by Selena Kitt
I stifle a laugh.
“Thank you, Captain.” Bran crumbles into my chest and we hold each other, giggling like kids. This is the Bran that I love. No matter how far apart we are, no matter how much time passes, he’s always my favorite playmate.
“Shall we?” he says, opening the door.
I smooth out my sundress and follow him onto the tarmac.
Before we board, Bran knocks on the driver’s window.
“Thanks very much,” he says to Giles, his trusty butler. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of sterling. “Anyone see you?”
“No, sir,” Giles says. “I picked up Miss Foxworthy at the inn off campus as you arranged. No one saw us.”
“Good man, Giles.” Bran hands over the roll of bills, which Giles accepts easily. “See you in New York next week.”
“Very good, sir.”
How nice it must be for Bran to have someone close to him that he can trust. It was never the case in the Foxworthy household. Margaret used fear and coercion to control everyone under her roof, including the staff.
We wave goodbye to Giles, and Bran and I board the Winslow family jet.
“Come, Sister Dear,” he says with a sly grin. “Paradise awaits us.”
Chapter Two
We’ve been in the air for an hour but it feels like a year. The champagne and caviar help pass the time, but when all you want to do is get naked and fool around, there isn’t enough to occupy the mind.
And the way the setting sun cast a glow around Bran’s handsome face isn’t helping either. Feeling loose and giddy from the Cristal, I sink into the leather sofa alongside Bran. My bare feet lightly touch his toned thigh, and my heart jumps when he reaches for my toes and rubs them affectionately.
This is how it should be. This is how it has to be.
“Tell me about your trip to Zurich.” I nibble my cracker and caviar.
“Ah, yes, Zurich. It was remarkably successful.” He laces his fingers behind his head.
“How so?”
“Well, you can say I did something big. Huge, in fact.”
“Do tell, Brother Dear. Do tell.”
Bran grins. “I acquired Winslow Oil’s first green refinery. That’s what my trip to Zurich was all about.”
“That’s wonderful, Bran.” I hold my glass of champagne up.
“You wouldn’t say so if you knew how much I paid for it.”
We clink glasses and settle into the leather sofa with a quiet happiness.
Talking about business ventures with Bran, just like we always said we would, warms me. Even as children we understood our place as future leaders of business, and now it’s all finally falling into place. When I inherit, we’ll be able to fully merge our fortunes to create one company, Winslow-Foxworthy Holdings, and in doing so, we’ll own seventy-five percent of the world’s oil and sixty-three percent of the world’s luxury real estate.
Yet, when the flight attendant walks through the cabin making her first preparations for landing, I’m reminded that I’m not yet in the clear. My stomach twists. In my mind’s eye I see Margaret standing on the tarmac when we land, her face hard with contempt and disdain. She’ll haul me off to boarding school again, this time in a place more desolate and remote—like Antarctica—where nothing can survive, not even forbidden love, and Bran will be lost to me forever.
Then I remember.
I look at my watch. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen seconds until midnight, until I officially turn nineteen, and Margaret will never again be able to keep me from Bran.
I smile at the thought of landing in Monte Carlo as a real adult, free of Margaret’s rule, and as a woman in control of her own life.
My watch beeps, reading 12:00 am, May 15, 2015. It’s an alarm I set the moment Bran left the grounds of Aiglon College, agreeing that we will wait until I inherit before we explore each other fully.
I drain the last of the Cristal and eye Bran.
He leans in and kisses me hard and deep.
“Happy birthday, Sister Dear.” He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as we kiss.
“Are you ready for your present now?” he asks as he nuzzles his face into the nape of my neck.
His hands find my breasts. As his fingers pinch my nipples, I trace the contours of his growing erection through his slacks, and in that moment I am lost. All I want is Bran.
I push him deep into the leather cushions and straddle him. I rub my crotch down his rod, sighing when his cock hits me in just the right spot.
“Yes, Brother Dear,” I whisper. “I’m ready.”
Bran turns feral. His eyes lock on me as if I’m his helpless prey, and I love every hot moment of it. He rips my soaked panties from my body and slides two fingers deep inside of me. “Why are you so wet, Sister Dear?” he asks playfully.
“The better for me to fuck your brains out.”
I frantically undo his belt and release his engorged cock. I can’t get him inside me fast enough. Bran cups my mons, rolling the flesh with his fingers until my clit aches. As he massages it, I begin to unravel, and I crumble in his arms.
But in a swift move, Bran wraps my legs around him and moves me to my back. He runs his strong hands down my thighs, and I sigh at the anticipation of what comes next. He first kisses my stomach, then hips, and then the soft flesh of my slit. I feel his hot breath course over my crotch and it drives me wild.
“Do you know what I love most about you, Sister Dear?”
“I don’t care,” I say, my patience clearly waning. “Just taste me.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
With his face, he parts my folds until his tongue makes contact with my most sensitive spot. All of my nerve endings explode and come alive.
“Oh my God, yes!” I say in choked gasps. I sit up on my elbows and watch as he devours my box with an open-mouthed kiss. My inner thigh muscles jump as he runs his pointed tongue over my nub, once, then again, teasing me. I watch his mouth swirl all over my dripping snatch. I watch until I writhe.
Sensing an orgasm is upon me, Bran lets up his assault and sits up.
“Not yet, Sister Dear,” he says playfully. “We have much more to do, don’t we?”
My eyes bore into him. I want this man, my beloved stepbrother. I need him, and my body screams for him to fill every pocket of my being.
“I want you inside of me, Brother Dear,” I say with a throaty moan.
He smiles down at me. He peels what remains of his suit shirt off, and I stare at his rock hard chest and abs. I run my hands down him, tracing the contours his muscles make in his skin as he eases his fat cock into my waiting snatch.
Finally, this is happening.
My body ignites with a kind of heat I have never felt before. It’s as if my heart captures my body and holds it hostage. Bran pumps into me slowly, and I feel every inch of him bottom out inside of me. It’s all so good, so right, and no one can ever take this away from us.
Suddenly, he sits back on his knees and grabs my hips. He thrusts his pelvis hard, plunging his cock deep. The friction zaps my clit back to life and I am once again on the verge of climaxing.
Our moans fill the cabin as the seatbelt sign illuminates. It jolts me into worry.
“Bran” I say. “We’re landing.”
“We’ll be fine,” he huffs. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His protective words send me over the edge. Heat spreads over my body as an orgasm takes shape and rocks me to my core.
“Yes!” I scream a little too loud, but this only makes Bran fuck me harder.
Soon, Bran is grunting and straining, finding his own release. As we touch down, we collapse into each other, heaving and gasping for air.
“Welcome to Monte Carlo,” the captain says over the intercom.
Happy Birthday to me indeed!
Chapter Three
Just before two in the morning, we step out of the balmy Monte Carlo
night air and into the majestic lobby of the Hôtel de Paris. The hotel I knew so well as a child seems different, but I can’t put my finger on what has changed. The low relief sculptures, marble colonnades, and crystal chandeliers are the same, as are the guest lounge with its exquisite Louis XI high-backed settee, and the short staircase with its ornate hand railings leading to the Place du Casino. But something is off. Something has changed. As we make our way to the concierge’s desk, I catch a glimpse of us in the glass panels that reflect the lobby’s greatness and in that moment I realize what’s amiss: us.
The last time we were here, Bran had just become my stepbrother. I was eight and he was eleven, and there wasn’t a person I hated more on the planet than Brandon Winslow. He was better at everything and never ceased making a snobbish show of it. He was a better rider, always finishing his equestrian shows with nothing less than first place. He never so much as cracked open a book, whereas I was constantly studying something.
He even spoke French like a national.
It was the first time we were here that I experienced just how much better Bran was at speaking French, and I was made aware of the kind of bad boy he could be.
That night we arrived as a newly blended family, Bran had knocked on my door long after Mother had put me to bed. I should’ve known I was in for it when I answered and found Bran standing outside my room without his trusty butler, Giles, glued to his heels. As I came to find out later, any time Bran was sans Giles, my dear stepbrother was up to seriously no good.
“What time is it?” I asked wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“There’s this bakery around the corner,” he said with a dangerous smile. “You’re going to love it.”
Even though I was eight, I wasn’t stupid. “Where’s Giles?”
“He’s doing stuff for your mom and my dad. He said to bring him back something. Wanna go?”
It was the way he said it, Wanna go? with the slightest dare in his voice that made me do it. We snuck out of the hotel in the middle of the night, hiding from the French police until we came to a red brick bakery with the most amazing smells seeping from its top. It was a mix of cinnamon and chocolate and cheese. The air tasted of it, and I was suddenly struck with the most vicious hunger pang.
We entered the basement door and Bran did all the talking—in French. The baker in his puffy white hat looked at Bran, then at me, then back to Bran. The baker shook his head and pointed to a shelf. Bran pulled down two golden pastries. He handed one to me and said, “The best pastries in all of Monte Carlo,” with the same smile that lead me there.
I took a bite and all at once I was hit with the most disgusting and vile taste. As I gagged and spat, my insides turned. While the old baker looked at me with pity, Bran howled with laughter.
“Stop!” I screamed. “You are the meanest person ever!”
“I’m not mean,” he said. “Just better at French than you!”
As my strappy sandals click on the pristine floor of the Hôtel de Paris, a thin smile creases my lips remembering how I clearly heard Bran say “tripes,” in French, but didn’t want to believe he could be so cruel.
“Do you remember that baker?” I ask as we approach the front desk.
“I was just thinking about him,” Bran says. “I wonder if that old Monsieur still bakes the most delicious pastries in all of Monte Carlo?”
I swat Bran playfully on the shoulder and smile.
Brandon Winslow, a total badass to the core.
The concierge recognizes Bran immediately. Since he drew his first breath over twenty-one years ago, Brandon Winslow, the only son and heir of billionaire tycoon Clive Winslow, has visited the Hôtel de Paris hundreds of times, and the concierge doesn’t let up on rewarding his loyalty.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Winslow,” the head concierge says brightly. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Bonsoir, Jacques.”
Of course, Bran knows the concierge by name.
“I trust your trip to Monte Carlo was delightful.”
“Very,” Bran says coolly. He squeezes my hand and shocks zing through my body.
“We have your suite ready for you and your mademoiselle. If you could please show your passports for security reasons.”
Fright seizes me. My passport, my real name, would leave a trail that Margaret could easily find.
Then I remember. I’m nineteen. I’m free and filthy rich thanks to my ever-doting grandfather. No more sneaking around Europe, meeting Bran in seedy inns under assumed names and hidden behind disguises. Reflexively my back straightens as I hold my chin high. I slide my passport across the counter, relieved that we no longer have to hide.
“Very good.” Jacques snaps his fingers, summoning the bellhop. “Please show Mr. Winslow and Miss Foxworthy, our very special guests, to the Winston Churchill Suite.”
A slight smile curves my lips as we fall in behind the bellhop, following him toward the elevator.
Bran booked us the same suite we stayed in when we first became a blended family.
“The Winston Churchill suite?” I ask.
“There would be none other for us, would there?”
Chapter Four
Inside the Winston Churchill Suite time slows. I soak in its three thousand square feet of extravagance, roaming from lavish room to lavish room, and the past echoes in my mind. I can see my beloved stepfather lounging on the loveseat tenderly rubbing my mother’s feet as a fireplace roared behind them. The devotion he showed, the loving embraces, went unnoticed as my mother read the Financial News, never once lifting her head to meet his kind and eager eyes.
When I hear Bran thank the bellhop and the front doors seal shut, I snap back to the present.
“Mel?” Bran calls.
His footsteps trail off in the opposite direction.
“Mel?” he calls again, and I feel playfulness stir inside of me.
I slip my sandals off and tiptoe away from the sound of his footsteps. I duck into the library and hide myself behind the lush red drapery.
“Come and find me,” I call in a sing-songy voice.
He takes the bait. His footsteps grow louder and more determined as he sets out to hunt me down. He walks slowly through the library and into the connecting lounge. When he turns to inspect the master bedroom, I make my move. I slide out of the curtains and head to the second floor, but as my feet touch the first step, Bran grabs me around the waist and yanks our bodies together. He buries his face in my hair and breathes in my scent, driving me wild.
“Not so fast, Sister Dear.” He kisses the nape of my neck.
A slight moan escapes my lips and warmth spreads from my crotch, igniting my entire body. Bran’s hands slide over my breasts and pinch my nipples through the light fabric of my sundress. I sigh deeply, encouraging him.
“We have five hours until sunrise,” he says. “What shall we do to pass the time?”
Heat jolts through me. I spin around and kiss him deeply on the mouth, roughly removing his jacket and tearing at his shirt. His own strong hands, not as patient as my own, rip my dress from my body.
I have never been so turned on in my life, wanting and full of hot need. Trembling and frantic, I grab at his pants, but he smacks my hand away and undoes them himself. His slacks slide to the floor with a soft swoosh. His blue eyes tear into me. I hold onto his back, my nails digging into his skin, and brace for contact. My lips shake as he presses his mouth to my nipples. If there were words to express my bestial lust for him, I couldn’t speak them, couldn’t utter a syllable even if I wanted to.
My breath quickens as the head of his fat cock slides between my legs. There is no smooth hesitation this time, no gentle prying of my slit. My stepbrother, full of desire, pommels into me with a force I feel throughout my entire body. My breath turns ragged. I squeeze his shoulders until my knuckles whiten, gasping and moaning, feeling every inch, every curve, fill me.
He wraps my legs around his waist, cupping my buttocks, and my arousal soars. His c
hampagne-laced breath courses over my skin, sending chills all over me. Hands flailing, groping, clenching, we become a tangled mess of desire.
Bran pushes me against the wall and I hiss at his sudden roughness. He takes my hands and pins, the muscles rippling in his arms as he holds me, strong and controlled. My thighs ache with every jab of his cock deep inside of me.
This Bran is unlike anyone I’ve ever experienced before. Forceful and crazed, he rams me with a brutal lust that slaps my back hard against the cold tile, sending brilliant pain through me. Beads of sweat glisten over his smooth skin. He huffs deep and lusty in my ear, and I feel my pleasure build.
