Stepbrother Dearest(56)

In reality, she was anything but plain. Her body was exactly my type: petite with small curves. Her perfectly round little ass stretched through a pair of gray yoga pants. It was no surprise that she did yoga with a tight body like that.

And her neck…I couldn’t explain what it was, but it was the first thing I noticed about her. I had to urge to kiss it, bite it, wrap my hand around it. It was f*cking weird.

“Would you like me to show you to your room?” she asked.

She was still trying to be sweet. I needed to get out of there before I cracked, so I ignored her and headed for the stairs. After a brief encounter with Sarah, who I always referred to as stepmonster, I finally made it to my room.

After Randy came in to give me shit for a good half-hour, I chain-smoked and played some music to drown out the noise in my head.

Then, I went to the bathroom to take a hot shower.

I squirted some girly pomegranate body wash into my hand. There was a pink loofah sponge hanging off a suction cup on the tile wall. I bet that was what she used to clean her pretty little ass. I grabbed it and washed my body with it before putting it back. The pomegranate crap wasn’t really enough to do the job, so I used some men’s body wash to finish.

The bathroom filled with steam. I got out, and as I was wiping my body down, the door opened.

Greta.

Now was my chance to prove that I wasn’t all bark and no bite.

I let the towel drop to the ground to shock her. The idea was that she’d run out so fast that she’d barely see anything.

Instead, she stood there with her eyes glued to my cock ring.

What the f*ck?

She wasn’t even trying to turn away as her gaze traveled slowly upward to my chest. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was like she woke up and realized what she was doing. She turned away and apologized.

But by that time, I was starting to have fun with it, so I stopped her from leaving.

“You act like you’ve never seen a guy naked before.”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

She was kidding, right?

“How disappointing for you. It’s gonna be really hard for the next guy to measure up.”

“Cocky much?”

“You tell me. Don’t I deserve to be?”

“God…you’re acting like—”

“A giant dick?”

Heh heh. That shut her up.

Then, came more staring.

Now, this was just getting uncomfortable.

“There’s really nowhere to go from here, so unless you’re planning on doing something, you should probably leave and let me finish getting dressed.”

She finally left.

I hoped to God she was kidding. If she’d never seen a guy naked before then what I’d just done was really f*cked up.



***



A couple of days later, I’d overheard her telling her friend that she thought I was hot—“so f*cking hot”—to be exact. Honestly, even though I knew I had some kind of effect on her, I wasn’t exactly sure if it was physical attraction. So, hearing that was a little bit of a game changer. The good: I knew I could use it to my benefit. The bad: I was unbelievably attracted to her, too and needed to make sure she didn’t know it.

Living at the house seemed to get a little easier each day. Although I would never have admitted it, I wasn’t exactly miserable anymore—far from it.

I took joy in doing little things to mess with her, like stealing all of her underwear and her vibrator. Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a little thing. Overall, though, I started to realize that the motivation behind my actions wasn’t what I originally intended.

Getting back at Randy was barely an afterthought anymore. Now, I was messing with Greta simply to get her attention.

In a matter of days, I’d all but forgotten about my “evil plan.”

One afternoon, though, shit got real when I intentionally brought a girl from school to Kilt Café where Greta worked. I’ll admit; I had no problem getting girls and had been with a few of the hottest ones at school within the first month. But they all bored me. Everything bored me—except getting a rise out of my stepsister.

Greta never bored me.

The first thing I’d think about when I’d wake up in the morning was how I was going to ruffle her feathers next.


That day at the café was no exception, but it was a turning point—one I couldn’t turn back from.

Greta was waiting on our table, and I’d been intentionally giving her a difficult time. She ended up trying to get back at me by pouring a shitload of hot sauce into my soup. When I figured it out, I gulped the entire thing down to spite her. Even though it burned like hell, I didn’t let it show. I was so impressed with her that I could have kissed her.

So, I did.

Under the guise of retaliation, I used the soup as an excuse to corner her in a dark corridor and do what I’d wanted to for weeks. I’ll never forget the noise she made when I first grabbed her and claimed her wet little mouth with mine. It was like she was starving for it. I could have kissed her all damn day, but this was supposed to appear like it was about the hot sauce and not the kiss. So, I reluctantly ripped myself away and went back to the table.

I was hard as hell, and that wasn’t good. I told my date to meet me outside so she wouldn’t notice.