Stepbrothers Undone: 15 Book Hot Erotic Stepbrother Romance Bundle (Excite Spice Boxed Sets)

by Selena Kitt

  “Yes! Don’t stop,” I scream.

  This only encourages him. “Do you like it when I fuck you, Sister Dear?”

  “Yes! Oh, God, yes! Don’t stop.”

  Bran smiles. “Oh no you don’t,” he says with authority. “Did I say you can come?”

  “What?” I pant.

  Fully in control of my orgasm, he jabs me with his rod, huffing through clenched teeth. “I said.” Jab. “You have to ask me...” Jab. “For permission...” Jab. “To come.”

  I have never seen him like this before. Gone is his softness, his tenderness, and in its place is something rough and primal, and I love every dirty minute of it. As my body is on the verge of exploding, I play along with his game.

  “Please, Brother Dear,” I beg. “Let me come!”

  Satisfied, Bran kisses me hot and wet, showing me that he is pleased.

  “You may, Sister Dear,” he growls.

  With bodies intertwined, Bran lowers us to the marble floor and I squeal with laughter when his naked ass makes a contact slap. My legs hug his body as I straddle his cock and push every magnificent inch of him deep inside of me. I pump my hips, riding him, rising and falling as my breasts bounce to my rhythm.

  Bran’s eyes bore into mine. He glides his hands up and squeezes my nipples until I gasp and moan and writhe. Faster and faster, I ride his cock, building my orgasm to maddening heights. I buck and convulse as I come hard, quaking over my beloved stepbrother. And that’s when he takes charge. Bran clamps down on my hips and thrusts his swollen length deep inside me, bouncing me onto his cock.

  “Yes. Fuck me!” I cry out. “Faster. Don’t stop. Faster.”

  Panting and gasping, I arch my back and, all at once, I’m lost in our perfect moment. There is no Margret, no hiding, no fortune to be bestowed. There is only him and me and our bodies, lost and found in one another. With one last jarring thrust, Bran explodes inside me, the veins in his neck straining as he releases his load.

  Exhausted, we recover in silence, staring at the Fresco painted ceiling, our chests heaving in long steadying breaths. The cold marble tile chills my back and I take refuge on Bran, stretching myself along his lean and chiseled body. He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair. Content with just lying there, feeling each other’s bodies and listening to the distant surf roll into Monte Carlo’s bay, I feel myself drift off to sleep.

  Then Bran chuckles and I snap awake.

  “Something funny, Brother Dear?” I stare down at him, narrowing my eyes.

  “No, not at all. I was just remembering how we started on a marble floor very much like this one. Do you remember?”

  “The verandah,” I say, but from a far off place where my mind recollects.

  “You were standing there with a fistful of white peonies,” he says softly. “And looking at you, I suddenly didn’t want to hide worms in your bed, or trip you on the croquet field. All I wanted to do was kiss you all day long.”

  At Bran’s sweet words, my heart seizes inside my chest and it feels as if I could float away.

  “From that moment on,” Bran continues. “Every time you were near, heat surged through me, like when a log shatters to ash in a fire.” Bran traces a line down the middle of my back.

  “I remember that day.” I kiss his chest. “It was the day I knew I wasn’t alone. That you felt the same as I did.”

  “What?” Bran tilts his head in disbelief. “How could you know? I don’t think I was able to speak around you for three months.”

  I lift my head and stare down at him. “Girls know, Brother Dear. Girls always know, even when we doubt ourselves, we always know.”

  Outside, dawn spreads over the French Riviera. Bronze and rose streaks glisten on the water, mirroring the brilliant sky. The air seeping in from the open patio door is already deliciously warm, and in this moment I realize that I haven’t eaten a proper meal since leaving Aiglon College twelve hours ago.

  “How about some room service?” I ask.

  Bran smirks. “I will get you to tell me all your secrets, Sister Dear. Just you wait.”

  With a brief call to the front desk, Bran orders breakfast. It can’t get here quick enough. I excuse myself to freshen up in the master bathroom with my stomach growling. As I splash cool water on my face and neck, my mind wanders. I replay every hot minute of the last three hours. Every touch, every thrill of ecstasy. I run my fingers over my lips and I can feel Bran’s mouth, his warm tongue sliding over mine. I run my fingers down my neck to my stomach, and I can feel Bran’s hands exploring every inch of my naked flesh.

  The ringing doorbell snaps me from my pleasure remembrance. I sift through my bag for something to slip on. My white skimpy sundress would be perfect on this already warm day, if it wasn’t a heap of rags on the floor. When I return to the parlor, I cannot believe my eyes. Brandon Winslow, the only son and heir to multi-billionaire Clive Winslow, is standing in front of a nervous and uncomfortable maître d—bare ass naked. It’s the sort of thing Bran can’t help himself from doing. He never misses a moment to make someone squirm, just because he can, just because he will one day be one of the richest men in the world.

  “This way,” Bran says, stone-faced.

  The maître d, every ounce of color draining from his tanned face, follows Bran and his naked ass to the dining area. I trail after them, stifling a laugh.

  The maître d lays the tray of fresh fruit and bread and cheeses on the table, and pours coffee into Bran’s waiting cup.

  “Will there be anything else, Monsieur?” the maître d asks, averting his eyes to the floor.

  “That will be all. Thank you.”

  The poor man scurries from the room, swiftly closing the front doors behind him.

  “Come, Sister Dear,” Bran says. “Let us feast before we waste the day away in the sun.”

  Brandon Winslow, a total badass to the core.

  Chapter Five

  A brilliant sunset pours gold and pink across the sky and melts into the sea. From our vantage point it’s simply breathtaking. Then again, not much wouldn’t be on the million dollar yacht.

  The Winslow II is by far the largest boat anchored off the shimmering French Riviera sands, but it’s also the quietest. While our anchor mates host sprawling cocktail parties with the crème of the elite rich and powerful, it’s just us and the crew of fifteen on the most expensive yacht Monte Carlo has ever seen. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  A trio of dolphins skim by, then dive with three quick, nearly soundless plops into the crystal waters. They rise, skim, and dive over and over in an amusing unity sending wavelets lapping against the hull.

  Bran lies on the chaise lounge, eyeing the horizon. He holds my hands in his and absentmindedly brings my fingers to kiss and caress them, but never takes his eyes off the bright blue waters and amber-hued sky. We sit silently for what seems like hours, sipping champagne and watching as the sun slinks out of sight.

  When twilight surrounds us, Bran sighs with appreciation and laces his fingers behind his head.

  “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “If only it could stay like this forever.”

  I sit up and rub his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “The world, Mel. We need to make some pretty serious changes if we want to keep seeing sunsets like the one we just witnessed.” His relaxed demeanor changes as he springs from the chaise lounge. “Did you know, even though Americans make up just four percent of the world’s population, we produce twenty-five percent of the carbon dioxide pollution from fossil-fuel burning—by far the largest share of any country?”

  The way he’s pacing, full of energy and alive, is unlike anything I have ever seen in him before.

  “Things can be so different Mel, better, because of people like us.”

  “You mean like stepsiblings?” I ask.

  Bran rolls his eyes at me playfully. “No, I mean filthy rich heirs. We can really change how humans impact our world. Can you imagine not just one green ref
inery, but an entire oil company, run on green tech? It’s all I think about. How I can use my position and my wealth to help our planet.”

  Bran grows quiet, mournful. “When my mother was alive, we’d spend our summers in Alaska. It wasn’t the sort of place billionaires frequent, as you can imagine. We’d stay in these luxury cabins high in the mountains, so high we had to fly in and out by helicopter. It was untouched land, green and lush and unspoiled by humans. I learned to hunt and fish and take only what we needed. She taught me to appreciate the earth, not as something to consume, but to protect.”

  I have never heard Bran speak about his mother like this. She died when he was eight, and when Margaret married Clive three years later, all photos and remembrances were kept out of sight. Margaret’s orders.

  “This really means a lot to you.” I caress his back.

  “It’s all I think about. Well, other than you,” Bran says playfully.

  “Well then, Brother Dear, how can we make it better?”

  Bran smiles in a way that tells me he’s about to reveal something big. He flashes me a frisky grin and tickles my neck.

  “Seriously.” I smack his hand away. “You should use your power and influence to change things.”

  Bran cups my face and leans in, crushing my lips with his.

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do, Sister Dear,” he says with rippling enthusiasm.

  I pour us more champagne and hold up my flute to his. “Then tell me your plan.”

  Bran clinks his glass with mine and downs his champagne with one smooth gulp. “When I inherit, I’ll control sixty-five percent of Winslow Oil. Now, most of that is tied up in the already existing financial infrastructure. However, there is a new revenue stream and it’s a big one.”

  Bran taps his phone awake.

  “Here” He shows me a map. “Winslow Oil is now in the South China Seas.”

  I look at him, waiting for the punch line.

  “Don’t you see, sister dear? The money Winslow Oil will make in the South China Seas won’t be allocated. It’s pure profit and with that revenue, I can turn Winslow Oil into the first one hundred percent green oil company in existence.”

  I stare at my stepbrother, amazed by him. Most heirs I know want to conquer the world with their own brand of stupidity. Not Brandon Winslow. He wants to make the world a better place.

  And I’ll be by his side when he does it.

  “I’ve never seen you this passionate about something,” I say. “Well, other than me.”

  “I’ve always been passionate about you, Sister Dear,” he says with a wicked grin.

  Bran scales my body and shivers course over my skin. He crushes his lips against mine and I breathe in his rich, musky scent. His hands find the strings to my bikini and pull gently.

  “Uh oh,” he says coyly. “Looks who’s not wearing anything.”

  His touch sends shockwaves through my body. He hungrily explores my nakedness until he finds purchase around my ass. He squeezes my flesh and I let out a long, heavy sigh, encouraging him. I slide my hand from his chest to his crotch and stroke him outside his swim shorts, taking in the size and shape that I already know so well. He moans in my ear as I shove my hand under the fabric and pump his cock.

  Bran trails his other hand down my breasts. He squeezes one nipple, then the other, both responding to his touch. His hand then slides from my breasts and down past my navel, until he reaches the moistened folds between my legs. He stakes claim on my clit with ease and massages it with soft circles. I moan and hiss, showing my arousal and approval.

  Without warning, Bran scoops me up into his arms and rolls to his back.

  “Fuck me, Sister Dear,” he whispers.

  I hover over him and guide his fat cock inside me. I ride him, rising and falling as he pushes himself into me with wild, brutal thrusts. The rhythm is intense, like a mounting piston, but I keep the pace.

  This time, I’m in control.

  Bran reaches to tug at my clit and it all becomes too much to bear. With each pounding thrust, I come closer to my breaking point. Bran lets out a deep groan, telling me he’s nearing his perfect spot as well.

  My breath is ragged and worn as perspiration covers my body like a thin film. Faster and faster I ride him, my bouncing breasts keeping time with our athletic pace. Bran reaches up and cups them steady, rolling my hard, pink nipples between his fingers.

  And this does me in. I hammer my pace.

  “I’m coming,” I scream, digging my nails into his flesh. I quake over him, arching my back and welcoming the release. But Bran continues his assault from underneath, thrusting until his hot seed shoots into me.

  “That was amazing,” I say, catching my breath.

  Bran hugs me close to his chest. I listen to his heart beating beneath his flesh.

  “Just think,” he says with dangerous sweetness. “There’s more days like this waiting for us in New York.”

  My breath catches when he mentions the inevitability of tomorrow, when the Winslow jet carries us from our paradise and back to the sweltering city of New York.

  “I’ve had Giles move your things to my apartment.” He traces imaginary lines on my shoulder.

  I hear his words but something in me shakes. I hadn’t thought further than this weekend. I knew we’d be together; I just never imagined that meant living together.

  Bran senses my unease immediately. “What is it?”

  Words climb up my throat. “Living together?” I croak. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure,” he says, squeezing me close to him. “We’ve been torn apart for too long.”

  I bite my lip, locking the words I really mean—am I sure?—up tight.

  I stare into his bright, confident eyes. My insides settle and my doubts and fears slide back into the dark corners of my mind. I kiss him hard on the mouth, drinking him in.

  “Last one in is rotten caviar,” I say.

  I stand at the bow, naked and ready. I spread my arms wide and, before launching myself into the crystal twilight waters, I look back at my stepbrother and wink, then dive into the deep unknown.

  The End

  ABOUT L.E. JOYCE

  L.E. Joyce is the real deal. At age six, she became the youngest student kicked out of her prestigious private school for writing dirty stories in her little blue spelling book. Not only did she use each of the words assigned that week and spell them correctly, she also managed to give three of her teachers starring roles in several of her tales. As a result, she kept her stories a dirty little secret until after graduate school where she earned an MFA in Creative Writing, and the right to write about whatever the hell she wants. Today, she divides her time (although somewhat unequally depending on the day) between her family, her writing, and her secret life as a dominatrix. You can follow her on Twitter at @LEJoyceWrites and subscribe to her mailing list here.

  L.E. Joyce’s Amazon Author Page

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  Taming Lacey by Tori White

  “Where are those drinks, Lacey,” Luke called out from the upper deck, his voice echoing down the narrow staircase that descended into the boat’s spacious interior salon. I was startled for a second, coming back from simply gazing dreamily around me. I had never in my life been surrounded by such luxury. Every surface gleamed, reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the tall salon windows and the sliding glass doors that led out to the lower deck. The softness of white leather contrasted sharply against the dark hardwood polished floors and the mahogany countertops of the small kitchenette I was standing amidst. I was in complete awe.

  “Coming,” I called back, my voice coming out high-pitched and screeching, making me wince. I had decided to act self-confident whatever happened and now my own voice was betraying me. I had been down in the salon for at least fifteen minutes, stealing time to look around and take in the interior. How could he
live like this? He was so privileged and the luxury yacht was just one of his many possessions that made me cringe with unreasonable jealousy. I reminded myself again that this was all mine too now. It surely didn’t feel like it. I felt like an intruder on my own brother’s boat. My new stepbrother, to be precise.

  When my mom sat me down that morning in the white gazebo overlooking the ocean, I kind of knew what was coming. She poured her tea in the dainty porcelain cup, her gloved pinkie outstretched as she brought the cup up to her full pursed lips as if she had lived the high-life for years. The truth was we were both fairly recent additions to the large estate. Thanks to my mom being a world-class beauty and incredibly skilled at making men lose their minds, she had somehow managed to secure our future by marrying a billionaire. Her third marriage. My second new family. As she dabbed a white cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth, she told me I needed to spend more time with my brother Luke. It wasn’t like we were guests in this house and it would really make her and Luke’s dad happy if we got along.