ROCK HARD (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE)

by Wild, Nikki

  “Be damn sure you do,” she said. “And ‘ta very much for the shite evening.”

  The phone beeped to indicate that the call was over, though it was more than a full minute before I took the phone away from my ear. I began to question the very fabric of existence as I wrapped my head around the fact that Tristan, my absolute sex-fiend of a stepbrother, had refused to allow a woman to go down on him. Something didn’t seem right, there was no way that he’d ever have passed up that kind of an opportunity to be serviced by a gorgeous woman he’d likely just spent the whole night flirting with over oysters and champagne.

  I needed answers.

  I furiously pressed my thumbs against the screen of my phone, tapping in my brother’s number before practically smashing the call button as hard as I could. I was enraged, utterly boiling that somehow Tristan had managed to cock up a perfectly simple first date. So what if he had his knob handled for a moment? Wasn’t that part of what he was looking for in a damn wife?

  The phone began to ring as I sat up, unsure of what to do with myself as I waited for that bastard to answer. He must have known by now that Patricia had called me, had told me how he’d somehow screwed his chances with her. I was so angry that I could almost see the steam wafting from my ears. He only had one job, and that was to enjoy a beautiful woman’s company so that maybe they could stand one another for the rest of their bloody lives!

  “Hello?” came Tristan’s lazy voice from over the phone. How could he sound so calm after what he’d just done?

  “You stupid twat,” I snarled. “How in the world could you screw this up so damn quickly? She was a perfect match for you!”

  “You’re mad at me,” he said, matter-of-factly. I wanted to scream over at him, I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs what a stupid mistake he’d made by messing up one of the simplest parts of my job.

  “You’re damn right I am!” I said, standing up from the couch quickly as I began to pace around my living room. I felt like if I didn’t do something to burn off some energy I might explode. “She’s furious, Tristan! I thought you loved doing kinky shit with women in the backs of limos! At least that’s what the tabloids all said!”

  “It just didn’t feel right, you know?” he said, and I could almost picture him giving me that non-committal shrug. I wanted to strangle him.

  “It didn’t feel right? Since when the hell has that ever mattered to you?” I raged, throwing my free hand in the air in exasperation. “You’ve never been shy about who the hell played with your dick before now, so why start?”

  “That’s not really fair, I think,” he said. “Don’t I get a say in who plays with my cock?”

  “Not today, you don’t,” I yelled back. “You told me you wanted to find someone who was exciting and flirtatious, and instead of going for the perfect woman I set you up with, you drop her off on her damn doorstep?”

  “That’s not the whole story, Gwen,” he said, his turn apparently to seem a little annoyed.

  “Then do tell me all about what really happened, Tristan, because I’m sure that it will be a story for the ages.”

  “I will, once I get to your apartment,” he said before I heard the beep of the line going dead.

  I stared out onto my balcony through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, my phone clattering to the floor as those words echoed through my brain. He was coming here? Now?

  This was bad, and it would only get worse when he walked through those doors. How was I supposed to control myself around him after I’d spent the last few hours downing a bottle of wine all by myself? I was done for! And God knew that he’d be just as horny after Patricia tried to get him off in the car—if unsuccessfully. I knew that this was a recipe for disaster, and the more I tried to push my lustful thoughts from my mind, the more effort I used the more of them came.

  I pictured the way he’d look walking through the door, his cock still somewhat hard from Patricia’s eager attempt at fellatio. I pictured how he’d feel bending me over and hiking up my dress before he slid himself slowly into my drenched quim. I let out a gasp as I tried my hardest to quell my torrential desire, knowing full well that any effort I made now would all be undone by the time that my stepbrother arrived. I had to find a way to sober myself up before he walked through the door.

  I ran—well, stumbled—to my kitchen, drinking down a glass of water as quickly as I could, hoping to at least begin the process of sobering myself up before my stepbrother arrived. My heart was pounding and I could feel the heat between my legs as it refused to abate. All I could think of was how much I wanted him, my own emotions betraying me as I half-panicked and half eagerly anticipated Tristan’s arrival.

  This is going to be a disaster! I thought, downing another glass as I made my way to my bathroom to start running a cold shower to pull me out of my drunken haze. All that I could imagine as I thought of Tristan was how incredible he must have looked tonight for Patricia to so easily want to go down on his dick.

  My breath caught as I stepped into the cold shower, letting out a loud gasp as I felt the exhilaration of the freezing chill wash over me like a floor. For a few moments I was finally free of the thoughts of my stepbrother’s member dancing through my mind as it slid into my imagined cunt. I felt like a slut, practically chomping at the bit at the idea of his dick pulsating inside of me.

  After a few minutes beneath the chilly waters I stepped out, running to my bedroom for a hopefully appropriate outfit that would allow easy access to my more intimate areas. I didn’t want this to be easy for either of us. This couldn’t end the way that I was picturing. I refused to give in to the base desires that flooded my mind. I didn’t need the scandal any more than my family did.

  Imagine the headlines: Matchmaker Beds Playboy Stepbrother.

  It was not something I aimed to let slander my good name.

  ROYAL PRICK

  Chapter 8

  I hardly had the chance to knock once before Gwendolyn grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me inside with strength I’d never expected from her. She looked like she’s only just stepped out of the shower moments before, her hair wrapped up in a loose towel fashioned into a turban. How she’d managed to shower in the short time since I’d called boggled my mind, though the distinct scent of alcohol on her breath made me wonder as to why she’d felt the need for a shower so necessary.

  “Are you feeling alright?” I asked, one eyebrow cocked.

  “Am I feeling alright?” she asked, barely holding herself back from screaming at me from the top of her lungs. “You do realize that she was a client of mine, yes? Meaning that she holds me responsible for her date going so poorly?”

  “It isn’t that big of a deal,” I said, trying to wave it off. “Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that, yes?”

  “No! Tristan you can’t do this! You came to me so that I could help you get yourself married, and yet the first woman I set you up with you practically brush off when she offers to blow you? You of all people refused sex from a willing woman?”

  “We’ve been over this, Gwennie. I just wasn’t feeling into it, that’s all,” I said, glaring at her as I sauntered over to her kitchen. “I have every right not to want to have sex with anyone I choose for any reason I choose.”

  I couldn’t deny that Gwendolyn had done well for herself, her apartment was enormous, and impeccably decorated in a fashionable modern style. I’d hardly had the time to find myself a proper place to live that was truly my own, instead invading one of our family’s less used properties in London.

  “You don’t get to make that excuse when you’re the one who wants to find himself a wife!” she said, raising her voice.

  I could already feel myself stirring.

  “You’re going to apologize to Patricia and hope to God she gives you a second chance,” Gwen said, her face red.

  “I don’t think that I am,” I said, opening up her fridge to see what she might have that I could drink. After what I’d just gone through, I knew I
needed something to dull my thoughts. Sadly, the wine bottle my stepsister had been happily drinking before my arrival was all but empty. “I didn’t fancy Patricia, and I don’t think that she’s what I want in a wife.”

  “Oh? And what exactly are you looking for that Patricia doesn’t have?”

  “She’s not you, for one,” I said as I shut the refrigerator door.

  I shouldn’t have said it. It was a stupid, insensitive thing to say, not just because it was inflammatory, but because I hadn’t thought the consequences fully through. I hadn’t spared a moment to imagine what that confession might be like on Gwen’s ears, or on her heart. Sure, I’d known for a while now that I wanted my stepsister, that I craved her in ways that were entirely unsuitable, but she didn’t know that.

  Or did she? She blinked at me, hard, clearly surprised. But not shocked. Not staggered. The look on her face almost seemed to say, “You too?”

  We stood in silence for a few moments, one that was weightier than I could handle. I had to say something to break it. I was never one for emotionally charged moments, especially not where the promise of sex was concerned.

  “Well, I suppose this puts us at an impasse,” I chuckled.

  But Gwennie didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. In fact, she looked downright pissed at me, like sharing a joke with me was the last thing on her mind. Like wringing my neck was the first.

  “Don’t even joke about that,” she hissed, stalking away from me, eyes wild. “Jesus, Tristan. If anyone were to hear you…”

  I snorted. “What, is your flat bugged?”

  “With you here, it might as well be,” she answered, casting a furtive glance out the windows. “No doubt a fair few paparazzi followed you here tonight. And you never know what lengths they’ll go to.”

  “Oh, yes, what a scoop,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Duke’s Son Once Again Cocks Up a Date, Goes to His Sister’s to Have a Whinge. I’m sure it’ll sell out nationwide.”

  “Stepsister,” she reminded me, and I narrowed my eyes.

  “Who are you reminding here, Gwennie? You, or me?”

  Gwendolyn didn’t answer that. She pursed her lips and turned away from me. Thanks to the towel turban holding her hair back, I could see that the tips of her ears were turning red. Her chest was flushing the same color. I wondered where else the blood in her body was rushing. I knew my own pulse had culminated in some very intimate places.

  “Look,” I said, trying to sound more gentle than I was feeling, “we need to talk about this. We never discussed—”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Gwendolyn put in, but I went on.

  “—what happened before I joined the Royal Army. What happened between us.”

  I remembered it well. And no matter how much Gwennie tried to hand wave it away, I knew she remembered, too. The way her eyes glazed over when I brought it up made me certain of that fact.

  Absently, she touched her lips, as if she could still feel the way my breath had been upon them in that cramped, hot pantry. Dear Lord, I’d wanted to devour her in there, hold up her tiny body against the shelves and just dive face-first into her virgin cunt. Maybe if we’d had a few moments more, that’s exactly what I would have done. I’d been a stupid boy back then, though, and I’d strutted out of there before she could give in, certain she’d follow me. I’d underestimated how stubborn my Gwennie could be. It seemed she’d only grown more obstinate with age.

  My Gwennie. Shit, did I really think of her that way? Or could I chalk it up to an errant imagining, one I wasn’t totally responsible for? I knew which one I’d like to do, but what would be the truth? It’s easier to lie to yourself if you can at least suss that out.

  “That was a long time ago,” she said, though the way she stared at me I could have sworn we were right back there, the both of us so ready to take one another that we could taste it. I could still recall the way she felt against my lips, how her skin had turned to goose flesh beneath my soft and caressing touches. “We were still kids.”

  “Like hell we were,” I said, shaking my head as I recalled just how adult the two of us had felt back in that pantry. I could tell by the way Gwennie’s body fit against me that we had been by no means children. “We were most certain not behaving like any children I’d ever met… though I always did love playing doctor.”

  “You’re such a bastard,” Gwendolyn spat, though the look on her face told me that she immediately regretted it. It was cute how much she cared for my feelings, cared about how I felt about my place in the world. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what I am, Gwen,” I said, leaning against the door of her refrigerator. “I’m not ashamed it, not like my father is. I’ve been told so many times that the word has lost all meaning to me.”

  “Still, I was insensitive,” she tried to reason. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”

  “And just how do you plan to make it up to me?” I asked, smiling down at her as I took a step closer. Our young bodies pressed together. I summoned the memory of her hand down my pants, holding on to my pierced cock. I could almost feel the sensation—her firm, but timid grip.

  “You always know how to turn something innocent into some disgusting innuendo,” she said, shaking her head, though I spotted her lips turning up at the corners and knew that she was enjoying herself.

  “It’s a special talent of mine, actually,” I laughed, drawing nearer to her once again. “One of many that I’ve already offered to show you.”

  Her face flushed with color, turning it away to hide what I knew was a smile from me. Though as I pressed my body against hers, it was a gasp that escaped her lips, short and high-pitched like a mouse. I adored that gasp more than she could understand. It brought back all the memories I had of my playful, lusty games that all led up to that night.

  “That offer’s still open,” I whispered into her ear. “The one I made to you all those years ago. All you have to do is take it.”

  “We can’t,” she whimpered. God, we really were replaying that night, weren’t we?

  Only this time, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. I wasn’t going to let her use our reputations as an excuse. I wasn’t going to take “we can’t” for an answer—not when everything she did, from the way she looked at me to the way her body sang in my arms, told me she wanted to. That we could.

  Hell, that we ought to.

  “Come on, Gwennie. We’re alone. No one’s going to see. Your mum isn’t going to walk in at any moment and ruin the fun, and she never has to know. Nor does my father. We’re not teenagers anymore.”

  “I thought you said we were adults back then, Tristan,” Gwendolyn murmured, squirming as I slid my prick up against her, forcing her to understand the weight of what she did to me. Her body grinding against it, however involuntarily, wrested a low groan from my throat.

  “We were. Just inexperienced ones. Even me.” I chuckled, thinking of how I’d been convinced I was some kind of Don Juan who knew everything there was to know about sex and women. Growing up a bit had taught me I was wrong, that I had so much to learn. And I’d been a good student. Now it was time for me to ace the ultimate test: bedding my stepsister once and for all.

  “Are you still a virgin?” I asked her.

  Gwendolyn flushed so red I was sure she’d say yes. But she surprised me. “N-not exactly…”

  I grinned. “No need to be embarrassed, love. That just means I don’t have to take it slow.”

  I reached over, giving her plenty of time to stop me. But she didn’t, and so I pulled away the neckline of her robe, exposing the tops of her incredible tits.

  She sucked in a breath, making them jump. “Tristan… what are you doing?”

  I pushed the fabric down over her shoulders. Still, she didn’t stop me. Her breasts shuddered. Her flesh pricked with goosebumps. “Tristan, I… We’ve been over this before… What if someone hears? Or sees?”

  It was an excuse. A stupid, flimsy excuse. She didn’t me
an it. I could tell.

  I undid the belt on her robe. Then I pushed it away, down onto the floor. Gwendolyn was naked in front of me except for that silly towel turban in her hair, and I yanked it away, letting her red locks spill over her neck and shoulders.

  Before she could say my name again I kissed her, covering her mouth with mine, engulfing it, consuming it. I drew her against me, against the hardness straining against my slacks. When she moaned, I knew what I had to do.

  I had to take her.

  With one sweep of my arm, I cleared one end of her kitchen island, letting the plates she’d let gather there crash to the floor. Fuck it, I didn’t care if I destroyed her entire flat. I wanted Gwendolyn. I needed her. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I would’ve destroyed the entire city if it meant I’d get to finally have her.

  I grabbed her tiny waist and plopped her down on the edge of the island, sinking my teeth into her lip until she gasped. I needed to hear her moan again. I needed to hear those breath-stealing sounds she made, the ones that urged my cock into a frenzy. I needed to feel her shudder.

  “I’m hungry,” I said, shoving her down on her back so I could spread her legs wide for me. She blushed and put her hand on mine as if to stop me, but one sharp look made her bite her lip and settle back, her entire body quaking.

  “Don’t be shy,” I told her, pushing her thighs apart. “Not with me, Gwennie. You don’t ever have to hide from me.” Then I bent my head and puffed a hot breath over her labia, making her squeal. Now that was a sound I just had to hear again. I opened the lips of her pussy and dove in with my tongue.

  “Fuck!” Gwendolyn breathed, as if this entire time she’d thought I’d pull away, like maybe this moment wouldn’t happen, after all. She dug her manicured nails into my hair. “Tristan!”

  Oh, God, Gwendolyn’s pussy was incredible. It was pure ambrosia, even sweeter than I had imagined it being. I lapped up her lust and musk, thrashing my tongue against her nub, making her beg and cry and arch up off the kitchen island while I thrust my fingers inside of her.