FIERCED 1: A Stepbrother Romance Page 4

  Rocco is back at the party like nothing happened, across the far side of the room, with a beer in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. Some gorgeous petite little starlet type in a strapless white dress that her boobs are spilling out over top of is fluttering all around him. Circling for the pounce.

  He’s standing casual as you like, leaning one elbow back on the bar and watching her through hooded eyes with a slightly lop-sided grin playing one side of his full lips. He’s enjoying her, of course. What man wouldn’t? She’s stunning, given where we’re hanging right now, she’s probably an actual movie star. She clearly wants him and intends to have him. Once again, I’m nowhere at all on his radar.

  I move through the crowd with my back turned to them, trying to look bright and interesting hoping someone will start up a social interaction. Nothing. They’re all absorbed in their own conversations and I don’t feel that confidence some girls have of busting in and being welcome.

  My eyes look around listlessly in case I find Ryan. Is he okay? Should I go check the closet in case he’s lying unconscious in a pool of blood? It did appear that Rocco was getting the better of him without effort. I owe Ryan that much. He may have been trying to push me but it wasn’t as though I hadn’t encouraged him. I don’t want to be responsible for anything terrible happening to him because of me.

  With a quick check that Rocco still has his eyes firmly buried in the blonde starlet’s cleavage – of course he does, I make my way back toward the closet I’d last seen Ryan. I pull the door back and it falls open easily whereas I recall Ryan having to tug on it.

  And – what the fuck? I drag the stack of chairs to one side with effort, it’s a tower block and barely budges. I half expect to discover Ryan buried hidden under the stacked up salon chairs that weren’t here ten minutes ago.

  No stage hands can have stocked up this storage room and cleaned in the time it took to be chastised for criticizing the sainted Rocco. He must have dragged the chairs in to cover the body. I crouch down and – nothing. No feet poking out at me. No puddle of blood. And definitely no body. How had Ryan left without coming through the reception room? Is it possible I missed him while talking to my father? Because surely his battered bloodied face would have caused a stir in the crowd.

  I’m on my knees on the floor, determined to find some clue that Ryan was here and Rocco has done something terrible with his corpse when the door is thrown back into its frame and I’m plunged into darkness. But I’m sure I’m not alone.

  Even without the rasp of heavy breathing in the tight room, the presence is pushing up against the walls with solid tension. His nearness makes me breathless as though the full weight of him is pressing down on my chest.

  “You seem to prefer spending all your time shut inside closets,” the voice is molten treacle mixed into cement.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here. I thought you were occupied with the porn star. And what did you do with Ryan?”

  “Lover boy is safe. Let’s say he won’t be dragging any young girls off to La Dolce Vita for a few months now.”

  “I hate you. Why don’t you just but out of my life? I already have a bodyguard.”

  “Yeah fine job he’s doing as well. And why do you hate me so much Principessa? What did I ever do to get you so wrung out?”

  Being on the floor at his knees is making my heart thud. Looking up at him I cannot believe how huge his body is in the gloom. Although perfectly sculpted, every limb ripples with a seething energy below the surface that’s making the room too crowded.

  “You’re rude and you’re a bully and you think you can do whatever you want just because your mom’s a famous movie star who married my dad and you knew and I didn’t. And I wasn’t even invited to the wedding.”

  Before I can bite them back, three hot tears are streaming down one side of my face. The bile rises in me, my anger defense to push down all the pain. That my mom left, that my dad doesn’t give a fuck and this asshole has stepped into the shoes of perfect offspring even though he’s a lazy useless fucked-up arrogant biker.

  He lifts his hand to my face and when I flinch, he pauses mid-air, raising his palm to show me it’s okay. Then he softly, so softly the tears well into my eyes again from the gentle caress as he wipes one away. Lifting it on the tip of his finger like a drop of dew and gazing down on it.

  “Yeah, that kinda sucked I thought,” he says and I have to cement my jaw to my palate to stop it crashing to the ground.

  When he talks nice, that thick syrup voice is enough to make my panties dampen all by itself. I remember how his breath raked across my skin as the stubble on his jaw bristled me. I swallow hard because right now that same skin is prickling with the desire to have him closer.

  Much closer. I absolutely can not feel this way about my brother. Not that I think of this hulk as any relative of mine, or ever will. But the facts are irrefutable. By his mom and my father having their secret stupid beach ceremony, we are instant family. Meaning I have stop palpitating like I’m going into cardiac arrest.

  He caresses my tear drop between his thumb and all four fingertips, looking at it like it’s a mysterious clue. Then he reaches again to curl a tendril of my long hair that Monica’s personal hairdresser had curled into trendy waves.

  “What are you doing?” I whimper.

  My heart is bashing its way right through my chest wall making my breasts quiver. Rocco is breathing in short jags and his face is a contortion of – I don’t know what but emotions are playing across like an opera with all Four Tenors. I can’t bear that he’s being so nice. No one has taken my side or tried to understand how I feel since my mom.

  “Don’t cry, Principessa,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

  “Stop being kind to me.”

  If he doesn’t quit that, I’m terrified that the tears are going to dambust out of my eyes and then the pain will be alive. An unstoppable permanent force.

  “I want to be kind to you. And you need it.”

  “What makes you think you know what I need?” There we go. That flexion of rage will keep the crying back. I am not going to lose it in front of him.

  “You tell me then. What is it you need Principessa?”

  “I need you to stop calling me that stupid name. I’m nobody’s princess and I don’t-act - like that.”

  I can’t formulate the words. My lips are numb with desire and my brain’s all foggy, mindless with thoughts and wants and just pure fucking need.

  That’s what I need. Him.

  Pressing in closer to my body so I can feel the heat from his skin crashing and buffeting against mine. His hips are so close I can almost feel his cock sliding between my inner thighs, searing the tender skin. I need him to stroke that sensitive firm finger along my folds. A shudder rampages through my body with the thought of him touching me in that forbidden place. Going further as that finger pushes through my entrance, corkscrewing all the way in.

  I have to stop.

  “We have to stop,” I blubber.

  My hands reach up to shove his chest away from me, but instead keep going to cup around his stubble. Before I can pull his face down to mine, he’s there. His lips claim me.

  Rocco doesn’t just kiss, he takes what’s his. He sucks and licks my mouth so sensuously I feel like I might expire from pure bliss. His tongue curls around mine, luring and encouraging until I can’t resist. I return to him everything he’s giving. My tongue meets his and his powerful hands pull my waist tight to him so my back arches hard to tip my face up to his. My breasts are mashed against his rigid chest and I feel his powerful heart beat making his pectoral bulge pump against my flesh.

  “Oh God,” I whimper when he pulls away. I have a chance to haul in a gasp of breath as he trails a line of kisses down that sensitive side of my neck making me shiver and a rash of prickles rise along my arms that are still lifted to his precious face.

  One hand now daggers into his surprisingly soft hair as his head tilts lower. The trail of ni
ps and licks continues across my clavicle, down one side to the top of my breast, pressed high by the structure of the designer gown. I let out a moan as his fist cups the underside of my mound to shove the flesh closer up to his lips.

  His thumb pad strokes across the naked top and hooks into the fabric, pulling it back a few inches so that my nipple instantly pops free. The cool shock of being exposed forces it to peak harder and he tongues it into his mouth, sucking tight into his palate as he rubs his tongue across the point.

  Argh, I moan louder. I can’t take this. I need to have him inside me, stretching me open to him and sawing against my agonized walls.

  “Please.”

  “Please what?” he asks. His lips move while his tongue continues to tease at my bullet nipple.

  “Please-don’t.” I never would have managed that plea if he hadn’t asked. Another few seconds and I’d have been begging wildly, delirious with need for his to ram inside me. But the request to my brain to define the need brought its own query bouncing back. And in that instant recalled that this was wrong. The answer came back to stop.

  But I can’t stop. I want him with an urgency that overwhelms every other thought or feeling. I don’t care about a single thing in the world other than being subsumed in the musky aroma and solid arms of this man. My breasts are burning from his caress, my pussy pounding with desire.

  Shame envelops me in a flash and collides with the urgent hunger for sexual release. This guy is an oaf and an arrogant pig to boot. What the holy fuck am I doing pleading with him to come inside me. Taken over by the ravages of pleasure is my only excuse.

  “Your body says different.” His tongue cups my nipple and he sucks it hard into his mouth again.

  It takes a superhuman effort and then some to summon enough force to shove at the solid curve of his pectorals.

  “What part of don’t is foreign to you?”

  He rises up of his own volition, my strength delivers zero effect on his rock solid torso.

  “Excuse me, my mistake,” he grits. “I have no need to force a woman.”

  Fuck, I see the hurt beneath the pride. I’ve used that ruse enough times myself.

  “We can’t. My father. Your mother. It’s. Just. Wrong.”

  “It felt kinda fucking right to me but, your call Principessa, as always.”

  With that he’s gone from the room leaving me gasping and aching and full of regret that only inner explosion will dissipate. I call his name in a soft moan which of course he doesn’t hear. He’s well on his way back to Blonde Starlet by now.

  Chapter SIX

  I gather myself, press my swollen hungry breast back into my swanky frock and exit the closet. A passing bodyguard smirks and pretends not to.

  Sure enough Rocco is at the bar again and this time he’s not acting cool. He’s letting her know he’s all in and she’s firing back on all cylinders. They may as well get a room because the heat coming off them is intense and sets me ablaze. I cannot be jealous of my fucking brother. Just keep bringing to mind the fact that he’s my brother and replace every image of him trailing his beautiful firm tongue across my pussy.

  But I can’t.

  My eyes keep flicking back across the room to Rocco and Starlet, picturing the two of them and what they’ll be doing in a very short time. Her in my place. Her panting and begging for more, harder, as his massive cock plunges in and out of her tight pussy. It should be me. I want to run over and rip her away from him, where she’s pressing her sloppy big tits against the curved bulge of his muscle. I want to give her three swift kicks in her skinny leg the way Rocco fisted Ryan’s jaw.

  They look out across the crowd as they flirt. Joking and laughing, letting everyone in on their rising hunger. Get a fucking broom closet. I hate him. I hate her. I hate the whole world.

  “Have you seen Rocco,” Monica’s beside me looking all around for her beloved son.

  With an incline of my head I indicate the pair on the raised dais bar.

  “Oh he’s such a babe magnet, ever since he was a little boy he’s always been one for the girls. I must interrupt them and say goodbye. Wish him a safe journey and try not to worry.”

  “He’s leaving already?” I snap.

  “Later tonight. Another raid into Africa.”

  “Oh. Another mission?”

  “Your father told you? Yes. Terribly dangerous. There’s a militia group in North Africa that kidnap bikers riding across the Sahara. I hate him going but those poor children need medicine and he’s got something special to do for your father. But I guess we shouldn’t talk about state secrets, especially not here. We girls have to wait at home and be brave.”

  Brave isn’t the word for it. Rocco would he haunting all my fantasies and spoiling my chances in the unlikely event that any more Ryans came along.

  “We’ll have the chance to hang and get to know each other, two girls together,” Monica says as she turns her botox up in the attempt at a courageous smile.

  I shouldn’t be so bitchy about Monica. I can see she’s trying to do her best at playing the step mom role but it hurts like a knife to my whimpering heart. And now my only supporter is leaving.

  Why the fuck did I turn him away? If only I’d known, if he’d told me he was leaving and no one would find out about us, things would have been very, very different.

  When I’m lying alone in bed, no way am I sleeping tonight or ever again. Pushing back all the invasive pictures of Starlet in my place, I see Rocco crossing the desert on his bike, leading the pack, the roar of the bikes echoing across the barren land for miles around. I see him facing insurgent rebels carrying machine guns and winning, getting the essential medical supplies to the kids in the border camps.

  I see him coming back and falling into bed on top of me, a deep wound in his shoulder as nothing. A mere scratch as he pours whiskey from a bottle on the bedside table into the wound. Despite his weakened state he’s still full of power and flips my body over to pull me tight into his chest. The heat burns off him right through my pores.

  Then he rolls us both so I’m on my knees, face down in the tussle of sheets. He kneels up tall behind me looking down at my open sex spread before him. His eyes blaze with lust and the relish of what he’s considering he’ll do to me. I can see, through the triangular opening between my thighs, his enormous perfect cock swaying in front of him.

  The livid thrill of taking that gorgeous hard pole in my mouth makes me shiver. But he prevents me. Fisting my hair and holding my head still as he strokes the full length of his prick and continues to indulge his eyes with my glistening pussy.

  Then he bends his huge rod toward my opening and swirls the head in my juices, tracing circles around my quivering clit. With expert positioning, he’s at my entrance and ramming through the tightness to fill me up to the hilt. My gasp is awestruck and I press down into the bed to steady myself against him and push back.

  I grind back into him with every thrust. He holds his full length buried inside me while I rotate my pelvis enough to grind circles with my cervix on his head, as though it might open and let him deeper inside, filling me harder and stretching me further open to him.

  I want him all the way inside. I will never get him deep enough inside my body. I groan as his cock shaves all the way out. Now it’s his turn to rotate his pelvis as he toys his head just inside my opening sending delicious ripples of bliss through me before ramming all the way in again. He saws in and out keeping a deep plunging rhythm and the feel of his velvet steel stroking my inner walls makes me spasm, pushing me right to the edge.

  I’m holding myself on the precipice of mindlessness. My hands are in my folds. I’ve stretched my lips apart unable to bear the throb between my legs as I vividly picture Rocco plundering me with his steel pole. I’m rubbing along the ridges of my clit, astounded at the dripping wetness my imagination has conjured. Rocco has brought about this soaking of my folds, the juices are pouring out of me as I see him flip me over and plunge right into my pussy once
more barely missing a stroke.

  “Harder, fuck me harder,” I moan.

  If only this were real. I need his broad chest above me, his thick thighs against my ass as he slams into me, his firm balls slapping at my crevasse. But it can never be. Aside from like this. Rocco vivid in my imagination enlivens no shame. I can feel him plunder my tight tunnel and cover my body with his exploring firm lips every day forever but this magical fantasy will never come true.

  My climax is pooling and gathering. I feel it building and I hold my breath for the explosion. I’m mindless with delirium ready to go over the edge. My hips buck as the jerking convulsions begin and are arrested when a hand cups the back of my head. The force bends my neck to lift my skull from the bed and shove it inside a black sack.

  My scream is muffled in the thick fabric – sackcloth? No it’s softer. It could be the reverse side of velvet. What the fuck?

  The bottom of the bag is lifted just enough for burly coarse fingers to shove tape across my lips. Grinding it into the soft skin ensuring my silence. Definitely not screaming now.

  Strong arms wrap around me, strapping my two hands in place, still buried in my pussy as I’m lifted and transported hell knows where.

  So this is it.

  All the planning, briefings, security warnings and jesting with regard to me being abducted and it’s finally come to pass. My body is roiling with emotions impossible to name in my darting mind. My heart thounding a hole in my chest as my blood surges. Part terror adrenalin part the incredible need to come.

  Holy fuck, who the fuck needs to climax at the exact moment of their kidnapping? Could my abductor not have waited a minute longer? Does he realize the show he’s missing? He’s holding me under one arm like a Raggedy Ann at the same time as picking up things in my bedroom. Dropping them. Is he packing me a fucking overnight bag?