Knox: A Stepbrother Romance (A Standalone Stepbrother Romance Novella) Read online

  “My step-brother”, I’d say under my breath, because that way, if we wanted to it wouldn’t ever be wrong.

  Chapter 7 or...

  This better not be a fucking dream and if it is, don’t you dare wake me.

  Fate has a funny way of twisting and turning itself around, so that the path in front of you suddenly looks like the one you’ve been walking on all along. One day he wasn’t there, and the next he was back again. Knox. My second moment of meeting him for the first time. The doorbell rang. It didn’t need to, but I guess that was his design. It’s not about walking through a door at all. It’s about knocking on one and waiting for someone to come and answer it. He could have told me his eyes were pantone 377 and I wouldn’t have cared just to lose myself in the way he looked, even if only for a moment.

  “Hey”.

  The turn was theatrical. Hell, the dropping the bag to the floor and sweeping me into his arms probably was too. I could feel the coarse brush of his stubble against my cheek and the flat of his palm pressing my body ever so gently into his. I came up to his chin so leant into him, filling the gap there perfectly. This is the empty space I know only I can fill.

  “You came back.”

  He kissed the top of my head, and ran his fingers through my hair.

  “Are your mom and my dad home?”

  “You mean the responsible adults in our life?”

  “I mean, are we alone?”

  I pushed myself away from him, emotions curling up inside me like snakes in a confined space, to look at eyes that were too special to be confined and categorized by a fucking retarded color chart system.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  I wanted to punch him. I wanted to wind back the clock and take away that very first look. I spent weeks trying to work out what it was, breaking it down little by little and examining each and every piece for a clue about why I felt the way I did. It was like taking apart a jigsaw puzzle to try and see what the picture was, only to realise that as soon as I did so, each individual piece looked nothing like the completed picture I’d begun with. On their own they meant nothing. They couldn’t be broken down at all, because in doing so they lost their value. The more I looked, the more I broke them down into their constituent parts, the less sense they made. This is what it is to be in love.

  The rush of blood to the head. The irrational behaviour. The complete exclusion of everything else in your life until the one thing that’s left, the one thing that matters, finally, ultimately and absolutely without hesitation, consumes you.

  “It wouldn’t stay away. I tried to not let it matter, but I couldn’t. That night. Fuck, all of the time, Alice.”

  There was a familiarity about him in my bedroom, even though he’d never been here in that capacity before. We tiptoed carefully up the carpeted steps, or we bounded like rabbits across spring fed pastures because it didn’t matter how I remembered it, the electricity arcing through our bodies to unite us, bouncing across the walls around us and exploding against the ceiling like northern lights at the point where the universe curves out into the distance beyond, not even fate is allowed to touch.

  There are bits in between I won’t bore you with. Bits that get filled in with the fullness of time that no-one can even be sure exist in the same way.

  I may not be the all American girl with the cheerleader tits, but I’ve got a body like everyone else, and when that body, high on a concoction of anticipation and deep overwhelming love, finds someone to channel it, the result is like nothing else in this world. I’m often too poetic for my own good. Sometimes I like to wax lyrical about the whimsical ways I see the world. I’m going to be brutal and blunt and completely honest now. Maybe this isn’t in fitting with what you’ve read before, but I know, secretly at the very least, none of us are as prudish privately as we may make out in a more public setting. I like to fuck, and at the very least, you know I like detail. It’s just in this case, this description is raw because of the emotions I found myself involved in. Love is raw. Fucking is an expression of that rawness in a complete and pure form, and I’m not a prude. I’m a sensitive, emotional, creative and passionate human being with the capability and the desire to process emotion, and interaction, and meaning on multiple levels, but I am also a human being and emotional experience in it’s purest form brings us back to a carnal, primeval level. Have you ever experienced an orgasm so strong you feel like the absence of being? Ok, maybe that’s too metaphysical. Have you ever felt your stomach knot and your legs draw up to your chest and your nipples explode in a sensation you feel is going to burn you, and just for the time that it lasts, which could be one or a hundred seconds, you feel alive and dead and superior in a way you’ve never felt before and think you’ll never be able to replicate? Multiply that by a thousand and add ten zeros. If you’re not there yet, you’re not in love. This is what I’m dealing with. Love is the base, sex is the catalyst. This is the detail.

  I’m wet when I answer the door. Truthfully, I’m wet in Knox’s presence all the time. Sometimes I don’t even realise it. Others, I have to excuse myself when the sensation gets too much. When he hugs me I can feel my clit fizzing. Everything is sensitive. There is a slight breeze and as soon as it hits the skin where my neck is exposed, my breath shortens and my heartbeat quickens. It’s like I’ve got some kind of enhanced set of senses that go wild in his presence. Everything is exciting me. Even the fabric of my T-shirt tickles my skin in a way it has no legitimate reason to do so. Knox nuzzles warmth against the crook of my neck, tracing the line of a vein with delicate pecks of puckered lips. I want to die like this, folded into him, and when he pulls away, he looks embarrassed at not being able to check his desire any longer.

  We push our way into the house, the door clattering and ringing in our wake, caught on a fateful gust of wind to yawn open before us like an all seeing eye we care no longer about judging us. Nothing else is important to us but the removal of each other’s clothes and the acceptance of the impossibility of resisting for any longer the temptation that lays before us. I can feel his swollen cock fighting the tight denim at the front of his trousers. I want it in my mouth. I want to be cast down like a gutter slut and have him force his way violently inside my swollen pussy. I want to be owned by him and own him in return by my actions.

  He pushes me forcefully to the couch, rips my T-shirt off where he can’t remove it, bites the skin around my left nipple and takes the swollen bit up into the roof of his mouth, sucking hard. I thrash about and kick him off, scratch at his skin and take a chunk of flesh out of his back. I bite into his neck and taste the metallic tang of blood on my teeth. I want to mark my territory and do so with each scratch and bite and kick against him.

  His trousers are off and round his ankles while he holds me down, both of us on the ground now, where the strength of the battle of our desire has taken us. He’s stronger than me but it doesn’t matter, I lift my legs up and rest them against his chest while the fingers of his free hand work my panties loose. I am so wet, even before his fingers are upon me, laid flat to spread my lips apart and work the entrance to my hole. His step-sister’s hole. The pussy-hole he couldn’t resist, couldn’t keep himself away from.

  I pull him into me and he falls flat while I wrap my legs around his back and interlock my ankles. My panties lie to my side torn off me and in tattered pieces, while he eases his knees into my thighs and presses my legs apart.

  Desire is what controls us now. It’s what takes over where fate has done all it can, packed up and gone home. Desire swells my clitoris, causes my pussy hole to expand, and every single nerve ending in my body to ring out with convulsion inducing sensitivity. Knox has won. I’m not fighting him now, more than just holding onto exposed skin and pulling it towards me with every ounce of strength I can muster. If urgency was a national sport, they’d already be draping the medals over our sweaty skin.

  With one hand to hold me in place, Knox bends over to put his head between my legs and taste me. T
he rough edge of his tongue causes a vibration of such intensity through my lower body, I push myself against it and nearly come. When he does it again, this time curling his tongue into a tube and flicking it up in repeated motions against the exposed meat of my throbbing bead, I have to eventually take him by the shoulders and force him away.

  The carpeted floor below me is already slick with my juices. When I look down at my trembling cunt, and the swollen lump of cock only inches away from it, wet with pre-cum and thick with desire, I know there is no way I can wait any longer to have him force his way inside me.

  I want him to rut me like an animal. I want to swallow his length and come hard on his girth. I want to feel his swollen balls banging against my pussy lips, the physical representations of a fated future together, the children I could carry for him. The children I want him to give me. It seems I have to do nothing more than think it. Knox lifts me expertly, taking my weight in one hand while he balances himself with the other. In place, I back up and fold myself into him, the two of us on all fours like fucking cavemen.

  Knox wraps my hair around his wrist, a guarantee against my improbable escape. I like how it feels to be tugged, and just before he enters me, he pulls my head back so my neck is lifted to the side and I’m forced to look at him.

  It is the moments in between the others. It’s the gap between the books packed tightly on a shelf, the vanishing point when two mirrors face each other, the point of penetration. It’s the feeling of your pussy widening at his insistence, your pulse quickening, the thickness of his cock head driving his shaft inside you, through you, the connection of your two bodies, the violence and the beauty of it all and the majesty and magical, impossible, unbelievable sensation of all of that happening at once. My breath cut, my pupils dilated wide, my ass-hole puckered and convulsing, pushing upwards, confined while his hugeness takes over, forces itself into me. “Love me”, it says. “Love me.”

  I feel everything as though I’m both him and me and I’m not only feeling it, I’m feeling the echoes of it and as though it is being replayed back to me an infinite amount of times. My body screams at the intensity and the intensity screams back at my body until the two are one and I have no way and no desire to separate them.

  Knox forces his massive cock into the tender reaches of my nubile pussy until his balls slam purposefully against my sensitive pussy lips, and I feel him inside me in places I never thought even existed, in ways I never believed were possible. Out of the corner of my eye, my head twisted to the side to take in as much of him as I can, I see the shape of familiarity, the thickness of a muscled torso and the grit and determination of a man driven by something beyond his control.

  Together we fall towards the inevitable. I feel the pull of it like an old memory, like a force that’s impossible to resist. There are sounds around me I cannot place the origin of. I can think of nothing else but stripping it all away and facing the faceless force that I’m fucking myself further into. This is fate.

  Fuck, this is fate.

  To try and describe it would be doing it a disservice. Every time I’ve done so already, it comes out a million different ways and each one of them is right and not enough at the same time. It’s the lost city, the final frontier and the meaning of life all rolled into one. Its infinity and the lack of it. It’s chaos, disorder and perfection. It’s a fucking multiple orgasm with bells on it. It’s fucking someone that you love, having that person fuck you, the man you’re not meant to be with, the taboo, the forbidden and the oh so right. It’s fucking on the carpet by the couch, with the front door wide open so the mailman can see your ass hanging in the wind. It’s letting him come inside you, and having that cum explode against your womb at a thousand miles an hour.

  It’s the color of electricity, the taste of sound and the smell of the future. More than anything else, it’s the bits in between, and it might, just might, in the weird fucked up world I live in, be fate.

  Knox falls forward against me, his breathing brittle, like bracken and broken bones. I collapse too, folding myself forwards to lay my face flat against the carpet and shut my eyes, the swirling sensation swimming around me like circling vultures, waiting for the right moment to pick away at my insides.

  Chapter 8 or...

  The after and the now.

  We could have been caught. It would have made a good story. Mom comes back from work to find her new step-son ploughing her daughter. Actually, if I was a seedy tabloid journalist, I’d have used the phrase ‘smashing her back doors in’, or ‘hanging out the back of her.’

  That didn’t happen. Mom didn’t come back to catch us in the act and nor did Mr Perfect. For a long time I lay like a fat pig under the baking sun with no desire to ever move, and then, when the time was right, I got up as though what we’d just done was the most normal thing in the world, closed the door, collected my clothes, took Knox by the hand and led him to my bedroom.

  If sex can be described as the physical expression of love, love itself is what gives that expression meaning. Sex without love is base and carnal, which isn’t to say it isn’t enjoyable, but without a solid base of love, it lacks potential meaning in its expression. Not everyone is lucky enough to find it, but if you do, make sure you grasp it with an open heart, and hold on no matter what it takes. Love chooses, we don’t. You’ll know it when you see it.

  I hadn’t meant for this to be a confession, but it seems as though it is, of sorts. I merely sought to explain the way I feel and the way Knox makes me feel too, to explain the love we have for each other and the way we made sure we let it take hold of us. I hope I’ve conveyed that adequately. I’m not sure whether it’s a love story or not. What I do know is that it’s my story, the way I’ve seen it. The way it felt to me. I’m sure Knox will tell it differently.

  Mr Perfect and Mom still have no idea about us. That’s the next stage. Knox is having second thoughts about whether we can make this work at all, and what our relationship will mean to our parents if we finally reveal to them how we feel about each other.

  ‘Fuck it’, I think. “Fuck them”, I tell him. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. Fate will take care of the rest for us. It’s a long road ahead, and sometimes it’s difficult to convince Knox of that. Sometimes I wish he’d just listen to his dad, because when Cory talks about fate bringing people together, I can’t help but sit up and listen.

  Fate. That’s where this all began. What a perfect shield to protect us as we move along. So much for never getting what you want. Someone should tell Mom that if you want it enough, nothing can stop it from coming.

  ###

  About Stephanie Brother

  Stephanie Brother writes scintillating stories with step-siblings as their main romantic focus. She's always been curious about the forbidden, and this is her way of exploring such complex relationships that threaten to keep her couples apart. As she writes her way to her dream job, Ms. Brother hopes that her readers will enjoy the full emotional and romantic experience as much as she's enjoyed writing them.

  Giving My Billionaire Stepbrother A Baby (Part 1)

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  About this book:

  He was a jerk, but she loved him, that was the first problem. The second? He was her stepbrother.

  Dante Hix. An alpha male. A billionaire at 21. A God.

  It had been three years already and she still wasn't over him, what the hell was she thinking going back again now?

  If she had any sense she wouldn't have, but if she had any money she wouldn't have needed to either. Broke, with bills piling up, there was only one way left for her to turn. She had to see him.

  And then when she did, she knew immediately. It was going to happen again.

  He asked her to dance for him, but it could have been anything. Stupid Sash didn't realize exactly what that
meant.

  All that time later and she was still doing the same. Her clothes on the floor, his body pressed up against hers, her hand on her belly.

  A wish.

  If she gave him what he wanted, he could never run away.

  This is part one of a multi-part series that contains several edge of the seat cliffhangers.

  If scorching hot, taboo romance and head-strong, alpha male billionaires that will stop at nothing to get what they want aren't your thing, please look away now.

  Also By Stephanie Brother

  Stepbrother Alpha Billionaire

  7 Minutes with my Stepbrother

  Stepbrother No More

  Billionaire Stepbrother: Burn

  Stepbrother Reunion

  My Stepbrother, the Billionaire, and the Bargain

  Billionaire Stepbrother's Homecoming

  Stepbrother Catfish

  Billionaire Stepbrother in Paris

  Hooked on my Stepbrother

  Waking up with my Stepbrother

  Stepbrother Tease

  Stepbrother Unmasked

  Stepbrother's Secrets

  Please see my Author Central Account on Amazon for a full list of my titles.

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