by Nikki Wild
“Well, if they knew how good it was, I don’t think they’d blame me,” I whispered in her ear, drawing a faint moan from her before I withdrew my hands from her sides and turned her around.
“You are the worst, Julian Bastille,” Liz said, putting on a face of mock annoyance. “What am I supposed to do with myself now? I swear, if you weren’t my husband, I’d—”
“Kiss me?” I interrupted, pulling her in close one more time, our lips meeting as I held her nice and tight. Her body melted against mine, and behind me, I could hear some of the crew hooting encouragingly, to which I responded with a sly thumbs up behind Liz’s back.
“The worst,” she whispered as we pulled apart, her face burning red. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
“Now that we can agree on,” I said as the stage manager called out for the one-minute mark. I tried my best to stifle the panic rising up inside of me again, taking Liz’s hand in mine and giving it a firm squeeze.
“One more for luck?” I asked, smiling down at her, anxiously bouncing on my heels as I started to hear the manager counting down.
“You don’t need luck,” she said, pulling me in tight one more time. “But I’ll kiss you anyway.” And she did.
“And one for you,” I said, kneeling down in front of Liz and slowly lifting up the hem of her shirt to expose her belly, and our child within it. I gently pressed my lips against it, holding them there a few seconds before standing up again and smiling at my wife.
“I supposed it’s show time,” I said. Then I took a slow, deep breath as I stared out at the lights and listened to the sounds of the fans screaming my name. But there was only one woman I wanted to hear say that name… and if I was good, maybe she’d even scream it for me.
I put on a grin as I stepped out onto the stage, throwing my hands in the air as the crowd roared, some of the women’s voices reaching heights that might have been too much for human ears to even register. I let it all wash over me, closing my eyes for just a moment as I stood among the noise and lights, basking in it before opening them once again and screaming into the microphone.
“Hello, Essex! Are you ready to rock?”
And as the crowd let out another roar, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. This was what I loved about my job, and now, at long last, I had someone in my life I could share it with.
You’re not done yet! I’ve included some sexy extras in this ebook for all my loyal fans! Turn the page to read ILLICIT BEHAVIOR, my bestselling rockstar romance. And keep going from there because I have a few more surprises in store including a copy of my bestselling motorcycle club romance (Saved by the Bad Boy) and a few other surprises! Thank you for reading and I can’t wait to hear what you thought about Fall Into Me!
-Nikki Wild xoxoxo
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Novels by Nikki Wild
Bad Boy Sports
Play Dirty (A Bad Boy Football Romance)
Running Game (A Bad Boy Football Romance)
Bad Boy Fighters:
Knockout (A Bad Boy MMA Romance)
Bad Boy Bikers:
Saving Landon (A Bad Boy Biker Romance)
Saved by the Bad Boy (A Devil’s Dragons Biker Romance)
Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil’s Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance)
Taming Grizz (A Devil’s Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance)
Roughneck (A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance)
Rough Rider (Outlaw Kings Motorcycle Club)
British Bad Boys:
Royal Prick (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Arrogant Brit (A Bad Boy British Sports Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Played (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Bad Boy Rockstars:
Illicit Behavior (A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Bad Boy Stepbrothers:
Lust (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Richard (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Bad Boy Billionaires:
Protect And Serve (A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)
Pretend Married (A Sexy Billionaire Romance)
Stepbrother Fixation
A Taboo romance from Nikki Wild
Fixation
STEPBROTHER FIXATION
A BAD BOY STEPBROTHER ROMANCE
By Nikki Wild and Kat Jackson
Copyright 2016
All Rights Reserved
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Chapter 1
“I can’t do this,” I told her. “I can’t pretend like last night never happened. I need you, Madison, and not in the way that a brother needs his stepsister.”
I began lifting up the hem, revealing the creamy white tops of her thighs inch by inch until finally, I caught a glimpse of her underwear. I pulled my cock out and nestled it against her crotch. I felt my balls seize and I snarled in her ear. “I could blow my load right here, Maddy. I could soak these panties before dinner, and your mother and my father wouldn’t know a thing. You’d spend the whole night with my cum staining your panties... That’s what you do to me. You make me want to do the nastiest fucking things to you.”
Maddy shivered and looked up at me with hooded eyes. “Preston… Jesus, we can’t. What we did last night was wrong. I wanted it… We wanted it… But you know it can’t happen again.”
I pulled her panties open, letting the tip of my dick violate the space between them and her sweet, soaking wet lips. I thrust, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so near to her, of feeling my bulging head slip around in her honeyed nectar. “It has to,” I whispered. “Every time I look at you, all I want to do is get inside you again.”
I was so close. But Madison gently, yet firmly took me by the wrist. I could see lust in her eyes, but there was something else too. Maybe it was self-restraint…
“We can’t,” she repeated, and this time there was no “maybe” in her tone. I withdrew and she let her fingers brush mine. “I’m sorry, Preston, but think of what could happen if we got caught…”
I nodded. As frustrated as I was, she made sense. But dammit, I didn’t want her to make sense! All I wanted was to throw caution to the wind and bury myself in my darling little stepsister.
She fixed her skirt and helped tuck my cock back inside my pants, her hand lingering on its straining girth longer than she needed to.
“Let’s hope there’s wine tonight,” I said as her fingertips left me, her graceful body moving around the car and sliding into the passenger seat.
“I think I’m going to need it,” Maddy replied, trying to avoid my gaze as I sat down beside her. We didn’t say another word as her hand found its way to my thigh, giving me a reassuring squeeze.
A drink was definitely going to be required. Maybe a little buzz would help me forget, but as we drove, all I could do was try to ignore the heat radiating from her fingertips. My mind drifted, traveling back to the day she ran into me on the street with those big beautiful tears in her eyes… So perfect… So broken…
Chapter 2
One month earlier…
“M
adison, lunch was over two minutes ago.”
I looked up from microwavable meal. It was a small plastic bowl of steamed rice and veggies, but the shitty microwave in the break room had only heated things up on one side, leaving me with broccoli stalks with freezer burn still clinging to them.
My gaze fixed on Miguel Herrera, the general manager of the small rental company I worked for. He reminded me of a man who had once done greater things, but had since been exiled to the dredges of monotony that corporate life entailed. Maybe he’d been military, or maybe he’d once been a little higher up the food chain where commands weren’t questioned and his iron fist ruled all. Either way, it was painfully clear that a man like Miguel was never meant for a company like ExecuSpace.
ExecuSpace itself was an interesting animal. Instead of renting tangible things like cars, homes, or office buildings, they rented out virtual office space. I sat behind a desk answering a multi-line phone system where each line represented a different suite supposedly housed in the six-story building I worked in. A prompt would pop up on my computer with each call, reminding me to answer for “Lindsey’s Lawn Service” or “Jack Vogler, Esquire.” Then I’d place the caller on hold and transfer them to the client’s voice mailbox, their cell phone, or even their home phone where they really worked.
Basically, ExecuSpace rented nothing at all—nothing but the illusion that their clients were more important than they really were. It was brilliantly deceptive, and it worked like a charm.
That meant the phones were busy. That meant that sometimes I didn’t get to take a lunch break, and when I did, running sixty seconds past the mark would earn me a visit from Miguel’s dark, scowling face.
“You left your desk at half past noon, didn’t you?” he asked, raising one of his charcoal eyebrows. I shuffled the food in her bowl and nodded, taking another bite.
“I did, but I got stopped in the hall by Mr. Franklin, who wanted me to run back to my desk and put a parcel into the outgoing mail. Then when I got back there, Lacy got a phone call from her ex and ran outside to take it, so I had to wait for her to get back before I could leave again. After that, Ms. Harris asked for a physical list of the calls she’d received today, even though they’re all logged on her voicemail, and ten minutes later I finally got to heat up my lunch and sit down here.
“So,” I continued, glancing up at the clock over my shoulder, “I’m not two minutes late. I’m actually just sitting down to eat, so I’ve got about twenty-five minutes left.”
Normally I wouldn’t have spoken to Miguel—or anyone at ExecuSpace—that way. That was because I desperately needed this job, or I’d be completely screwed in the way of keeping a roof over my head. That meant putting up with grueling twelve- to fourteen-hour shifts, even if I had to clock out at five p.m. like everybody else, enduring the abuse of my colleagues and the incompetence of my supposed assistant, and above all else, not stepping away from my desk unless I needed to use the restroom or had some other emergency.
But today was different. Today, after four long, arduous years without so much as a pay bump or a pat on the back, I was not in the mood.
I had bills to pay, and they were mounting quickly. I’d been hired in at a measly ten dollars an hour and that hadn’t changed, even though my responsibilities had. I was no longer the receptionist answering the phones, opening mail, and sending off a few e-mails every day—not that my job had ever only entailed that, despite what they’d told me during my interview. I was the personal assistant to pretty much everyone on the floor, as well as the office manager for when nobody else wanted to deal with the bullshit that sauntered up to the front desk every day. I could—and had—run the entire operation by myself on many occasions. So why was I still being treated and paid like Lacy, the girl with no education, no computer skills, no ambition, and no desire to be here?
Lacy also happened to be my “assistant,” but she was an awful lot like my burden. She rarely lifted a finger to answer a call before I got to it and yet she still had her job and half the office tripping over themselves to take care of things for her. That usually involved passing her work off to me while she skipped out on some obscure “errand” or spent an hour in Miguel’s office with the door shut. She was young and pretty and she knew it, and I supposed that was what got a woman ahead in this place more than anything else.
Miguel appraised me, putting his hands on his waist in a way that spread apart his blazer to reveal his paunchy belly. I made sure to tightly cinch my legs together under the table, though the violet pencil skirt I was wearing hugged my thighs enough that I was sure he could use his imagination as to what was between them. I didn’t want him to do that, of course, but there was no stopping Miguel Herrera when he decided he wanted something.
When his gaze finally dragged back up to meet mine, I realized what he wanted was for me to toss away my lunch and go back to my desk. I held his stare, trying not to let my mouth twitch or my knee shake, trying not even to blink. I didn’t want to make any move that might be perceived as a sign of weakness, because today, after a shitty annual review and yet another thirteen-hour shift the day before, I was taking my goddamn lunch break.
Eight hours. That’s what I get paid for, I reminded myself, a low heat rising in the pit of my empty stomach. Lunch is supposed to be an hour. Lacy gets an hour. So do Ross and Ben. Miguel himself takes as long as he likes. I’m entitled to sit and eat once a day, thank you.
“Okay. You just sit there, then, while there’s a crisis up front,” Miguel growled, waving a hand dismissively in my direction. He looked utterly disgusted with me. “I’m sure the rest of us can manage your job for you.”
I ignored his tantrum. It wasn’t easy—I could feel my cheeks beginning to scald and my throat tighten. “What sort of crisis?” I managed as I took in another deliberate mouthful of rice. I tried not to wince as my tooth sunk into a shard of carrot.
“One of last month’s interviewees showed up,” he answered, and I could tell by the tone in his voice exactly which one it was. “Again.”
I finally looked away, heaving a sigh through my nose. Last month, Miguel had wanted to hire a few more salespeople and had put out an open call on Craigslist. We’d received hundreds of applications, and he and Ross, our staffing manager, had decided on group interviews being the most efficient way to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Unfortunately in their enthusiasm, they’d made promises they couldn’t keep, and some of the prospective hires had to be told they either weren’t good fits (mostly due to some background check revelations) or that there simply wasn’t enough room for them on the team.
Except that Ross refused to tell them that. He just dodged their calls, allowing each and every one to go to his voicemail and directing me to say he wasn’t in the office. Miguel had declared the matter was “beneath him” and that Ross would just have to deal with it.
But when Ross didn’t deal with it, it suddenly became my problem. Suddenly I had to let someone down regarding a decision I hadn’t even been a part of. Suddenly I had to bear the brunt of their anger and frustration. Me, the woman who was constantly reminded that she was “only” an administrative assistant and not a manager.
“Isn’t Ross around?” I asked, though I was sure I already knew the answer.
“He’s at lunch. And you are our front desk girl, so this seems like it falls under your purview.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You know what he’s here about, don’t you? It’s been a month, and Ross hasn’t returned his calls. He’s probably furious.”
Miguel shrugged. “Part of your job, Madison, is to handle customer service issues. If you can’t hack it, well, then…”
He trailed off as he always did. He never actually said he’d fired me or that I should look for some other job, but the threat was always there hanging in the silence. He knew it. I knew it. But he didn’t have the guts to utter the words out loud. He was that type of asshole, the one who did everything in his power not to do his own dirt
y work, not to seem like the dick that he really was. If I went to HR to complain now and said, “He made me feel as though my job was in jeopardy,” Miguel could come right back and say, “I never said that.” And it would be true. The bastard sure knew how to wiggle.
“I’m entitled to a lunch break,” I reminded him, but I knew I was losing the fight. There was no point, really. We both knew he wasn’t going to make Lacy take care of it. When it came to reminding people about the nature of their job, I was the sole target.
“Like I said, you’re two minutes over.” Miguel’s gaze flicked to the clock. “Five, now. You’d better get back to your desk and take care of this before it becomes a payroll issue.”
I slammed my plastic fork down onto my tray and stood, making sure to scrape my chair all the way back across the floor. I tossed the tray hard into the garbage can, maybe too hard, because as I passed Miguel he stepped directly in my way.
“And stow the attitude,” he said, a smugness lifting the corners of his lips.
I stared at him for a moment, and in that time, something just… snapped. I was sure this was a bad idea. I was almost certain I would lose my job. But in that one exhausted, frustrated, hungry moment, I lost my temper and brushed past him, thumping my shoulder into his as I careened down the main hall.
“Hey!” he called after me. I could hear and feel his footsteps pounding the carpet behind me. “Madison! Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”
I ignored him, continuing on my path. As I passed Ross’ office, I could hear the soft sound of his Pandora station and see a light on from under the door. I tried the handle. It was locked.
