I’m glad we had this conversation. You’re just as inflexible and stubborn as always, and a few good fucks won’t change reality. Leave my room, Santiago. I’m calling a car service and getting out of your fucking life.”

  Chapter 9

  Santiago slammed the door behind him, and a couple items on the nightstand fell to the floor. Tiffany sniffed, trying hard to keep her hot tears from running down her face. Oh, what a stupid illusion to believe they would get along in some meaningful way.

  They didn’t even have a present—it had all been a fabrication from her twisted mind. She’d told him she loved him like a stupid idiot. He hadn’t said anything back. They screwed like rabbits which had been nice but he never really told her they’d be in it for the long haul.

  Reaching for her cell phone, she called Liam, the cab driver who’d driven her from the airport, and asked him to come pick her up as soon as possible. Why prolong awkwardness?

  “The roads aren’t clear yet, but I have someone in the area. Give me an hour.”

  It would be the longest hour of her life.

  She headed to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. She had tried to have a connection with Santiago, even if he never promised her a steady relationship. But even a harmless fling couldn’t survive the emotional baggage they carried.

  A burden should have been lifted from her shoulders. She’d told him the truth, at last. Instead,
guilt stabbed at her like a sharp dagger. She had promised to keep the secret from him, as a way to honor her friend. Patricia had died and she lived.

  But Tiffany didn’t deserve a happy ending.

  Her parents didn’t have a happy ending. Her best friend didn't either. Why fight fate? She should be used to it by now.

  When she opened the door, she grabbed Louise. As soon as she managed to find some decent Internet, she’d post a picture of Louise on the neighborhood site, in case someone wanted her back. Her heart clenched. She hoped not. But damn it, she had to do the right thing, and she wouldn’t leave the cat behind.

  Glancing from side to side, she sighed. No sign of Santiago. He was in the office, door closed, talking on the phone. Well, it was better this way.

  With the path clear, she decided she’d wait outside. So what if it was still super cold, even though the sun was shining? Indoors would be an emotional frigid zone anyway.

  Clenching the kitty, she opened the door. A chilly breeze swirled around her. Well, not as bad as the day before.

  She placed her rolling suitcase in front of the cottage, and sat on it. When the driver parked on the graveled path, her heart squeezed. This is really happening. Good-bye forever.

  “Tiffany! Tiffany!”

  She looked over her shoulder, and Santiago strode in her direction. He limped a bit, and she wondered if it was because he walked so fast in the snow, or because his hip still bothered him.

  “Good-bye, Santiago. I’m not good at leaving notes,” she said. “I was gonna text you after I left.”

  Within seconds, he towered over her, watching her intently. “You’re not leaving.”

  She put the kitty on the ground, while her other hand squeezed the suitcase handle. “Or what?” Am I going to get spanked? The joke tingled at the tip of her tongue, but she knew better. Biting the inside of her cheek, she stretched to her full height.

  “Miss, may I get your luggage?” the driver asked, approaching her.