HUGE - A Stepbrother Romance Read online

  I pay the cab driver through the window, then make my way slowly along the sidewalk. Just as I’m about to walk up to the front door another cab drops a group of other partygoers outside. I stall, looking into my clutch, pausing to wait for them to pay and walk past me. I follow, using their arrival to lessen the impact of mine. I’m confident people won’t recognize me, but I don’t want to do anything to draw extra speculation. A man I don’t know opens the door but he looks a bit like Jacob so I assume he’s family. A cousin maybe. “Come on in, and go and get wasted,” he shouts pointing through to the kitchen area. I’ve been to Jacob’s house a few times before. He dated Bethany, one of my besties, for a few months last year. The pool in his backyard is huge and he knows how to grill too.

  I shuffle in with the others, who are all dressed in tacky Halloween costumes. I’m glad to not be the only one who’s ignored the ‘horror movie’ theme. The music is loud, the floor pulsing under my feet, and it’s dark too, with only fairy lights and pumpkins casting a dim glow in the corridor. In the kitchen, it’s brighter but I don’t recognize anyone yet. I find a bottle of vodka and pour myself half a cup, then top it up with warm coke. It tastes like shit, but I need the warm feeling it spills into my stomach. I need the fuzziness I know it will wrap around my mind. I need guts to do what I’m going to do.

  I take my half-finished drink and wander into the spacious den. There are people lounging on couches, talking and drinking, which looks really strange because they are all in full costume. Others are dancing by the doors to the backyard. I scan the room quickly to find Harrison and see him sitting on the edge of a coffee table, chatting to some girls that are seated on the floor. One is dressed like a slutty zombie schoolgirl and the other like a sexy witch. He’s laughing hard and they’re giggling and I’m filled with poisonous boiling jealousy that makes me want to hiss. One of Harrison’s friends taps him on the shoulder and makes a ‘drink’ gesture. Harrison nods, and then swallows what’s left in his cup and passes it over. If I know Harrison he’ll be sticking to beer. He gets terrible hangovers on the hard stuff.

  I hang against the wall, pretending to look at the books and photographs on the shelves, glancing at Harrison out of the corner of my eye. Jacob’s mom has an interesting collection of novels. I wonder if her son has noticed the smutty books she likes to read and keep on display. I sip my drink slowly. It’s a prop now, giving me something to do so I look less conspicuous. The next time I glance at Harrison the girls are getting up and walking away chatting. They head towards the stairs, probably looking for the bathroom. Harrison glances around for someone familiar, although how he’d recognize who is under the latex masks most people are in, I’ve no idea. I’m just about to move in his direction when I feel a hand on my waist and a gust of breath against my ear. “Nice costume,” a deep voice murmurs. “Looking for some company?”

  I don’t recognize the man behind me from his tone. His hand is so big his fingers almost reach my navel and he’s tall, stooping down to talk to me. I was hoping my costume was going to attract attention but not from strangers.

  I turn and catch sight of Freddie Krueger’s rubbery representation standing behind me. Seduction with the mask of a killer somehow doesn’t come across very well.

  “It’s a costume party,” I say dismissively, looking back to Harrison. He’s still there, looking at his phone, his Pinhead mask illuminated by the screen. He looks strange and otherworldly and I just want to shrug off the pest behind me and get over there before another one of these bimbos gets there first.

  “And you carry if off so well,” the stranger says, his other hand moving to stroke my neck.

  “Hey,” I spin around, definitely not up for the kind of attention he seems to be wanting to give. Freddie raises his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t doing anything,” he says and takes a step back before I have a chance to reply. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and find Harrison walking towards me. “Everything okay?” he asks and for a moment I panic, thinking he’s recognized me, but then I realize that this is typical Harrison behavior. He has a very strong sense of what’s right and wrong. And, despite being a terrible flirt, he’s always very respectful.

  I take the opportunity to move closer to him as if I’m seeking protection. I feel a bit bad for Freddie because he was just flirting and my actions are making him look like a sexual predator. He doesn’t seem concerned, though, walking away and disappearing into the crowd by the doors to the deck.

  “Thanks,” I whisper and I see Harrison’s eyes, behind his mask, flick to mine.

  I wait for an indication that he recognizes me, but I don’t see one. What I do see is the narrowing of his eyes as he smiles at me beneath his terrifying mask.

  “You know that you’re asking for trouble coming to a party full of horny men wearing an outfit like that?”

  I look down at my costume as though I’m surprised by what he’s saying, but inside I’m dancing a jig. He noticed.

  “It’s just a costume,” I say, keeping my voice low.

  “That’s not a costume,” he says huskily. “It’s a work of art.”

  I grin at him and do an exaggerated curtsy. “Glad it worked out so well.”

  “It really did.” He shakes his head. “You gonna give me a twirl so I can see it in all its glory?”

  “If you want,” I say, pivoting on my ridiculous heels.

  “Damn,” he mutters and when I turn back to face him he has a hand over his heart. “If I wasn’t so young and fit, you might have just given me a heart attack.”

  “Shut up,” I say tossing the hair of my wig over my shoulder. The black strands tickle my bare back.

  “I’m serious,” he says. “I’m Harrison by the way.” He holds his hand out for me to shake and I want to laugh at how different he is to me when he thinks I’m not his stepsister, just a hot piece of ass ripe for the picking.

  “Mandy,” I say. It was the first name that came into my head.

  “Short for Amanda?”

  “Just Mandy.”

  “It’s cute. Reminds me of the show…Mork and Mandy.”

  “That was Mindy!” I splutter with laughter and he puts his hands on his hips.

  “Don’t you know that guys hate being laughed at?” he says in a mock serious voice. I know all his tones having lived with him for so long. For the first time since I came up with this ridiculous plan, I feel predatory. If I ever get him upstairs I know he’ll enjoy himself, and if I can keep in character he’ll never know it was me, but I’ll know. I’ll remember that I used my knowledge of him as my stepbrother to seduce him, and rather than it making me feel powerful, suddenly I feel manipulative.

  I shrug my shoulders, feeling despondent, the idea of going home seriously crossing my mind. All the preparation, all the secret longing seems ridiculous. What kind of person am I to put my own desires and feelings above someone else’s in such a big way, particularly someone that I know and care for.

  “Hey,” he says, putting his hand on the top of my arm. “I was only joking.”

  “I know,” I whisper. It’s too noisy for him to hear my mouse-voice but he must lip read.

  “You want to go somewhere for a bit? Somewhere quieter?”

  “Sure,” I say. This is exactly what I was hoping for, but now my success tastes bitter. Still, I follow him out of the main room, down a corridor that’s lined with people chatting and drinking, and into a small side room that’s like a study but with comfortable chairs.

  Harrison flops down on the couch, pulls off his mask and opens the fastenings on his robe.

  “Such a relief to take this thing off,” he says, chuckling it onto the floor. His hair is mussed and he runs his hands over it in a way that seems ridiculously sexy.

  Maybe it isn’t.

  Maybe I’m just a loser with a crush that would think anything about the boy I like is cute.

  I go to sit down next to him just as he throws his arm along the back of the couch. Suddenly I find myself
sitting with his arm around me. “So Mandy with the sexy costume, where are you from?”

  “I’m local,” I say, almost choking on the words. From the bedroom next door to yours would be the truthful answer, but I can’t give away my secret.

  “How come I haven’t seen you around?” His eyes travel from my face and rest on the hemline of my skirt that has ridden up so high I’m an inch off flashing my panties at him.

  “Maybe you have,” I whisper, knowing I’m heading into dangerous territory but seemingly unable to stop myself.

  “I think I would have remembered.” Harrison pauses and looks around the room. “Are you okay now? Out there you seemed a bit upset.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure that guy didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m sure,” I reply. “He was just being a bit handsy.”

  “Well, you can’t really blame him can you?” Harrison says, looking at me pertinently. “That costume is pretty special.”

  I lick my lips, remembering the red gloss I painted on them. The mask is itchy against my skin, but there’s no way I can take it off without risking that he will recognize me.

  “Are you into gothic horror?” I ask, knowing full well he isn’t. He does like Stephen King though and other crime thriller type books that he stacks on his nightstand.

  “I wasn’t before tonight, but I think I might have changed my mind.”

  “You don’t seem to be enjoying your costume very much.” I nod my head towards the hideous latex pile of grotesque face and pins that is lying on the wood floor.

  “Do you have any idea how sweaty it gets inside a mask like that?”

  “I guess I don’t.”

  “Lucky you. I’ve learned a lesson tonight. Next time my stupid friend suggests we dress up for a party, I’m gonna tell him he is on his own.”

  I chuckle softly. “You don’t have to wear a big latex mask though do you? You could paint your face. There are all these gross stick-on wounds at the costume store. There is so much you can do for Halloween that doesn’t involve a face full of rubber.”

  Harrison laughs. “I’m not as artistic or imaginative as you, obviously.”

  He is. I’ve seen the doodles he draws lying on his desk when I’ve gone into his room to borrow a pen. He has an eye for art too. Apart from the sexy calendar of a bimbo pop star he has on his wall, the other posters are all beautiful abstract landscapes. I can’t say any of this, though, without giving myself away, so I look around the room, trying to think of something innocuous to say that’s interesting too. When you know someone well, it’s hard to think of how you might talk to them as a stranger. My mind is blank, except for the weather. I must wait for too long, looking uncomfortable or something because he ask if I’m okay or if I want to go back to the party.

  I shake my head and look at him. His gorgeous hazel eyes look soft and his lips. Oh god, I’ve dreamed about kissing those beautiful full lips. His hair is still mussed and it makes him look younger and more innocent somehow. I know I’m running out of time, but I’m so torn.

  I know this is my only chance to know what it would be like to be with Harrison. In our real lives, we are stepsiblings and it would be just too big a line for him to cross.

  I know this.

  He wouldn’t want to upset our parents. He wouldn’t want to take advantage of me. He wouldn’t risk our happy home. And it’s the first time since he moved in that we are both single. Who’s to say it will last?

  I’ve always been the kind of person to seize the day, maybe because my mom passed away when I was little, before I had the chance to get to know her or tell her the things I would have if I had known. If I pass up this chance I won’t ever know how it feels to be in his arms, to have his body linked with mine. And I know I will always regret that.

  I don’t do regrets.

  “I want to stay here,” I say.

  3

  SEDUCTION

  I have no idea what’s going to happen next. Harrison likes to talk himself up as a bit of a ladies-man, but I’ve never really seen him in action. Will he take my desire to stay in this little quiet room with him for what it is; an acceptance of whatever seduction he may or may not be planning? Or, will he simply think I’m an anti-social weirdo who goes to parties on her own dressed like a gothic punk slut.

  “You’re a strange girl,” he says softly and kind of tenderly.

  “You make that sound like a good thing,” I say and he smiles.

  “I guess I must like strange.”

  I don’t realize he is going to touch me until I feel his finger stroke softly over the skin on my neck. That one finger sends the nerve endings in my back buzzing like crazy. I feel like I’ve been jolted with electricity, or lust, or something equally exciting. I know I’m breathing erratically as he continues stroking, and I can’t look at him for fear of what I’ll see. While he’s doing this tender thing to me, I can pretend. It’s just me and my stepbrother, sitting on the sofa, having a cozy chat. But if I saw desire in his eyes it would be something totally different; something amazing and totally terrifying too.

  “Why did you come to the party,” he whispers.

  “I like parties,” I reply just as softly.

  “And dressing up?”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “And sitting in tiny book rooms with strange boys?” His breath gusts against my ear when he murmurs the last thing and I shiver from head to foot. I find that I can’t answer him now. The mesmerizing rhythm of his finger and the scent of him that I pick up now he’s moved closer, are almost too much for me to bear. I’m light headed, buzzing, crazy even. Crazy for my stepbrother.

  He doesn’t kiss my lips first. I guess that would be too obvious for Harrison. I should have known he’d go for the little patch of sensitive skin below my ear and just graze it with his soft lips. He nuzzles against my ear with his nose and the roughness of his chin scrapes against my neck. It feels so good. So amazingly good in fact that I moan just slightly. When I do, I feel him smiling against my neck.

  “So strange girls who come to parties alone and like to sit in little book rooms with strange boys like to get their necks kissed, do they?” he asks with a chuckle in his voice.

  “Uh-hu,” is all I can manage and he laughs softly.

  He shifts closer until our legs are pressed together and his hand is cupping the back of my head, pulling me towards his smiling face.

  Harrison’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me and my heart seems to stutter in my chest and then re-fire at a staggering rate as I simultaneously pray the kiss will be mind-blowing whilst also hoping he won’t somehow remove my wig or mask and reveal who I am.

  When our lips touch it’s the softest kiss I’ve ever experienced, just a graze at first really, then a little press as he angles my head, pulling my bottom lip between his and sucking so gently I want to weep. I’ve imagined what kissing Harrison would be like so many times, but I had it completely wrong in my fantasies. I thought he’d be a grabby person, demanding with his kisses and forceful with his demands, but he isn’t.

  At least not now.

  Now it’s like he’s tasting me, feeling me out, and trying to work out what I like.

  I like it all.

  I want to tell him to just carry on doing what he’s doing because he’s doing it all right. He’s perfect for me in ways I didn’t even expect.

  When our tongues touch for the first time I have to lean into him, take hold of his huge muscled shoulder, and dig my fingers into it, just so I don’t float away. My reaction seems to spur him on because suddenly his kisses are more urgent, tongue sliding across mine like the precursor to fucking that it is.

  It’s that thought that has me remembering what I saw when I walked passed his room, the thing that spurred me to finally take action and do something about the lust and craving I’ve been feeling for Harrison since he moved into my house. I want to reach out and rest my hand in his lap. I want to know if he’s as turned
on as I am. Everything is so hot between my thighs. I squeeze them together to try and release some pressure, but it only makes it worse.

  “Fuck you’re hot,” he says, pulling back and looking me in the eyes. My purple contacts are my protection against him recognizing me this close. He rubs my nose with the tip of his and kisses me again, this time hooking his arm around my back and pulling me forward. “Get onto my lap.” He’s tugging me now until my legs rest either side of his and my skirt is pushed up so high he must be able to see the tops of my holdups and my sheer black panties. He tugs me forward until my pussy is pressed into his lap and I can feel his massive dick straining against his pants. It’s like he has one of those nightsticks that doormen carry down his shorts and it presses against my clit in a way that makes me want to buck against him. Oh fuck. His fingers press into the soft flesh of my hips, delicious pain mixed with the pleasure of his frantic kiss. I can’t control my hands that want to grab hold of big firm chunks of him and squeeze. I settle on resting my hands on his chest, and what an amazing chest it is too. In my mind I see him standing naked in his room, pecs rounded, and stomach flat and rippled with a six-pack I could practically file my nails on. I don’t want all these clothes between us. I want skin against skin, pressing, sweating, sliding until we forget our names and lose our minds in each other. I want to see him come apart because I’ve made him feel that good. I want to watch him reach the moment of pleasure that feels so unbelievable that he forgets himself and just is.

  And I want to store it all up in my mind so I can remember this moment when he’s moved on and found someone else to love and I have to sit opposite him at thanksgiving and pretend I don’t feel the way I do about him. When I have to just be his stepsister again.

  We kiss and we kiss and I run my hands over his chest willing him to do more, but he seems reluctant and I don’t understand why. It’s me that slips my hands inside his costume and onto his naked skin. He’s so warm under my fingertips and so firm and when I stroke across his chest, I find his nipple and graze it with the point of my nail. Harrison jumps at the action but pulls me down against him harder, almost thrusting into my lap. His fingers run up the outside of my thighs until he finds the bare skin and squeezes. He doesn’t stop there, pushing the skirt of my dress up around my waist and guiding his hands to cup the cheeks of my ass, fingering the thin lace running between, stroking down between them and lifting me higher. I’m kneeling up now, raised in front of him, looking down as he stares between my legs with fire in his eyes. I grab onto the back of the couch for stability as he uses his index finger to trace a line down the front of my panties so softly I almost can’t feel anything, but at the same time it’s so unbelievably arousing.