Episode 2: My Stepbrother?!
A shaky breath left her lips. "You get what?"
Nick's voice was a low rumble, a sound that vibrated straight through her. "Why is your skin bare under that dress? You were naked when I rang the bell, weren't you?"
Heat, instant and undeniable, flooded her cheeks. Her hand trembled as she scooped coffee grounds into the mug. "How could you possibly know I'm not wearing a bra?"
"Because I felt your nice looking nipples," he said, his voice dropping into a husky, intimate register that made the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end. "The way they beaded into hard little points against my chest when you hugged me. The soft weight of your breasts spreading against me… God, Clara."
She spun around, the coffee spoon clattering against the counter. The blush on her cheeks was now a furious one, "Nick, stop it. I don't want you using words like that."
He just stared at her, his blue eyes dark and unblinking. "Breasts? Nipples? They're just parts of you, Clara. Beautiful parts."
"It's not right! You can't just say things like that to me!"
He let out a short, humorless laugh as she turned her back to him again. "I don't remember you being such a prude. I guess Andrew trained you well."
"And I don't remember you being so… so…"
"Bad?" he supplied, his tone laced with amusement.
"Yes. Very Bad."
His gaze slid down her back, lingering on the full, rounded curve of her ass beneath the thin cotton of her dress. "Doesn't Andrew ever talk dirty to you?"
"Of course not," she snapped, her voice tight. "Not like that."
"So what's it like when you're in bed? All polite?" He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "Do you whisper, 'Please place your sweet cock inside my pussy now, honey'?"
She slammed the coffee pot onto its base, the sound echoing in the tense silence. Her whole body was on fire with shame and something else, something dark and thrilling she refused to name. "I am not discussing my sex life with you, Nick. It's not decent. We're brother and sister."
"Step-brother," he corrected softly, the word hanging in the air between them. "Remember that, Clara. Now, and for the future."
She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. "What are your plans?" she asked, her voice cool despite the inferno raging under her skin.
"My plans? About school, you mean?"
She grabbed a box of cereal and a bowl from the cupboard, her movements stiff. "That. And about where you're going to live."
"I'm staying here in Brighton. As for school… I'm screwed. I can't go back there. Maybe I can find another college, but for now…" He let the sentence hang.
She frowned at his choice of words but let it slide. His immediate problem was the more pressing concern. "Have you told Mom and Dad?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"So they think you're still at school."
"I guess."
"Won't the school contact them?" she asked, moving to the fridge to pull out a carton of milk.
"Probably. That's why I need to lay low for a while. Hide out until the storm passes."
"But Nick, you have to tell them where you are. They'll be sick with worry."
"Just drop it, Clara, will you?" he snapped, his voice sharp. Then, just as quickly, his expression softened, a disarming grin replacing the scowl. "Look, things are shitty enough without my big sister giving me a lecture."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her anger deflating.
She ate her cereal quickly, her appetite gone. As soon as the coffee was ready, she poured them each a mug. They made small talk, reminiscing about their childhood, but a thick, unspoken tension pulsed beneath the surface. He was different. The way his eyes kept drifting over her body made her skin feel too tight, too sensitive. He watched her every move with that strange, hungry glint in his eyes. This was the first time they'd been truly alone since she'd married Andrew, and a deep, primal unease coiled in her stomach.
When she finished, they moved back into the living room.
"This is a great apartment," he said, his gaze sweeping the room before settling back on her. "You and I are going to have a lot of fun here."
She met his gaze directly, her voice firm. "Nick, I want you to stay. You know I do. But don't you think you'd be more comfortable somewhere else? A place with more room?"
He chuckled lightly, "I think I can find all the space I need right here. Besides, I'm broke. You wouldn't be cruel enough to throw your poor, stranded little brother out on the street, would you?"
"I could lend you money until you find a job."
"I don't want a job. I'm going to get into another college. I'll only be here for a couple of weeks, tops."
"Come on." He closed the distance between them in two long strides, pulling her into a loose embrace. "You know you want me here."
His hand moved slowly up and down her arm, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her skin. The light, teasing caress sent a shiver straight to her core. He was so charming, so solid, the scent of him filling her senses. A dizzying, light-headed feeling washed over her as she stood pressed against his hard chest.
WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU. A frantic voice screamed inside her head. HE'S YOUR BROTHER.
STEPBROTHER, another, darker voice whispered back.
His eyes narrowed, studying her reaction, that confident grin playing on his lips. "You're going to let me stay, Clara. You want me to. I'll be very good company."
"But, Nick…"
"No more arguments," he murmured, his voice a low command. "Or I'll have to put you over my knee. I'm not your baby brother anymore. I'm all grown up."
That was terrifyingly true. It was the only explanation for the strange, forbidden heat coiling deep inside her. But he was still her brother, she told herself, and there was no reason to feel this way. It was only because she was lonely, because she ached for Andrew's touch, for the feel of his cock inside her. That had to be it.
"All right, Nick," she conceded, her voice barely a whisper. "You can stay."
His grin widened. "That's my girl. Now, mind if I grab a shower?"
"Go ahead," she said, pointing toward the hallway. "Towels are in the hall closet."
He gave her a final wink before disappearing down the room.
As the sound of the shower started, she moved through the apartment, tidying things that were already tidy. She felt a desperate need to have company, yet she knew no one in Brighton. She and Nick had grown up together.
"HOW COULD I BE SO STUPID," she thought. TO BE AFRAID OF HIM HERE?
The sound of shower in the bathroom shut off. She was dusting the television when the bathroom door creaked open. She glanced up.
Nick stood in the doorway, a single white towel wrapped low around his hips. Droplets of water glistened on the hard, smooth planes of his chest and abdomen. That strange, forbidden pleasure jolted through her again, hot and sharp, as she took in the sight of him.
"Forgot to grab clean clothes from my bag," he explained as he walked to the duffel bag.
She watched, mesmerized, as he bent to pick it up. As he straightened, the corner of the bag snagged the edge of the towel. It loosened, hesitated for a half-second, and then slithered down his hips.
Clara's breath hitched. Her eyes widened, locked on the sight of her brother's naked body. A thick, hard cock jutted before her, pointing proudly toward the ceiling. It was every bit as large as Andrew's. Maybe larger.
A deep blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She tore her eyes away, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Whoops," Nick said, a low chuckle in his voice as he bent to retrieve the towel.
He glanced at her, and even though she was turned away, he could see the crimson stain on her cheeks. Holding the towel loosely around his waist, he walked over to her, closing the space between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"See something you liked?" he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
"I did not!" she insisted, her voice tight with shame, still refusing to look at him. "Now will you please get dressed and go into the bedroom?"
Her body was jagged with waves of emotions. A wet, molten heat was building between her legs, making her pussy ache. Her nipples were hard pebbles, straining against the thin fabric of her dress.
His hand landed on her back, then slid down with deliberate slowness to cup her ass. His fingers splayed wide, claiming the whole curve as he squeezed, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh right where it met her thigh. The feel of her hot skin through the thin dress sent a jolt of pure electricity through him, and she felt his cock twitch and harden even more, a solid, demanding pressure against her back.
Clara gasped, twisting to slap his hand away, but he was too fast. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pinning her against him, while his other hand held her shoulder. As he lowered his head, she felt his erection for the second time, the rigid length of his cock pressing into her belly, a hot, throbbing brand between them.
Her senses reeled. The world narrowed to the feel of his hard body, the scent of his clean skin, the pulsing heat of his cock against her. "This is your brother," her mind screamed. But the feelings surging through her were anything but sisterly, and a wave of suffocating guilt crashed over her, mingling with the raw, desperate desire.
"Nick, what are you doing?" she demanded, struggling in his arms. "We can't do this! We can't!"
"Sure we can, Clara," he murmured against her hair. "You want it. I want it. We're both adults. So why the hell not?"
His casual confidence stunned her. He wasn't her step-brother anymore; he was a predator, and his certainty of her desire only fueled her own. She kept struggling against him.
He'd let it go too far to stop now. And he could feel it in the way her body yielded, in the soft gasp she tried to swallow, that she didn't really want him to stop at all.
He swept her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. She struggled, but it was useless. Her struggles only made her skirt ride up to her waist, exposing the delicate pink lace of her panties. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against her thinly clad ass, and the contact sent a fresh wave of heat through them both.
"Nick, stop it!" she cried, her voice a mix of plea and moan. "Goshhhh, please!"
He just laughed, a low, triumphant sound, and carried her toward the bedroom. He dropped her onto the mattress, and her skirt billowed up around her thighs.
He fell to his knees beside the bed, his massive cock standing straight up from his body. She couldn't help but stare at the sheer size of it, hard and flushed and terrifyingly real. The shock and shame of what was happening warred with a dark, thrilling excitement.
She tried to tell herself he was just teasing, that he wouldn't actually go through with it. A brother and a sister… it was unthinkable.
He laughed again as he wrestled her into submission, his heavy cock slapping against her thighs with his movements. A choked giggle escaped her lips. Finally, she stopped fighting. It was no use. She went limp, panting, her body humming with a strange energy.
His eyes scanned the room, landing on the pillows. He grabbed one, yanked the case off, and began twisting it into a thick rope of fabric.
Clara could have scrambled away then. But she was frozen, mesmerized by the methodical way he worked, her mind unable to process his intention until it was too late.
She gasped as he pressed the improvised gag against her lips, her protest muffled as he tied it securely behind her head.
This wasn't a game. He meant to fuck her.
A terrible humiliation washed over her. She kicked and bucked, muffled cries coming from behind the gag, but his superior strength was overwhelming. He easily pinned her while he stripped the case from the other pillow.
He turned her struggling body onto her stomach, folding her legs up over her back. He gathered her wrists, bringing them down to her ankles, and looped the second pillowcase around them, knotting it expertly. It was tight enough to hold her, but not enough to hurt. She could still writhe, but she couldn't roll over or work herself free.
He straightened up on his knees, breathing hard, his eyes glittering as he grinned down at her exposed, bound form.
"Clara, there you are," he said, his voice tense and husky. "How do you like that?"
He watched her ass cheeks quiver in her pink panties, and his cock gave a hard jerk in response.
It was so hard the veins stood out like cords, the head a deep, angry red. A thick, perfect bead of clear fluid welled at the slit at its tip, a promise of the filth to come.
"You're going to love this before I'm done with you," he promised, his voice a raw whisper. "I'm going to make you beg for it. You're going to love your old Nick like you never have before." He laughed again, a dark, possessive sound.
Fear and shame and excitement gripped Clara so tightly she thought she might pass out. But she remained conscious, her eyes wide as she stared over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on her brother's awesome, terrifying cock.
His rod twitched, oozing another thick drop of pre-cum as he placed a hand on the seat of her panties, rocking her bouncy ass back and forth.
The knot was loose. She knew, in some distant part of her mind, that if she truly fought, she could probably get free. But a traitorous part of her, a part that was desperate, couldn't bring herself to move.
Her eyes tracked his every motion, heat coiling deep inside her. The muffled whimpers spilling past the gag had lost all hint of resistance, they were the sounds of wanting. She needed him to touch her.