by Harper Bloom
That’s when Dad’s rage really hit me.
Nothing was right about me, not how I looked, not how I spoke, not how I acted. It was just the two of us in the house, then, except for the housekeeping staff and rare visits from Trent and Adrian, Dad’s son from his first marriage. For four years, I lived under surveillance, sometimes literally. Dad put cameras in my room. He’d force me to sit through hours of him replaying tapes and pointing out how stupid and disgusting they proved me to be.
On my eighteenth birthday, I took all the cash in the safe and my Mom’s jewelry and had a friend drive me to the Amtrak station. I took the train to Seattle and never, ever looked back.
***
I was looking back now, though, at the neon sign over my diner, reflected in the mirror on my side of Trent’s rented Porshe. To convince Mindy to cover my shifts so I could take the rest of the week off, he’d peeled off enough of those crisp hundreds into her hand to pay her bills until Christmas. I didn’t have any real intention of staying at the ranch for a whole week, but I figured he wouldn’t come back to Mindy for a refund after I split in a day or two to come home to my real life.
“We need to go by my apartment so I can pack some things,” I told Trent when he climbed into the car beside me.
“What kinds of things?”
“Clothes, shampoo, toothpaste… those kinds of things.”
“If we get on the road now, we can beat the rush hour traffic out to the airport. I don’t want to miss our takeoff time. I’ll buy you anything you’re missing.”
“They put a Wal-Mart in at the ranch now, too?” I asked, sarcastically. He put his aviators back on so his facial expressions were once again a mystery to me. We listened to the radio without saying a word to each other until he got out onto the highway. We hit traffic, anyway, because of a wreck ahead of us. When the car stopped moving, he started talking.
“Chloe, I know that life with Dad alone those few years was… hard.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“You’re right, I don’t. And you’re not required to tell me, if you don’t want.” His hand strayed from the stick shift as he absently stroked my thigh. Heat coursed through my body. I now knew it was a gesture of support, not lust, but I couldn’t get my fool libido to listen. Trent wasn’t my brother in blood, but he was close enough that getting turned on was not okay. I shifted in my seat to give myself some relief. His hand moved further up my thigh, which didn’t help anything.
“I’m still not real clear about why I have to go to the ranch at all.”
“Because Dad adopted you when you were eight, the law considers you to be just as much his child as Adrian and me. We all have to be present when the will is read.”
“It’s not like he left me anything,” I scoffed.
“Don’t be so sure. Dad flat-out told me he’d disinherited me because I was such a shitty son, and I still got a trust fund when I turned twenty-five.”
“He told you that? When?”
“At my college graduation party.”
“That’s crazy,” I shook my head. “I remember that party. It was right before I left. He told me for days before how you were his greatest success and I was the one that would never amount to anything but a…” I pulled myself up short. Tears stung my eyes, even though the insult was ten years old.
“Anything but what?”
“A truck stop cum-dumpster,” I finished. Trent lowered his shades and we looked at each other for a long, silent moment. I have no idea who started it, but we both began to chuckle.
“Jesus Christ,” Trent said before breaking into a full laugh, “who says that? Who fucking says that?”
I was laughing now, too. We had kept Dad’s words to ourselves because we thought we were the only ones. Finding out that the worst thing your father ever said to you wasn’t even the worst thing he said that day was deliriously freeing. “Who says that?” I hooted. “A hateful old bastard, that’s who.”
“I still got your money, Dad!” Trent raised a middle finger and shook it at the top of the car.
“No, Trent, no,” I laughed so hard I was struggling for breath, “you gotta point that lower or he’s never going to see it. Not where he is!”
We both laughed until we had to wipe away tears. About that time, traffic moved again ahead of us.
“I forgot you were funny,” Trent said as we made our way to the airport. “I remember it, now, but it’s been so long.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Too long.”
***
One private plane ride and an hour by limo and we were driving through the gates of the ranch. Nothing had changed in ten years, not that I could see. There wasn’t much that could change about the Texas prairie. I don’t know what I expected. It’s not like there were heavy clouds hanging over the place before that could clear up now that Evil Overlord Dad had died. The house even looked the same when we walked through the front door into the white marble foyer ringed by two grand staircases.
“Is that…” I looked up as a stout lady in her sixties with iron gray hair trotted out of a side hallway and threw her arms around me. Her smell was so familiar that I recognized her as soon as she pulled me into her tight hug.
“Trent, you found her. I can’t believe it.”
“Oh, Miss Consuela,” I said, “it’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you still worked here.”
Miss Consuela was the only decent thing about my life at the ranch after Mom got sick. She protected me from Dad as much as she could, one time literally hiding me in a cabinet and standing in front of it when he was tearing around the house looking for me. Dad told people she was the head housekeeper and made her wear a uniform when company came over. While it was true that she oversaw the house, her biggest job was overseeing Dad’s finances. Trent probably owed his trust fund to her, if not the existence of the money itself, then certainly whatever back channel way it had come to him without Dad noticing.
“I’ll work here until the ranch is sold, unless one of you wants to move in.” She gave me one last squeeze before releasing me. “Chloe, it’s so good to see you looking so well. It’s been so long. But I have to ask… what are you wearing?”
“A slutty waitress uniform. It’s a long story. The short version is that Trent shanghaied me from work and wouldn’t let me go home for other clothes so…” I gestured at my torso with both hands, “this is what you’ve got to look at until he takes me shopping.”
“I can definitely do better than that,” she shook her head. “Let me take care of it, dear, you should have enough clothes for a week in your room before dinner.” She pecked Trent on the cheek in greeting.
“Is Adrian here yet?” Trent asked.
“His flight out of Hong Kong’s been delayed,” she said. “He’ll be here tomorrow night at the earliest.”
“I guess that gives Chloe and me a chance to catch up before we get down to business, then.”
“Miss Consuela?” I asked. “Do you know what the will says?” If anyone in this house knew, she would.
“I don’t, no. Your father had it redrafted sometime last year. He didn’t tell me anything about it other than that he’d made changes.”
“I guess we will have to wait for Adrian, then.” As my hopes of leaving the ranch forever as soon as the will was read died, a new feeling replaced it. Mindy was covering me to have the whole week off, after all. Would it be the worst thing in the world to stay a few days at the ranch? I could do all the things I used to do in the summer as a kid: ride horses, eat Miss Consuela’s special tamales, go swimming with Trent… lick beads of water off Trent’s taut stomach until he pulled his trunks down and gave me something really hard to lick…
I swallowed and blushed at the random, lustful thought. Trent had touched me a lot during our trip, but not in any inappropriate way: his hand resting on mine or on my shoulder, guiding me through the airport with his palm against my lower back.
“Say, it’s been a long, surpris
ing day already. I’d really like to go take a shower and unwind a little. Is that okay?” I asked them both.
“Of course,” Miss Consuela said. “I got your old room ready for you. There are already clean towels and a robe for you in the bathroom. “I’ll have the kitchen get dinner out around six.”
“That sounds great,” I sighed, trudging up the stairs toward my bedroom. “I’ll come down then and we can talk some more.”
When I first opened the bedroom door, I thought I had the wrong room because it looked so different. I’m not sure what I expected. I knew Dad wasn’t like other parents, who kept their kids’ rooms like shrines long after they had moved out. I at least expected the furniture to look the same, though. My single bed had been replaced by a king, my desk and dresser with a comfortable-looking couch and a fully-stocked bookshelf. It really had changed from the bedroom of someone who lived there to that of someone who was only a visitor. I closed the door and headed directly for the bathroom, stripping out of my clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor. There would be time to worry about them later, after I had a hot shower. Nothing had changed bout the bathroom, a jack-and-jill that had connected my room to the one where my mother stayed when she got so sick Dad couldn’t stand to have her sleep in his room any more.
I worried for a moment that I didn’t have any shampoo or soap. I shouldn’t have. Miss Consuela ran this house like a five-star hotel, even with Dad dead. The slate walk-in shower was fully stocked with nicer stuff than I had in my bathroom at home. I washed a day of travel and emotion off in a cloud of fluffy, mango-scented suds.
I kept floating on that mango cloud as I toweled off my body and hair. I’m sure there was a hairdryer in the bathroom vanity, but I was too worn out to use it. All of the stress of the day had washed out of me in the shower, but it had taken my energy with it. I wrapped up in a short, thin cotton robe and dragged myself through the door to the king-sized bed. I didn’t even bother folding back the covers. I just sprawled across the top and let my limbs unwind into rest and then to sleep.
***
I was dreaming. A warm mouth was kissing a line from my ear to my shoulder and back again as deft fingers stroked across the skin of my left breast. They moved to my nipple, pulling gently at the hardening nub.
I was not dreaming.
I opened my eyes just as Trent finished another trek up my neck and leaned in to kiss my lips.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. His eyes flew open in surprise, the faded blue shocking against his dark lashes. He didn’t move to kiss me, but his hand was still cupped against my breast.
“I’m just… continuing what we started this morning,” he said, clearly baffled by my reaction.
“What we started…?” I pushed his hand away from my breast. “Trent, I kissed you before I knew who you were. You’re my step-brother, we can’t do this.”
“That was way more than just a kiss, Chloe. I’ve been feeling it all day, and you obviously have, too.” He tweaked my hard nipple for emphasis.
“But we can’t,” I sputtered.
“But I want you,” he insisted, tugging at the knotted belt of my robe, “and you want me, too, otherwise you wouldn’t be in my room, in my bed, almost naked and waiting for me.” He flapped the sides of my robe open to expose all of my creamy, freckled skin, from my heavy breasts down to my trimmed triangle of pubic hair. The look in his blue eyes was pure lust. For the first time, I noticed that all he was wearing was a pair of loose cotton pajama pants. His chest and shoulders were thickly knotted with muscle and the heavy black lines of a tattoo crawled across his left arm and pec. Giorgio Armani he was not, at least when he took off his shirt. He was also sporting a massive erection in the front of his loose pants.
“Your room?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to close my robe. He pinned my wrists to my sides. “This is my room. You came into my room.”
“Yours is the one on the other side of the bathroom, or don’t you remember?” He repositioned himself so he was kneeling between my legs, his hands still holding mine down though I wasn’t struggling. “God, you are beautiful.”
I glanced around. The doors weren’t where they should have been at all – I was so out of it that I’d gone into Trent’s room after my shower instead of my own by mistake.
“Okay, yes, it’s your room, but that doesn’t mean… hey!” I protested as he leaned down to kiss a line between my breasts, “that doesn’t mean it’s not wrong. You’re still my step-brother.”
“We were only related through Dad. Now he’s dead,” he kissed across the pale mound of my breast to one of my pink nipples. It reacted by hardening immediately against his lips. Traitor. “Besides, isn’t the fact that we’re not supposed to part of the fun?”
I moaned. Between what his mouth was doing to my nipple and what having this sexy, totally off-limits stud on top of me was doing to my pussy, I was running out of willpower fast.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, releasing my pink nub from his wicked lips. “If I do anything that doesn’t feel good, you tell me to stop, and I will. You won’t, though,” he dragged the tips of two of his fingers across my wet lips. “I can already tell.”
He kissed his way back up my sternum until his bare chest was pressed to mine. The heat of his skin was the only encouragement I needed to finally give in to my forbidden desires. I raked my fingernails lightly down his back as he bent to kiss me. He didn’t taste like coffee, as he had in our first kiss. His lips were spicier and wild, like a shot of tequila. Where our tongues had just skimmed each other before, we fully drank in the passion of each other’s mouths. We sucked at each other’s tongues and lips, wildly tasting and consuming anything we could reach. The only thing that separated my burning cunt from the heat of his thick tool was one thin layer of cotton. I spread my legs and bucked up against him as we made out.
“Oh, you want it now, do you?” he teased.
“I wanted it this morning,” I admitted, “even after I found out who you were.”
“Honesty,” He said before sucking on my neck, “is the hallmark of a good relationship.”
“Well, I honestly want you to fuck me right now.”
He reached between my legs and circled my clit with his fingers. When I moaned my approval, he increased the speed of his hand until I was holding in screams at the edge of orgasm. He pushed two fingers inside me.
“God, you are wet, and it feels like a furnace in there. Do you get like that for all the boys, sis?”
I bit my lower lip and humped against his hand. He put the pad of his thumb squarely on my clit and pumped his fingers inside me.
“Yes… yes… make me come for you!” I wanted to shout it, but I still had enough sense to realize that even if Trent and I couldn’t hold back our lust, if anyone else found out what we were doing the scandal would be atomic. I whispered it to him instead.
“Oh, I will. You know what I’m going to do after you come on my fingers?”
“Mmmmmm?” He had me so close to orgasm that I was afraid to unclamp my lips for fear of screaming when I came.
“I’m going to put my big, thick cock in you and make you come for me again.”
That pushed me over the edge. I grabbed one of the pillows clustered by the headboard and bit into the corner of it so I could safely shriek into the muffling cotton batting. My muscles tensed so hard riding the wave of my pleasure that my ass arched off the bed. Trent slowly scissored his fingers inside me, intensifying my contractions of bliss.
“That,” he said before planting another kiss on my lips, “almost made me cream in my pants. Thanks for the visual, gorgeous.”
He pulled his fingers out of me and untied the drawstring at his waist. I sucked my lower lip in anticipation of what was next. All men said they had a big, hard prick to put in you when they were talking dirty, even the ones who had something more like four inches of slack hose. Something about the way Trent had said it, though, made me think there was no bravado in his pan
ts – mostly because it wouldn’t fit.
He hooked his thumbs over the waistband of his pants and lowered them to his knees. His cock stood straight out from his hips at a right angle, the shaft curving proudly upward into the uncut head. I could see the dark, shiny tip poking out of the wrinkled collar of skin and precum collecting around the edge. He was indeed as long and thick as I’d hoped – and then some.
“Ooh, that’s… unexpected,” I sat up and teased his slit with one of my fingers, drawing away a long string of his clear arousal fluid.
“My mom is French. Circumcision’s not so much of a thing… over there… that’s distracting.”
