by Mason, Marie
“I get the picture. He bought at the local drugstore.” He leaned back on his elbows. “I’m sure he did the same for you and your mom. His new family.”
The sarcasm in his voice rubbed me the wrong way. “Look, if it wasn’t for my mom, you wouldn’t even be here. She’s the one that insisted your dad look for you and—”
Oh, shit, I cursed to myself when I realize what I’d just said and watched as Cage’s face went hard as stone. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, really?” His left eyebrow rose, the one with the start of the silver scar that ran across his temple to disappear into his hairline. It made me want to follow the thin line with my tongue to see where it ended. “You didn’t mean to say that my fucking father knew about me and decided to leave me to be raised by a strung-out mother and then stranger after fucking stranger?”
His voice was thick with an emotion I had no idea how to deal with. Rage. Disappointment. Humiliation? What should I say? What could I say?
Had Horace known about Cage all along? I didn’t know all of the story, had never felt it was my place to ask. But, if he had known and he’d chosen not to try and find his child until twenty-five years later … well, that meant my new stepfather was a piece of shit. Before I could tell Cage how I felt, he was speaking.
“I guess that makes your mother a fucking saint, now doesn’t it? Insisting her new husband find his bastard son and bring him into the family fold.”
CAGE
I kept my causal position on the edge of the bed as Abby stormed out the door. Not that I could blame her. I’d been a first class asswipe with that comment about her mom. I leaned back on the bed—the softest that I’d ever felt—and stared at the ceiling. Had my father known about my birth? Had he left me in the hands of strangers? Never knowing if I was warm, or safe, or fed?
They say you don’t really have memories until after the age of six. I didn’t think that was true. I remembered my mother and our life before that age and it wasn’t good. I remembered my stomach hurting because I was so hungry. I remembered my reflection in a window. I’m not sure which one had been dirtier—the window or my face.
If I calculated the timeline correctly, Horace would have already graduated from college, maybe even been in his first year of medical school when he’d met my mother. I guess I should be grateful he hadn’t developed his own set of rules—no coat, no pussy. If he had, I wouldn’t be here right now contemplating my life.
And trying to figure out how I could piss my stepsister off even more.
Yeah, I’d found my father—a man who, for some reason, had allowed his second wife to guilt him into finding me. There wasn’t anything I wanted from the old fart. I paid my own way, made my own rules. I didn’t need him for anything.
But my stepsister … now that was another matter.
I rubbed my hand down the front of my jeans. Thinking about her had me hard and aching. Sitting up, I decided I’d stay here, in the fucking Hamptons, for a while. It still made me laugh thinking of where fate had taken me. No use kicking a gift horse in the mouth. I’d stay for a few days. Eat the old man’s food, drink some of his liquor, and see if I couldn’t score some of that pussy I knew was waiting for me down the hall.
Whistling, I stripped off my clothes and climbed onto the bed, pushing the covers out of the way. Taking myself in hand, I closed my eyes and pictured what Abby looked like without her clothing. How her long black hair would spill over my thighs as I ordered her to suck me dry. In minutes, I was reaching for some of the tissues in a decorative box on the bedside table.
Now, that was when you knew you’d hit the big time. When you had tissue at hand to catch the cum as it erupted from your dick.
ABBY
I hurried down the hallway to my room that was thankfully several yards away from Cage’s. My body burned. His comments should have made the desire for him go away. Instead, the bad boy attitude had called to something inside me. I was antsy and hot, almost like I had a fever. Not knowing anything else to do, I stripped out of my clothes to take a shower.
“Shit,” I mumbled as I stepped into the bathroom. I hurried across the room, my arms covering my breasts and my hand cupping my pussy. I’d forgotten that I had a Jack and Jill bathroom—and guess who I was sharing it with?
My new stepbrother. I sighed in relief when I was able to lock the door without any incident. The bathroom was huge, more than room enough for two people to share comfortably. Not that it was ever going to happen. Ever.
Turning on the water, I didn’t wait until it heated up. Weren’t cold showers supposed to suppress an overactive libido?
“Fuck,” I cursed as I stepped inside the shower and the cold spray hit me full in the chest. I quickly adjusted the temperature until it was almost as hot as usual. That was as much of a cold shower as I was willing to have. Plus, I didn’t think it was going to do any good.
My desire for Cage was unprecedented. It was as if all my girly parts had suddenly sat up and said he’s the one, he’s the one. Not that I’d had a lot of offers, but I could have had my V-card stamped a time or two. I’d never heard any good stories about how wonderful a girl’s first time was so I hadn’t really been in much of a hurry. Of course, I’d never talked to a girl who’d had Cage in their bed.
I’d seen boys like him before. They thought they were all that shit. Most times it was all hype. I had a feeling that Cage was all that. And more. Turning off the water, I stepped out and dried myself off. There were many perks to being the stepdaughter of a rich surgeon. I thought having these thick bath towels—no, wait, they weren’t called towels, they were called bath sheets—was the best thing ever.
Besides the soft, fluffiness of the material, they actually fit around my wide frame with fabric left over.
It was heaven.
I quickly combed my wet hair and dried it the best I could. It took forever to dry and I usually wound up going to school with it half wet. Tonight, I decided to braid it. I slipped on a nightshirt and a pair of loose cotton panties. I’ve had both for years, and they are worn and comfy as hell.
I pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. My body was still hot, my thoughts still churning. Don’t ever believe that girls don’t think about sex as often as boys do. Or that we don’t like it as much. We’re just not as overt about it. Well, some girls were. Like Tiffany and Barbara Ann. They flaunted their bodies like lollipops—offering themselves up for a good lick.
Mean, I know, but true. And who’s not to say I might not act exactly like them if I had their rocking bodies. No, I don’t swing that way, but I was honest enough to acknowledge they were beautiful. On the outside at least. Despite the urban legends, not all girls experiment in college. I certainly had no intention. No, my fantasies revolved around a man like Cage.
My hand slipped down and I touched myself. I wasn’t surprised to find myself slick with need. I immediately zeroed in on my clit. Pressing my fingers inside my pussy didn’t do it for me. I think I was one of those women who couldn’t orgasm without some clitty stimulation. Preferably, with a man’s tongue. I’d never had a boy go down on me. But I wanted to. Oh, yeah, I wanted to I thought as I imagined Cage between my legs. I bet he knew exactly what to do. I could almost feel the broad stroke of his rough tongue as he licked me.
My breathing accelerated as my fingers rubbed harder. I didn’t even need to imagine Cage without his clothes to get off. In seconds, I was groaning low in my throat as my pussy spasmed. Withdrawing my hand from my pajama bottoms, I didn’t know how an orgasm with a man could be any better than that.
But, heaven help me, I wanted to find out.
Preferably with my stepbrother who was sleeping down the hall.
I buried my face in my pillow and thought about what a bad, bad girl I really was.
CAGE
Meeting my father was going better than I’d anticipated. I was now in week two of my vacation in the Hamptons. Horace appeared to be an okay guy. We hadn’t had that long,
heartfelt talk yet—and I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to. He’d obviously had his reasons for not being in my life. Right now, I didn’t want to know what those were.
My training was going well. I’d found a gym on the outskirts of town where the locals trained. There were a couple of guys my size who didn’t mind getting their asses kicked. When I’d mentioned needing a find a gym to my father, he’d taken me to the country club, thinking I would want to work out there. He introduced me to a couple of his friends and their sons. They were as preppy as the ones I’d met the day on the porch. My gut clenched when I thought of the guy who continued to sniff around Abby. I pushed thoughts of her out of my mind.
My father wasn’t a bad guy, he just didn’t have a clue what happened in the real world. How people like me fought for their very existence every day of their lives. Not that my life hadn’t settled down considerably the last couple of years. But that was thanks to me, not a handout from a rich parent. Which was what I saw in the people who befriended Abby. There were only two reasons why I didn’t kick their asses to the curb. Abby seemed to understand why they had befriended her—her stepdaddy’s money. And two, at times she seemed to enjoy their company.
I never wanted to take away anything that might give Abby a moment of happiness.
I stepped into the shower and turned on the water, barely flinching when the cold hit me. I was used to cold showers. Frank’s gym rarely had hot water and the temperature of the water wasn’t much better in the one-room rat trap I called an apartment. Plus, it helped contain my urges. Sometimes. Since I’d come to the Hamptons—since I’d seen Abby standing on the front porch—all I seemed to do was train and try to contain my lust for her curvy body. I grabbed my dick and started stroking. I’d done that every night since I’d been here. Stroked myself off. Which was really insane for me. Hell, there was a whole passel of pussy just waiting to be snatched up and eaten. I’d had more than a green light from a couple of the girls who hung out with Abby. And this was only one section of town. I was pretty sure there were other trust fund bitches and some slutty locals that would give it up to a bad boy. Because if there was one thing the Hamptons were lacking, it was bad boys.
My cock swelled in my hand and I stroked faster. In my mind, I saw Abby spread out before me, her pussy pink and glistening waiting for me to eat her out... my cum exploded from my body, splashing against the tiles on the other side of the shower. Which was some show considering how large the shower was. I continued to stroke myself until I’d pumped out my balls. Maybe that would keep the horn dog inside of me at bay for a little while.
Grabbing some soap, I finished my shower, washing away the sweat from my body and the cum from the tiled wall.
Turning off the water, I stepped outside the stall and grabbed a towel. Again, I thought how I seemed to have stepped into another dimension. These towels sure as hell weren’t like the ones at Frank’s that were so rough they could be substituted for sandpaper.
I’d just started to wrap the towel around my waist when the door on the other side of the bath opened. Instinctively, I turned around, the towel still in my hand. I’d learned a long time ago not to turn my back on anyone.
A high-pitched sound somewhere between a squeal and scream echoed off the walls.
“What the fuck, Abby? You about made me go deaf.” I put my hand to my ear.
“What, what are you doing?” Her eyes were big bright orbs of green fear, with a healthy dose of curiosity. To be honest, I’d forgotten we shared a bathroom, not that I’d bothered to lock the door since I’d arrived. I turned until I was giving her a full Monty. Taking my time, I slowly wrap the towel around my waist as her gaze darted from my face to my package and back again. By now, the towel was having a hell of a time covering up my growing arousal. Just having Abby in the same room with me, her warm eyes on my body, had the bad boy rising up, fast and hard.
“Do you want to touch it?”
“I cannot believe you just said that to me.” Her outraged expression made me laugh. I realized a lot of things about her made me laugh. And not in a bad way. She was fun to be around, but I knew it would be a hell of a lot more fun if I was banging her.
“Don’t get all offended. I saw the way you were looking at it. Me. Like you wanted to eat me up.” I picked up a hand towel from the stack on the sink and wiped away the fog from the mirror before tossing it toward the hamper.
CHAPTER THREE
ABBY
I found myself hyperventilating as my stepbrother stood before me dressed in nothing but a towel. This summer was supposed to be one of rest and relaxation before I returned to college. It had turned into an almost daily fight to keep my sanity.
And why? Because of him.
My bad boy stepbrother.
Before I could stop myself, I was walking across the room to pick up the towel he’d thrown on the floor. Being neat had been ingrained in me since I was a child. My mom and I had always lived in tiny apartments where there was never room to make a mess. If you didn’t pick up after yourself, the whole place started to look like an episode of Hoarders on A&E.
Now, I picked up after myself because I didn’t want the cleaning service Horace had come in once a week to think I was a slob. Cage didn’t seem to suffer from the same fear.
“I would have picked it up, little Sis.”
Oh, how I hated it when he called me that. Sis would have been bad enough, but when he added the little—in that mocking tone he had—I knew he was referring to my size. “Why did you throw it on the floor to begin with?”
“Whoa. Would you loosen up some? Get that stick out of your ass, baby. Have some fun.”
“I’m not stuck up.” Was I?
“No, but you sure are uptight.”
I clenched my hands in the towel. I’d never been good at confrontations. “I am not.”
“If you say so, that must make it so. Here, put this one up for me too, will you?”
Before I could protest, the towel that had been covering up his lower half came flying at me. I barely managed to catch it before it slapped me in the face. I started to yell at him, but had to gulp back my words. How could I speak with his rounded ass cheeks staring me in the face? I couldn’t prevent myself from taking a long, long look at him. Damn, he was a big man. And so beautifully sculpted. He looked like he’d stepped right off the pages of a magazine about bikers and bad boys. The tat he sported curled around his shoulder and down his back, ending just on the curve of his buttocks. I didn’t know what it meant. If it was one of those tribal symbols that were so popular or if it stood for something more personal. All I knew was that I wanted to take my tongue and trace it from beginning to end.
“Do you think I should shave, Sis?” He had about a three-day stubble going on and I knew most women liked the look. Me included. It added to his bad boy persona. Rough around the edges.
“I don’t know. How should I know?” I knew my voice came out in a loud squeak, but really, who could blame me? No one, that’s who. I thought I was showing remarkable poise in the face of his, his… gorgeous bum.
He turned around and I wasn’t sure where I was anymore.
“No, no, no,” I started yelling. “Don’t show me that!”
I dropped the towel and covered my eyes as his big cock came back into view. I’d only had a brief glance at it before, but now, now I’d seen enough to burn the image into my retinas for all eternity.
He laughed as I ran from the bathroom, my hands on my eyes, trying to hide him from my view.
I was mortified when I heard him call out after me and prayed no one else heard him.
“Hey, it won’t blind you if you look at my cock, little Sis.” His laughter followed me all the way to my room.
CAGE
I kept chuckling as Abby ran from the room. She’d looked at my dick like it was a one eyed snake about to strike her. Which maybe it was. I’d contained my hunger for her nearly two weeks now. I thought about taking the next Greyhound back to the city.
I didn’t need this shit. This frustration.
I’d met my father. Big deal. There wasn’t a place in his life for a tatted son with no clear ambition besides trying not to get his assed kicked or his brains fucked up from one too many blows in the ring. Was being an MMA fighter my dream? Hell, no. But it was a way to make money. Good money. Money was what would take me to the next step in my life.
I thought about my plans and laughed at myself. There was no freaking way it would happen.
But that was neither here nor there.
My most immediate problem was how to get my little sister into my bed.
Damn, that did sound dirty. And as arousing as hell.
I always liked to study my opponent before a fight if I could. Find their weaknesses, their strengths. Figure out what kind of a fighter they were.
I figured out real soon what kind of a girl Abby Snow really was.
She was a fucking good girl. Made straight A’s, volunteered at the local animal shelter and was so far out of my league I might as well have been on another continent, another planet even.
Now, ask me what kind of man I am? Oh, right, I already told you. I’m a bad boy.
What do bad boys do best? Besides fucking up?
They fuck good girls and make them bad.
I was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a protein smoothie when Abby walked into the kitchen. Her face grew the sweetest shade of pink just like it had every time she’d seen me over the past two days since our encounter in the bathroom. Only one thing makes a girl blush like that. Sexual thoughts. Inappropriate sexual thoughts.
I was pretty sure who centered prominently in her thoughts. Me.
Horace Cage Montgomery, III. I don’t know why knowing I had those three Roman numerals after my name made me feel suddenly stable. As if I had roots. I called myself a pussy. I didn’t know a damn thing about the man who had fathered me and here I was already trying to climb the family tree.
I’d planned on meeting the fuck who had fathered me and head back. It hadn’t gone down like that. I’d been here a month already.
