My Irresistible New Stepbrother

An Alpha Billionaire Taboo Romance

Laura Havemeyers

Published by

A Paradise for your Mind.

© Copyright 2018 by Fable Charm - All rights reserved.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

My Irresistible New Stepbrother

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

## My Irresistible New Stepbrother

### Introduction

The night I moved into my new building, I f*cked my new neighbor. I didn't mean to; I was a good girl. I'd spent the last few years alone and concentrating on my college degree but, when I ventured upstairs to complain about the noise, he was too gorgeous to resist and it was the best sex of my life. I didn't even get his name.

A week later, my mom calls from the other side of the country. She's getting re-married and wants me to visit. Only, as I board the plane I see my mysterious neighbor. He's flying back because his father is getting re-married too, to my mother!

So, the best sex of my life was with my step-brother and, even though its wrong and we try to stop ourselves, there's an irresistible attraction between us. It's a taboo relationship but we just can't keep our hands off each other. Surely, there's no way this can end well?

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About Laura Havemeyers

Laura Havemeyers is a crafty erotic writer who digs deep into inner fantasies and magnifies them onto paper for your purist enjoyment.

### Chapter 1

Well, it may not be much, but it was all mine. Looking up at the boxy, red-brown building, tastefully decorated with leafy green trees and scaffolding, I counted seven floors above my new apartment.

East 51st Street, Brooklyn, NYC may not be the classiest neighborhood, or the safest, but property prices for a studio apartment were just low enough for me to scrape together what I had left after college and buy my own place with a cash payment. And having no mortgage or rent was going to be a big plus for me as I set out on my journey to becoming a world-famous fashion photographer. Especially as I had at least three months of a very prestigious but unpaid internship at Vogue Magazine to look forward to.

I was trying to plan my route to work and decide how long to allow so I wasn't late for my first day on Monday, when I half-registered my name being called, "Miss Angelo? Miss Angelo..?"

Then I heard a screeching, "Sophia!" and I snapped back into the real world. I looked over to the moving van with the two middle-aged, mustachioed, fat guys in vest-tops, who could almost be twins, and my best friend Chaz, dressed in dark blue cycling shorts and a matching, lycra top, so that his outfit almost looks like a unitard, topped off with a Day-Glo green headband and an impatient grimace. All three were staring in my direction, and all three were holding boxes of my stuff.

"What?" I yelled back at Chaz.

"Bitch," he responded, testily, "you need to open that apartment right now and start bringing in your shit. I'm not messing up my manicure on my own."

"Alright, alright, jeez..." I told him, fumbling in my jeans pocket for my keys. He tapped his foot irritably in that condescending way that only queens know how to do, as I eventually managed to open the door to the foyer and let them in out of the unseasonable heat.

"Thank heavens," bleated Chaz, "I was in real danger of breaking a sweat there."

It doesn't take long for the two non-twin moving guys to transfer my meager possessions from their van to my first-floor studio. I paid them, tipped them, and they went away happy. Chaz and I surveyed my new residence.

Despite only having 450 square feet to fill, the bed and tiny TV at one end of the main room, plus a small armoire that separated my miserable brown couch from the bed, looked pathetic. The old white cupboards and appliances in the kitchen at the other end of the room were yellowed by age and ancient paint, while the kitchen floor tiles were peeling and blackened in places.

The rest of the studio's floor tiles looked pretty good, but I knew that around the corner from the tiny hallway, the bathroom had a tub, shower and toilet that were probably installed in 1968, when the place was built, the walls were only half painted a marine turquoise blue, and the grout was brown.

"It's cheap," I finally volunteered.

"It's a hovel, darling," responded Chaz. I looked sideways at him, clearly disappointed in his reaction. "But you give it charm," he shrugged.

"It's not dirty, just old," I tried to soothe myself. "I'm sure I can fix it up with some paint and a little hard work."

"And there's the operative word: I," said Chaz, slumping down onto my couch "If you plan on sitting down and having a cocktail with me in front of some reality TV, I'm there. If you plan on anymore unpacking or decorating, I really do have places to be."

He shrugged at my questioning look. I couldn't blame him, I supposed. I hated moving as well. I loved him and had got totally used to his laziness, flakiness, and general reluctance to put more than minimal effort into anything other than getting himself laid.

We had met at the NYU school of performing arts four years ago. He was studying to be a makeup artist; I was majoring in photography. We hit it off immediately. He saw me, I think, as a stylistic fixer-upper and I didn't want any kind of dramatic relationship, which I was bound to find if I became close friends with a girl or a straight guy.

So, as we both needed to be at the campuses on Broadway, he offered and I accepted the invitation to room with him at his grandma's old apartment in the East Village. She had died and willed it to his mom, who lived in Atlanta with her new, younger, black husband. By Chaz's account, his mom was some kind of cougar. All my remaining family was on the West Coast, which was just the way I liked it.

Anyway, we graduated and I needed my own place. He seemed hurt when I told him, but he shrugged it off by saying it was about time, he was tired of having to quietly bang pillow biters with me snoring in the next room.

"Besides, darling," he added, "I know for a fact it's been at least four years since you've even seen a penis. You need to some time, some space by yourself, and you need to get on your back and open your legs, pronto!"

I'd punched him in the arm for that. Only, he was right, a little. Part of me was lonely. Most of me wanted to focus on my career for now and not have to deal with a man. But that part of me missed having someone, missed the attention, and craved being touched. It hadn't been four years since I saw a penis, though.

After our first year, on our summer vacation, Chaz helped me carve out an image. I had always loved running and going to the gym so, when Chaz eventually saw me in my underwear, he couldn't stop enthusing about my 'tight' body and would intricately describe my 'perky tits' and 'toned ass' to anyone who would listen, no matter how much I protested.

Up to that point, I had always stayed pretty conservative. I wore baggy jumpers and jeans, horn-rimmed glasses and kept my long, dark-brown hair pulled back, simply because it was fast and easy. Once Chaz had discovered what was going on under my unflattering attire, he insisted on creating his 'masterpiece'. He taught me subtle makeup, how to contour my face and highlight my best features, he taught me how to straighten and style my hair, but still keep it practical, and together we maxed out my credit cards in some of Manhattan's finer clothing and shoe stores.

The end result, if I say so myself, was positive. I even thought I looked good, and I suddenly drew much more interest from guys, at school, around town, everywhere I went. I had smart but sexy outfits; smart casual; full-on sparkly club wear that left very little to the imagination; and jeans and tops that fit me better, looked great, but were still comfortable and easy to work a camera in.

That summer I got a little giddy with my newfound popularity. I drank too much and hooked up with more than a few guys. I just never told Chaz and never called the guys back. Only, when we hit Daytona Beach for Spring Break I spent a debauched week drunk and covered in men. Chaz was even worse, which is why he never caught me scoring but, when we finally returned, I swore off that lifestyle. It was fun but I had a plan, and I didn't want to mess things up. Hell, apart from the occasional glass of wine with dinner, I'd pretty much quit drinking for the last three years.

"Well, I have too much unpacking to do and I want to be ready by Monday," I told him as he sat in my new place. "So, if you're really not going to help, get out of my way, bitch."

He huffed and made noises about my being ungrateful, then tossed me the keys to his Smart car, telling me to get the last box out myself. However, as I turned on my heel and started out the door, I smiled to myself as I heard him get up and follow me.

He helped me heave the box out of his trunk. It was heavy for its size, so I figured it must be books. Chaz kissed me goodbye and we promised to call on tomorrow evening and bitch nervously about our new jobs. His internship at Silvercup Studios began on the same day as mine. I watched as he started his car and pulled away, then went to head back into my new studio.

a nano-second after I turned, I caught a glimpse of a dark and looming shape right in front of me and, too committed to stop, I crashed into. It didn't give at all, so the box between us squished instead, just enough for the bottom to give and every book to fall out, hitting the pavement with a simultaneous crack.

I looked up, horrified by the mess that had appeared before me, to see a big guy standing there. I say big; he was tall but, at five-foot-five in tennis shoes, everyone's tall to me. I'd say he was six-foot, six-one, with broad shoulders to keep him in proportion. He was looking down at me, a breeze blowing a few strands of long hair, nearly the same chestnut brown as mine, across his face.

I was about to yell at him for being in my way, as any good New Yorker would, but his face... his face, it looked like it was out of a dream. His dark, deep-set eyes regarded me with a faint air of amusement from under his straight, pony-tailed hair. His chiseled cheekbones seemed to glide down his face for far longer than was necessary and his lips, his lips were the widest and fullest I had ever seen. His mouth slightly parted, as those beautiful eyes flicked up and down my body, he looked almost though he was about to kiss me. A full on, soul-probing, knee-trembling, Hollywood kiss that would leave me breathless and helpless in his power and, at that moment, staring at his face, I would have let him.

"'Scuse me," he muttered gruffly, turned back around, and walked off. Shocked back into Brooklyn from wherever I'd been, I was suddenly so livid I couldn't speak. I watched him, his long ponytail falling to the middle of his back, his hand-tailored dark blue suit that hung impeccably over his Gucci loafers as he walked towards my new building without even a look back. His arm pointed out behind him, casually, as he hit the remote lock on his car key. I may not know cars but even I can recognize a Porsche, and his looked very new, very fast and very expensive.

What the hell was he doing near this building? Buying it? He had that arrogant swagger and disdain for others around him that only the very rich could afford. I'd seen it so often before and it was one of the main reasons I lived three thousand miles from the rest of my family. I hated him immediately, beautiful or not.

I found my voice as he opened the door to the foyer. "Oh, right, you're so goddamn busy!" I yelled at him but he didn't even break stride. I was left to fix the box and reload my books in it, alone.

### Chapter 2

I got back into my apartment and slammed the box onto the floor beside the door. I knew I was not looking for love right now but, damn, why do the really handsome guys always have to be such conceited pigs.

The top of the box burst open this time and I could see the top books in it were some of my old diaries. I gave up keeping detailed diaries part way through high school, when I discovered that time needed to be better spent on homework if I was going to get the grades I needed for college, but seeing these brought back a lot of memories, most of them bad.

I tried to open the first one, from when I was about twelve. As my hand neared the faux leather cover, though, all I could see was my father's face. He was smiling at me but, when I blinked, he disappeared. He was the kindest man I knew. Dark haired, like me, so sweet, and always ready to play with me, no matter how hard his day had been. He smiled all the time, even when my mom was yelling at him because we didn't have enough money.

My father was a realtor in Los Angeles. We were a third generation Italian family, and we weren't poor, not by a long way, but my dad never made quite enough money to support the Beverly Hills lifestyle my mom thought she deserved. She was always pressuring him for a bigger house in a more affluent neighborhood, so she could have her richer friends over without feeling embarrassed.

He did everything he could to please her, he was good at his job, but he just couldn't make enough money to satisfy his high school sweetheart, whose girlfriends had married lawyers, film producers, and plastic surgeons. He did his best to enlarge the home he had bought, working with his bare hands to make it a comfortable and opulent as he could. A huge part of his salary went on sending me to a high-end private school. My dad went to work every day in a beat-up Hyundai while my mom drove to meet her ladies for lunch in a new Mercedes. He sacrificed all his time with her so she could go out to charity events, film premieres, and parties, wearing the latest fashions.

When I was twelve, three months after I started my first diary, my dad died. He was thirty-five. The doctor said it was a genetically weak heart, overworked by stress, anxiety and simple exhaustion and, within the year, my mom was saying 'I do' to that very same doctor. He was older than her, very rich and very well connected. With several A-list movie stars as patients, he and his wife were in constant demand. They married, and she began smiling all the time, finally enjoying the life she believed she was entitled to.

I'd never realized how undeniably beautiful she was before, as I could only remember seeing her upset, angry and shouting, but when she smiled, she was stunning. I guessed that must be where I got my good looks from.

However, I soon stopped smiling. Her new husband, Howard, had that same arrogant air about him. He had no time for me, as I went through the most traumatic years of any girl's life, the mid-to-late teens, I had no support. He dragged my mother away to events, parties, and vacations while I was left with a succession of distant nannies. I hated him, because he seemed to hate me, and I hated her for forgetting my father so soon. I vowed not to ever take another cent of their money, gathered the modest inheritance my real father left me, and enrolled in NYU to get as far away from them as possible. I hadn't been back since.

With the painful memories refusing to budge from my mind, and my temper still frayed from my encounter with Mr. Ponytail, it looked like I was going to get very little unpacking done. And even less painting. It was late afternoon and I was getting hungry. I went to the refrigerator, out of habit I guess, because I knew it was empty, and opened it. Chaz, love him to bits, had left a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the door. As I said, I rarely drank anymore but, at that moment, having some wine seemed infinitely preferable to not having some. I unscrewed the cap with one hand as I dialed for a pizza with the other.

Waiting for my dinner to arrive, I tried dialing Chaz to invite him back for drinks and reality TV after all, but he didn't pick up. Two medium glasses later, my bell rang and I was definitely a little tipsy as I paid the delivery guy. Certainly tipsy enough to think he was cute, anyway. As I drank and ate in front of Real Housewives of New Jersey my mind began wandering through various pseudo-erotic porn scenarios that could have erupted had I invited the pizza man in.

Maybe now, Chaz was right. Maybe it was time to let a man into my life again, if only for the night. Another two glasses of white wine and the pizza man's face had begun to look more and more like Mr. Ponytail, from earlier. Then my mind began to head off in a different direction.

I started to imagine having Ponytail at my mercy. Using his silk tie to lash him to a chair, where I could yank on him, hurting him just enough that he would cry out for me to stop, and then beg me to keep going. I imagined straddling him, his hands still tied, and tantalizing him by holding my achingly hard nipple just out of reach of his eager lips as, lower down, I'd grip his huge, rock hard shaft, rubbing his smooth, shiny, engorged helmet against my slippery sex, never allowing more than half the tip of him inside me, but frigging my clit with it, squeezing him painfully when he got too close, then coming buckets over his sore, desperate, unreleased erection.

I could hear a muffled banging. A thumping, fast and rhythmic, and all around me. I unpeeled open my eyelids and realized I dozed off at some point during my BDSM fantasy. That was a little relief, it meant that some of that imagined situation was not my fault, but only a dream. I'd been asleep a little while. My vision was blurry because I still had my contacts in, the left side of my t-shirt had a slice of pepperoni pizza lying face down on it and my right breast was cold and wet, where I'd emptied my wine glass over it. What a fucking mess.

That thumping was still surrounding me and the more awake I became, the more intrusive it got. I realized it was music, dance music, and that it was coming from the apartment above. My head felt foggy but, as I stood up, I realized that the wine still had me a little drunk. I stripped off my soiled shirt and, in my bra and short denim cut-offs, stumbled onto my bed.

The minutes ticked by. That thumping beat was relentless, but I could now hear voices laughing, talking, and I swear there was the sound of glasses and ice cubes in the mix. I tried all the usual tricks; closing my eyes, stuffing the pillow over my head, shouting 'Will you fucking shut up!' at the ceiling, but it was no go. It was getting near midnight and I had been up since five, packing and moving, and still had a busy day of domestic chores to look forward to tomorrow. I had to go and say something.

It was literally the room above my bed that was making all the noise. As I approached the door, my still tipsy brain pondered the situation. I didn't know if my upstairs neighbors ran a rave club, a brothel, or a crack house. I didn't know if they were white, black or Asian, not that that mattered, or whether they were Catholic, Jewish, or members of Isis, which was a little more worrying.

And, to top it all off, I hadn't unpacked any clothes. So, in the time it took for my patience to run out while looking for something to wear, all I could find was tiny, sparkling clubbing vests with plunging necklines. They didn't go with my shorts so it made sense to struggle into a matching short black skirt. Then the tennis shoes were wrong, so I donned some four-inch heels too. In my wine-fuddled mind, it made perfect sense. However, now I looked like I was going to join the party, not stop it.

The thumping grew louder with every step I took towards that large, imposing door. It seemed so much larger than mine and, when I finally reached it, I found it was made of steel, not thin, wooden veneer. So it was a crack house, then, or at least somewhere that expected to be raided any minute.

I counted to five, giving whoever was inside a fair chance to turn down the music and behave. They failed, though, and left me no choice. I used the flat of my palm and pounded on that metal door hard and, as far as I was concerned, authoritatively. I heard voices react to the intrusion, which was good, but no one seemed to be opening the door. I was about to pound again, feeling strong and righteous in my purpose, when I heard bolts sliding and catches opening. Eventually, the door slid inwards a foot.

Looking at the ground, I prepared the speech I'd been rehearsing along the corridor. I lifted my head to deliver it and boom. It was him. Ponytail's deep, dark eyes and exquisitely beautiful features were entirely focused on me again. His mouth was still slightly parted, his lower lip protruding in an absent-minded pout that just made me want to take it between my teeth and suck.

My head emptied. All the powerful and commanding words that were gathered disappeared completely, leaving me standing, staring like a fool, as my own lips began to curl slowly upwards into a smile.

"Thank God you're here," he said suddenly. I wasn't prepared for that. 'Who are you?' I could have managed. 'What do you want?' would have been totally expected. Even 'Kiss me, you fool!' would have even met with a better response than what actually came out of his mouth, so what he did say caught me completely off guard. I stood there, mouth open, looking like an idiot and wishing the world would just swallow me up, until he grasped my wrist and pulled me, without protest, through the door.

### Chapter 3

He pulled me past him and turned away to close the door behind me. I was gently spun back towards him, which revealed about ten different locks and bolts on the inside of the door. I didn't even notice that I was studying and appreciating the way his tight butt filled out his jeans as he bent to slide the lower bolt across. All the security made sense, I guess, considering this wasn't the greatest neighborhood, but I wondered why he needed it in a cheap studio which probably had a similar look and inventory to mine.

He turned around before he stood up, his face slipping into a half smile when he saw where my eyes were focused. I quickly realized what I was doing and turned away from him, cursing inwardly at myself. As I got my first proper look at his place, I had to blink to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

First, the décor. It was so many levels above mine, with polished hardwood floors, light gray walls, ultra-modern stainless steel fixtures, and black shiny marble surfaces everywhere. Or it appeared that way. The lights in the apartment changed colors rapidly, like I was in a dance club.

Next, the space. With no entryway, the heavy metal door opened directly into a room that was easily as big as my entire apartment, including my kitchenette and bathroom. I saw that roughly where the back wall of my bathroom would be, there was a corridor that appeared to be leading to his kitchen, which also looked huge, and I could see further doors leading off it. It dawned on me that this apartment must have been knocked through into the next, at least, and maybe even expanded across the entire second floor.

Third, the furniture. I couldn't make out much in the kitchen, other than what looked like high-end cabinetry and expensive marble countertops. This front room, however, included three huge black flat-screens across the wall opposite the door, each hooked up to the latest game console, with half a dozen black leather recliners in front of them. Just in front of me, about where my kitchen would be, was a full bar with whiskey bottles and beer taps while, at the far end and right above my bed, was a small stage with a huge sound system and speakers that were taller than me. It was still loudly pumping out its monotonous dance rhythm, flashing its brightly colored lights in time with the beat, and I sensed it could find much, much more volume, if asked to.

Last, the population. The apartment wasn't full, but there were enough people gathered to qualify this as a pretty swinging party. Ten or so guys were gathered around the barker loungers, in front of the TVs that displayed the lurid, HD graphics of a shooting game, a basketball game, and a driving game, all being played at once. At the bar were a couple of girls, young and beautiful, lapping up all the attention from the four or five guys there, while there were three or four more girls in tight tops and short-shorts dancing by the sound system, attracting bashful glances from some of the guys playing video games.

I stood, dumbstruck for a second before Ponytail beckoned me to follow him through. My fuzzy brain could think of no reason not to, so I walked behind him along the short corridor to the kitchen. The lights were normal in here and, with the music behind us, you could hear yourself think. His kitchen was enormous, with black cabinets and a countertop lining the wall by the door, and an enormous island with a sink in the middle of the room. To the right, on the wall opposite the cupboards, was a long desk with computer monitors and keyboards. Three doors led off the kitchen which I assumed must be bedrooms. There were another dozen or so people in here, talking and drinking.

"Can I get you a drink?" came the question from Ponytail. I struggled to bring myself back to the moment but, when I did, I suddenly remembered what was wrong and why I was here.

"I'm sorry," I said, crossly, "but what did you mean 'Thank God you're here'?"

"Apologies," he smiled, "I knew you were up here to complain about the noise, but you look really sexy in that outfit, so I said the first thing I could think of that would help me get you inside my apartment."

Arrogant prick! Why did he have to be so gorgeous? And did he really think I looked sexy?

"What did you say?" I demanded.

"Can I get you a drink?" he smiled again.

My wine poisoned mind, helped by his utterly disarming smile, failed me. "White wine, please." I shrugged.

Ignoring the bar in the other room, he went to his fridge and poured out two glasses from a bottle inside. He quickly returned and handed me one, clinking them together.

"You're an overconfident dick," I smiled at him, "you know that?"

"I've been told so once or twice, yes."

"Sophia Angelo," I said, holding out a hand for him to shake.

"Beautiful name," he said. I felt my knees weaken a little and my face flush slightly.

"And you are?" I pushed him.

"Dick. Overconfident Dick. Pleased to meet you."

He shook my hand and I couldn't help laugh. The flirting was going straight to my head, even faster than the wine. I was also beginning to feel a tingle in lower parts of me too. We talked a little more and I couldn't help myself. I started putting my hand on his arm or his chest, playing with my hair, my subconscious clearly determined to keep throwing out all the signals that he was no doubt looking for. He would smile when I said something I thought was clever and I would feel a tightening in my loins. It may have been the wine thinking for me, but I felt my poor, neglected body deserved some attention, now I'd finished college. Every so often, that fantasy I had earlier would run through my head again, only each time it would be slightly different. Suddenly, he wasn't bound to a chair and his hands were free to mash and squeeze my breasts. Just as quickly, I wasn't teasing or tormenting his hard cock, but driving myself onto it, begging him to shoot his load deep inside me.

I mentioned that the wine was making me slightly dizzy, so he suggested we step out for some air. I hadn't noticed the sliding door by the computer desk. Stepping through it, the cool night breeze hit me, hardening my bra-less nipples under my tight top, which sent a shivering sensation down to my core. I was standing on a small terrace balcony that overlooked the building's inner courtyard. Not the most inspiring view, but the light was flattering and you could clearly hear and smell the city beyond. Ponytail followed me through and slid the door shut behind him. Turning to face him, he couldn't help but spot my proud nips pointing in his direction. His eyes lit up as he saw them and I knew we both wanted the same thing, but I had the power now. I looked down demurely at my pert, pointed tits and subtly arched my back to thrust them slightly more his way. I looked back into his eyes and could see his look of lust intensifying. He was about to step towards me when I spoke to hold him in place. Somewhere, deep in my mind, I remembered the rudeness when he crashed into me and needed a little revenge.

"So, why were you such a prick earlier?" I suddenly snapped at him. His face fell at the change in my tone.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he stammered. Got him. I broke his too-cool façade using only the power of my tits, and it felt great.

"This afternoon," I continued, ready to scold him properly. "You crashed into me, breaking the box I was carrying and didn't even pause."

"I did?"

"You did."

He looked away from me, out over the courtyard, chewing his delicious-looking bottom lip as he thought. "I'm sorry," he said, finally, "I don't remember. I was having a very deep and painful phone conversation as I got out of the car. I guess I vaguely recall being jostled, but that's about it."

I wasn't buying that. "And what could have been so engrossing that you didn't even notice barging into someone carrying a heavy box?" I almost yelled at him.

He paused again, then said quietly, "I was breaking up with my ex-fiancé. She cheated on me. We've been going through these painful phone calls for the last month."

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing felt like the right thing to say. His confidence had almost entirely drained away and he looked so vulnerable. I took a deep breath, stepped forward and pushed my whole body against him. At my full height, in these heels, I only reached up to his breast so I lay my head there. I felt his body stiffen, then relax. He let out a long sigh.

I felt his arms encircle me. He suddenly seemed to fill my every sense; with my eyes closed, I could see his face, beautifully framed by the loose hair falling around it. Leaning against his warm, firm body, I felt him towering over me and enclosing me. I could hear his strong heart beating in his chest, thudding against my cheek. I could almost taste his lips as I imagined them on my mouth, and the rest of him as I pictured kissing my way along his entire body. And the smell of him, so masculine; his natural musk blended with an expensive aftershave that suited him just right and combined with the sweet smell of the wine we'd been drinking. So heady, as I breathed him in I felt even more intoxicated.

I looked up at him, looked deep into his beautiful brown eyes, and pulled his face to mine until our foreheads met. My heart was racing. I looked from his eyes to his mouth and back again. I licked my lips, readying myself, not quite able to believe I was about to finally taste that beautiful, pouting mouth.

"I don't normally do this," I heard myself whispering, "and the chances are I won't do it again."

"If that's the case," he breathed back, "enjoy yourself. We only get one life."

### Chapter 4

He closed the inch between our faces and sealed our lips together, his mouth opening mine and his velvet tongue caressing me, sending electric shock-like tingles down to my moistening sex.

We kissed hard, our intensity rising, until I discovered I was gently grinding myself against his leg. I broke off the kiss with a gasp. I had no idea where this passion was coming from, but I liked it. His face was mostly in shadow, but I could make out his eyes, twinkling in the darkness. I maintained eye contact as I pulled his shirt out of his jeans. I got a glimpse of rock hard abs under smooth skin, before I pulled his pants open urgently as his hands played up and down my back and over my butt. I finally felt his clothes drop to the ground, and I held him in my hands. He was already hard, so I slid my left hand under his balls as I ran the fingers of my right hand up and down his firm shaft. He let out a deep sigh as I traced every bump and vein along his impressive length, and we kissed again, hard.

My hands moved to his chest. I pushed him back against the wall and slowly sank to my knees, until I was staring directly at his long, firm member as it twitched under my gaze. I felt a smile play over my lips as I looked him in the eye once more, saw the need, the lust, and the yearning on his face, then slipped my wet lips over his tip.

My arms were against his stomach and chest and, using my mouth alone, I slid my lips as far down his shaft as I could, taking him all the way to the back of my throat. He moaned as I held him there, his hot rod resting on my soft tongue. I could have finished him very quickly. The feeling of power was amazing. At my will, I knew I could make his knees buckle, his eyesight go blank, and his cock explode in my mouth. Despite an almost painful aching from deep within me, I was sorely tempted to rock his world, and that only made me hornier. His dick was almost throbbing in time with me, with the hard pulsing in my clit, and I couldn't keep our sexes apart any longer.

I stood and pulled him away from the wall, turned, and leaned back against it myself. He watched hungrily as I raised my skirt. I wordlessly pulled my panties to one side, exposing myself to him and he was on me instantly. He put two hands under my butt and lifted me a foot off the floor, my back against the wall. I tried to maintain eye contact as I felt him nudging up against my wet slit, his strong forearms forcing my thighs wide apart. I was so open and ready for him, he slipped right in.

"Oh, absolutely...!" was what tumbled surprisingly from my mouth. It had been so long since anything had touched me so deep inside, I'd forgotten how good it could feel. A small whimper escaped my lips as I felt my clit rub up against the base of him.

I tried to stay quiet. We were out in the open, after all, but small moans continued to escape me, as his strong arms held me still and he glided slowly in and out of my tingling sex. I put my hands around his neck and pressed my forehead against his again, as his thrusts became harder and faster. I could feel a heat growing in my loins, radiating out through my whole body. That heat turned into an electric, almost burning ecstasy that threatened to take over my very being. My vision blurred, and my head felt like collapsing in on itself. My body went limp, my arms slipped from his shoulders, and my neck seemed to no longer support my head. The only contribution I could continue to make to our fucking was the low groans he forced out of me every time he pushed himself urgently back inside until, finally, an almighty drive sent me over the edge.

I felt as if I was falling and started to panic, before wave after wave of excruciating pleasure lifted me up and crashed through me. And it didn't stop. He kept forcing himself urgently deep inside me, every firm plunge prolonging my orgasm. I couldn't stop coming. He wouldn't stop fucking me, and my pussy wouldn't stop exploding in rapture.

"Oh... fuck... Oh... fuck!" I barely managed to breathe the words. "Won't... you... ever... come? Please... I... can't... take... much... more...!"

He pushed himself inside me, deeper than he had ever gone before, and an uncontrolled scream ripped from my throat. All I could feel was him pulsing there, deep within me, as my orgasm sang out one last, long, long note, before finally began to die slowly away.

We stayed like that for a long minute, panting against each other, his cock still firmly embedded in my still-throbbing pussy, right up to the hilt.

"I... oh, my... What just happened?" I stammered, my body still vibrating. He smiled at me and, without a word, pulled out and lowered me to the ground. He was still rock hard, and after a quick check, I found he hadn't come. "What's wrong?" I asked, feeling inadequate. I mean, had I lost my touch? How difficult was it to make a man come?

"Absolutely nothing," he smiled. He pulled me up from the wall and turned us around. "If I'm only going to get one shot with you, I'm damn well going to make the most of it."

He spun me around and, with a force I wasn't ready for, bent me over the rail. My heart was in my mouth. This felt dangerous, and I was not entirely comfortable. I had no chance to object, though, before he pushed my skirt up over my ass, slid my underwear down in one movement, and shoved himself back into me, hard.

I cried out, half in pain, half in pleasure, as the tip of him hit something deep inside me. He pulled back out, slipping deliciously along my inner walls. I felt every vein and ridge as he glided across my most intimate areas. He stopped, a single, throbbing inch of him still poised exasperatingly at my slick entrance.

"You want me inside you?" he whispered from behind me.

"Yes," I breathed, my whole body still trembling from my first orgasm. The sensations not yet completely gone, and every twitch of him, or slight movement, sent exciting pulses through my body, edging me closer again towards oblivion.

"Beg," he ordered.

"Please."

"What was that? Please, what?"

"Please, fuck, put your big cock back inside me... Oh, fuck!" I screamed as he penetrated me again, driving himself so deep I couldn't take it. He slammed himself into me, over and over. Small yelps of pleasure erupted from me as he continued to thrust. I saw a couple crossing the courtyard below us. Ponytail leaned forward, still fucking me, and clamped his hand over my mouth. I was turned on even more, my cries changing to muffled gasps under his strong grip.

He increased his pace and I swear he was growing inside me. Those waves of ecstasy started lapping at the shores of my aching loins once more, bringing me closer and closer to coming a second time. I lost control of myself yet again, and as I felt him shove so hard, one last time, I banged on the metal balustrade with my fist, then punched at his arm, forcing his hand away from my mouth, and screamed out load once more. My legs weakened, my knees trembled, and only his amazing dick, practically spearing me to the rail, stopped me from falling. My pussy felt like it was on fire as, finally, his cock released its hot load inside me. Pulse after pulse shot jet after jet of his fluid deep into my grateful womb.

The couple in the parking lot looked up at the noise. She seemed to giggle and whisper something to her partner, but we were hidden in the half-light. I could feel my body beginning to return to itself and, as I felt the final spasms of his orgasm fade, his iron bar of a dick finally started to soften. Both still panting, he dropped to the ground, and we scooted around until we were sitting side by side, our backs against the railing.

"Well," he muttered between breaths, "that was..."

"I know..."

My head was still spinning, and I couldn't keep the stupid smile off my face as my body started to relax. A blissful feeling of quiet, stress-free euphoria exuded from my sore but satisfied pussy, then flowed through every muscle and fiber of my body.

### Chapter 5

I could hear a distant, ugly and intrusive humming. I tried to open my eyes but they weren't cooperating. Beyond the humming were distant voices speaking in indeterminate tongues. I finally managed to peel one eye open and the pure white ceiling, dotted with high-tech, recessed LED lights, wasn't what I expected to see. The pillow under my head was also pure white, as was the sheet that half covered my naked body, while the comforter that had been kicked almost entirely away was black. I own no bedclothes in white or black, so where the fuck was I?

The king-size bed was empty, apart from me, and sported a massive, button-leather headboard that loomed over me. Either side were black wooden bedside cabinets that ranged high up the side of the headboard, similar to those I'd seen in a high-end hotel, and had stainless steel lamps protruding from them.

I willed myself to sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest as I went. Light filled the room from an enormous floor to ceiling window to my right, while the wall opposite the couch at the foot of the bed was home to a huge, black plasma screen. The wall to my left, opposite the window, was a bare gray except for one door that led out at one end and another at that I assume went to a bathroom. So, this was... shit. I never did get his name. So, this was Ponytail's bedroom? I blinked out towards the window and saw people on a higher floor sitting on their terrace opposite. If they looked hard enough, they'd easily spot me parading nude before them. I looked around for my clothes.

On the floor by the door, I saw my short skirt looking distressed in a forlorn pile. I bit the bullet, figuring if I had to give the neighbors a show I'd make it as quick as possible, and hopped over to the clothes. I pulled my skirt on as fast as I could and kept my back to the window as I hunted for my top. I moved a pair of jeans and found it, slipping it over my head so I was decent. Sorry, neighbors, show's over.

I still needed shoes, though, and some underwear wouldn't go amiss. I picked up the jeans again and had a sudden flashback. My mind replayed urgently tugging these pants down, releasing his engorged staff, the feel of that marble-hard muscle as it pulsed against my tongue. It all started to come back, my foggy brain recovering the sequence of events that led me here. My knees started to weaken and tremble, and things low in my body tightened and quivered, as I remembered the intense and relentless pounding I took last night, as well as the thundering orgasms that seemed never-ending. Unfortunately, I recalled little after that. I vaguely remembered us stumbling in here, tearing off each other's clothes, and I think we had sex at least once more, but it was mostly a blur.

Then the pit of my stomach dropped. I was drunk, I had made some poor choices, and just fucked a guy that I didn't like or even know his name. My heart started thumping a guilty rhythm of shame as I realized what a slut I'd been. I'd given this life up. I was focused on my career. This was not me. Added to that, as pleasant as the memory I had of him emptying his load deep inside me was, my blood chilled when I recalled that we had used no protection. Aside from the dangers, I had been celibate for the last two years and there was absolutely nothing to stop me from getting pregnant. How could I have been so stupid?

I was cursing inwardly when my ears suddenly started to send useful information to my brain, rather than the garbage I was getting earlier. The hum, I could now tell, was someone vacuuming. I guessed a maid or cleaning service in the front room with the bar and the sound system. That meant the party was over. The voices were coming from the kitchen and, I assumed, were some left over guests who had woken up. I then noticed another noise. Running water, coming from behind door number two. Please let that be Ponytail in his shower, not yet another random guy that I don't remember accidentally fucking.

I stole towards the bathroom door, not quite sure why I was creeping. I pushed it open. It was not a bathroom, after all, but a vast, walk-in closet, with dozens of hanging shirts and suits on one side and neat, maple draws on the other. His shoes were arranged in pairs below the draws. All his stuff looked very expensive.

I spotted another door at the opposite end of the closet. That's where the running water sounds were coming from, and now I heard a male voice as well. Phew, it was Ponytail and he seemed to be on the phone. Talking business, by the sound of it. I could only make out every other word. Who takes business calls on a Sunday?

I then remembered I was still holding his jeans. Tired of knowing nothing about this guy, I looked for and found his wallet. I had no idea what I expected to see as I opened it, but the first thing to greet me was an American Express Black Card. The one that's only given to the wealthiest Platinum Card users and, as I read the name, I realized that Cameron J. Preston is among those that other people call 'super rich'.

I heard him hang up his cell phone. I didn't know if he was getting in the shower or getting out but decided not to take the chance. I was mortified by my behavior last night and was now considering selling my new apartment, just so I wouldn't accidentally bump into him ever again.

I dropped his jeans as I heard the water shut off and made it to the exit as I felt as though the bathroom door was opening, and I was suddenly in the kitchen.

At the breakfast bar sat a blonde guy, maybe twenty-two and dressed in a white vest top, who was sharing a bowl of fruit with a stunning, early-thirties female. She was still in last night's party clothes, like me, only hers appeared to be a one-piece, flared trouser suit that yanked her full breasts right up to her chin, some high platform heels, and a glorious mane of full red hair that cascaded down her back in an avalanche of twists and curls. They turned to me, as I stumbled through the door, and smiled.

"So, you're the latest?" purred the redhead. I was stopped by her devastating appearance for a moment, then tried to decipher what she had just said for another which, together, delayed me long enough to hear the handle turning on the door behind me.

I turned and dove through the door of the next room, shutting it and cowering against it. Yes, I was a strong, powerful, independent young woman hiding behind a door from a man I'd just slept with. I felt like shit.

"The fuck are you?" came a weak murmur from behind me.

I turned to see a man lying naked on another big bed, in a room that was extremely similar to the one I'd just woken up in. I put my finger to my lips, shushing him, and his eyes seemed to give up trying to focus on me and he passed out again. I took a second to survey this new scene, though. The man was lying on his back, nude and exposed apart from a pair of white socks on his feet.

Thankfully, his penis was mostly hidden from view by the head of a short-haired brunette, slim, no more than twenty, also naked, and resting her face on his hip and thigh, her knees by his head. Curled around the guy's head, like a long, lazy cat, was another girl. She was a little older, with long dark hair this time, had on only a red push-up bra concealing her extremely generous breasts and the man's hand disappearing into the warm, hairless cleft between her thighs. She didn't move but slept on, using the young girls toned thighs for a pillow.

Opening the door just a crack, I could hear the conversation.

"Cammy, darling!" cooed the redhead.

"Did you see a girl come this way?" I heard Cameron J. Preston ask, slightly flustered.

"That beautiful dark haired thing from last night?" asked Red. "What's wrong with you? I was patiently waiting naked for round three, you went to get wine and disappeared. Was she that special?" strangely, she sounded like she was laughing as he spoke.

My heart sank further. Not only had I acted like a total skank, but I'd done so with some man-whore that had been fucking another woman, perhaps just minutes before he fucked me!

"Please, Silvia," said Cameron, "have you seen her?"

I dared to peek through the gap. Cameron was facing away from me, with only a towel covering his delicious butt, but I locked eyes with 'Silvia', who gave me the barest wink and a wide, full, red-lipped smile.

"Haven't seen her, darling," she turned back to him. "I guess she must have disappeared before we got up."

"Fine," sighed Cameron, "I guess I'll go get dressed."

"Want any help?" she called after him, looking at me and smiling again.

"No, thanks," came the distant reply, just as the bedroom door closed.

Silvia beckoned me towards her. I ducked out, sheepishly. Why was she helping me? I looked at the blonde guy, who just stared vacantly back.

"Darling," her loud, proud voice seemed to struggle at a lower volume, "don't say a word. Quick as you can, out the front!"

I went to respond, although I had no idea what I was going to say, but she silenced me with a gesture and waved me through. I shrugged and made my way speedily towards door. As I heaved the deadlock open, I remembered I still had no underwear or shoes, but I vowed I was never going to set foot in that apartment ever again.

### Chapter 6

Through the rest of Sunday, I tried not to beat myself up too much. I wasn't the first girl to get taken in by a pretty face and, provided I wasn't pregnant, I began to realize that the good, hard sex had been liberating. I felt a lot more relaxed in my skin and, when I closed my eyes to try and recall the night, I would get a nice, warm, tingly feeling in some pleasant places.

However, I needed to focus. I stopped thinking about Cameron or, rather, his huge cock, slipped on my dirty vest and daisy dukes, and set about unpacking and decorating as much as I could before I had to work tomorrow. My endeavors went well and I had the bathroom painted and all my boxes empty and flattened before I slumped exhausted into my couch, waiting for Chaz to arrive with Chinese food and some wine, which I refused.

We gabbed for a while in front of more reality TV, Chaz criticizing my choice of décor, paint and clothes as we ate, before I confessed about last night to him. He held my hand, eager to hear all the juiciest bits, and told me that I was a whore who was definitely going to hell.

"But," he continued as our laughter subsided, "what if you do bump into him again?"

"I've nothing to say to him," I replied firmly.

"Granted," said Chaz, "but I rather believe, dear, that you'd find it hard to talk anyway. What, with his dick in your mouth and all."

"Don't be a bitch," I told him, "I managed to control myself for years! How long have you ever managed?"

"You say that now," he avoided the question, "but try saying it in two weeks, when you're horny again and he's literally hovering above you."

"Do you really think some billionaire stud, probably capable of taking any woman he wanted, is really going to remember fucking me after two weeks have gone by?"

"I would, darling."

"You're so sweet," I smiled at him, "But I don't think I'll even be a blip on his radar in a fortnight."

"According to you, though, he was mid-coitus, with a voluptuous, scarlet woman, and just the sight of you made him forget all about her," Chaz let go of my hand and picked up his food carton. "I'm just saying."

The next day, I woke early, eager to make a good impression at Vogue, and had a giddy one-hour commute to the magazine's headquarters at One, World Trade Centre in Manhattan.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself. My first day and I was already helping with a proper fashion shoot involving a few of the world's top supermodels. They were amazing, beautiful, dwarfed me, and were totally unfazed about stripping down to nothing and changing outfits regardless of who or how many people were in the room. I wished I could be as comfortable in my body as them. I never really thought I was shy, but I would always feel apprehensive about undressing in front of someone for the first time. These girls just didn't care.

It was fast and hectic work, and over as soon as it seemed to begin. It was lunch time which, unfortunately for me, loosely translated into 'time to send the interns on our bullshit errands'. Eventually, I got back to my desk in time to fork down some pasta salad. Only, there was mail addressed to me.

Sophia, Darling, it began. I recognized my mother's handwriting, even after five years. We're sorry to have to write to you at work but we had no way of knowing where you live now.

'We're sorry'? 'We had'? Who was we? I knew she wasn't talking about that asshole Howard.

I think it's really unfair of you to keep me at this distance. I'm your mother and I worry about you.

Ha!

However, I didn't write to give you a hard time. It's only fortunate I have friends in high places, it made it all the easier to track your college and work progression.

Congratulations on your internship at Vogue. I have asked my friends involved with the magazine to look out for you, but that's not why I'm writing.

Dammit, I wanted to do this on my own.

You'll be sad to hear that Howard and I split up while you've been gone. It didn't work, not after his third indiscretion with a twenty-year-old assistant. That was a year ago but since then I've met a wonderful man. He's kind and generous, and we're marrying in a month.

I'm so happy, but the one thing that would make me happier is if you could attend. Please think about it.

All my love,

Mom.

Ps. I know how you felt about me re-marrying after your father died, and I really want to apologize for everything that happened around that time.

PPs. I've already ensured that you will be allowed to leave your internship to attend this wedding and suffer no repercussions to your career. Hope that helps.

I was sure that woman lived in cloud fucking cuckoo land, and now I knew it. I wasn't sorry that marriage didn't last and I was sure she did okay in the divorce settlement, but if she thought I was heading over to California for any other reason than to say goodbye on her deathbed, she was crazier than even I could imagine. I went back to work.

The rest of the day passed just as quickly. If it was always going to be at this pace, I would be done with my internship and on the payroll before I could sneeze. Darkness fell on my long hard day as I finally trudged exhausted out to the subway, a chill now in the air of this strangely mild April we'd been having.

As I found a seat and rode the train back to Brooklyn, I couldn't stop thinking about my mother. At least she'd managed to divert my attention from Cameron. Specifically, I couldn't stop thinking about the line in her letter:

I know how you felt about me re-marrying after your father died, and I really want to apologize for everything that happened around that time.

It was cold, sure, but as I read it again I remembered how rare it was for her to apologize for anything, ever. I began to feel like she may have had a genuine change of heart. Five years is a long time and now Howard was out of the picture... I couldn't think too much about it. Part of me was still so angry at her but I could also feel another, suppressed part of me reemerging, a part of me that needed some family.

I didn't stop to get any food as I walked from the subway to my place. My mind was preoccupied, imagining how the conversation would go when I called her, as I planned to do when I got home. I was so absorbed in myself that I forgot to even check to make sure I didn't run into Cameron until I'd already reached the building.

My blood ran cold as I realized where I was. I froze in place, ten steps from the foyer, just certain all of a sudden that he would walk through that door any second and the ground would swallow me up. I glanced at the road quickly and let out the breath I was holding when I saw no sign of that Porsche, or any other kind of expensive car. It was also absent this morning and I found myself muttering a little prayer, hoping he only visited his swinging party pad on the weekends.

Inside, I kicked off my shoes and hung my coat by the door. I looked at the phone, then made some coffee. Again, I neared the phone, then went to run a bath. I couldn't help procrastinating, calling my mother after five years was beginning to rank up among the hardest things I was ever likely to do.

When the bath was filled and overflowing with bubbles, I decided to take the phone in with me. I undressed, slid my overworked body into the tub letting the near scalding water numb my skin and help my muscles relax.

I lay still a full five minutes, a moistened towel across my eyes, before I finally worked up the courage to dial. It began ringing, no turning back now. Nearly nine pm here, six pm there...

"Hello?" she answered on the fifth ring. I knew it was her, but I couldn't speak for a second. "Hello...?" she said again.

"H-hi, Mom?" I managed. My voice sounded so small, even to me.

"Sophia?" she said softly, before announcing it again like a grand old Italian matriarch, "Sophia, mia bambino...!"

This was ridiculous. I'd never heard her speak Italian before. "It's me, mom," I replied flatly. She was either being pretentious or was trying to suck up to me, and I had time for neither.

"Darling," she gushed, "I'm so glad you called. It's been so long! I've been so worried about you!"  
"Save it, mom," I snapped at her. "If you were so worried, why didn't you get in touch before?"

"Darling, I was..."

"You was too busy with Howard," I was almost shouting. My vitriol was building quickly. "Too busy living the LA high life to worry about your poor, plain daughter!"

"Darling, please?"

"Please what?"

"I'm sorry."

I went quiet. I'd never heard her say that before. And, I'd realized, I was beginning to sound just like her as she used to berate my father when he said we couldn't afford something. It was scary.

"I'm sorry too, mom," I eventually managed.

"I understand you must have a lot of unresolved resentment built up towards me, darling, and that we are going to need to work through that," she said. Picture perfect LA psychobabble. "But for now, can we work towards getting together?"

"I don't know, mom," I replied. "Your last remarriage didn't work out too well for me."

"Oh, but this one's different, darling. He's an angel. He's a state senator. A fabulously successful career in film production behind him, he's kind, caring, on the board of twelve charities... He's nothing like Howard. He has a son, too, in his early thirties, who works in the media. I just know you'll love him.

"What's his name?" I asked impatiently.

"His son?" she asked. My mom hadn't got any less ditzy.

"No, your fiancé."

"Oh, yes," she giggled, then said his name like a smitten school girl, "Alistair Cartwright the third."

"Wow," I breathed. I had heard of him. Probably few people in the US hadn't. "Where did you meet him?"

"A benefit for the NICU at UCLA Medical Centre. I'm on the pediatrics board," she informed me, proudly.

"Of course you are."

"Listen, darling, I'm overjoyed that you called, but I'm late for a function and I honestly believe we need to talk in person, at length," she suddenly announced. Typical, don't let a phone call from your estranged daughter keep you from mingling with high society. "Can you give me an email address? I'll have one of Alistair's assistants send you the details of a flight to get you over here in plenty of time for the wedding. If you'll come, that is."

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself shouting at her presumption. I let out a long, slow breath. "I'll come," I said, then gave out my email.

"Oh, I'm delighted!" she cried. "I can't wait to see you, Sophia, we have so much time to make up."

We said goodbye and hung up. Half of me was livid that this phone call had been so informal, that she'd taken no time to drop back into her maternal role and start ordering me around, that my strong determination to make it on my own and work hard at my internship had been undermined. The other half of me was breathing again, relieved it was over, pleased we were mending fences and happy to be going to see my mother again. And then there was a tiny part of me that wanted to drink tequila and go upstairs and ride Cameron until neither of us could move again. It's lucky he wasn't home.

### Chapter 7

It was quickly and easily arranged. Flight dates were revealed to me in short order. The editorial staff at Vogue allocated me my time off before I'd even requested it and, three weeks from the phone call when the departure date rolled around, there was a huge black Mercedes outside my apartment ready to take me to JFK at eight in the morning.

After I discovered I was thankfully not pregnant, I'd spent the next two weeks working and soul searching, with Chaz as my guide. Typically, this had led to some peculiar potential scenarios; my stepping up at the appropriate point mid-service to register my objection, me stabbing my heartless mother and disappearing to the Cayman Islands, or my seducing the good senator in revenge and eventually becoming the First Lady of the United States.

On occasion, they all seemed like sound ideas but, with hindsight, we decided I should hear my mother out, give Alistair Cartwright III a fair chance, and try and rebuild our family connection. If worst came to the worst, we decided, when I got back to New York it could be business as usual.

I didn't see Cameron's Porsche outside once.

My first clue that this was not going to be a normal day came when, instead of the car following normal traffic around to the airport's car park or drop-off point, we sidestepped the the crowds in favor of a service road that ran alongside one of the runways. I nearly had a heart attack as a massive airliner chose that moment to land right beside us, the terrific noise as it slowed to touch the ground took my breath away, even from inside the sealed, double-glazed, air-conditioned limo.

As we neared the end of JFK's east-west runway, my driver, who was a gentle soul named Keats, full dress uniform, slightly overweight and definitely over fifty, took a right turn and steered us towards a lone hanger. There wasn't a single tree or structure in any direction but, inside, sat a plane that looked exactly how an executive jet is supposed to look, if you like to watch TV. It was gleaming white, with long thin wings that bent up at the ends and two powerful looking engines sitting just below the tail.

"Here we are, Miss," said Keats. "This is the hanger the president arrives at when he comes to New York." I could tell he wanted me to be impressed, so I let out an awe-struck sigh. He ducked out of the car in one smooth movement, wheeled around and opened my door for me. He offered his hand as I got out, then lowered his head as I passed, saying, "A pleasure, Miss. Have a pleasant flight. I'll ensure your bags are loaded."

A mere six feet from the car's rear door was the gangplank that led to the aircraft. At the foot of that stood a devastatingly attractive brunette in an extremely fetching green uniform. Though the most charming smile, she introduced herself as Alexa, the first steward of the plane, and then presented the captain. He was a handsome early forties, rugged and windswept, in a crisp white shirt and dark peaked cap, and he promised me a swift and pleasant flight, and that we would be underway as soon as their other passenger arrived.

It was odd to me that they treated me like some type of dignitary. My loose black summer skirt, simple vest top, vintage jacket and no-label three-inch pumps didn't faze them or cause them to treat me with any less courtesy. Even though it was plainly obvious that I was entirely out of my element and not at all the sort of person that often flew by private jet. However, as I climbed the stairs, it struck me that I wasn't going to be flying alone. I only hoped that my new traveling companion was the private jet type, and could give me some pointers on how to act.

Slipping into the cool darkness of the cabin, I finally got a look at how the other half lives. Soft gold mood lighting illuminated thick fur rugs and upholstery, and shined off gleaming golden fixtures. I counted maybe eight passenger harnessed seats, a token gesture towards safety during takeoff and landing, while the rest of the cabin consisted of couches, elaborate love seats, and a full bar to the rear.

"Could I get you a drink, Miss Angelo?" inquired the delightful Alexa.

"A coke would be great," I told her, and her smile beamed even brighter as she scurried off behind the bar. Not really knowing what to do, I perched myself on one of the love seats. Alexa brought me my coke, with ice and lemon, so I sipped it and waited. As far as I was aware, we were supposed to take off at nine-thirty and, by my cell phone, it was nearly that. I didn't know what special privileges private jets had, so I waited. The plane's door was still open and it took less than a minute before I heard the engine approaching. It snorted and snarled like nothing I'd ever heard before, seemed to speed roar right up to the plane, then shut off as abruptly as it had appeared. Alexa vanished eagerly down the steps to greet our new arrival, while I continued to wait, albeit more than a little intrigued to see who it was.

I heard muffled voice outside the plain. It was clearly a man that would be joining me. I heard the steps start up to the door, Alexa's stylish yet practical heels first, followed by a soft leather footfall behind her.

"This way," cooed Alexa, cool and professional, followed by two words that froze me in place, "Mr. Preston."

I looked straight up and there he was; Cameron J. Preston, in the flesh, in a double-breasted Dolce & Gabbana, and standing in front of me. My heart stopped, then started again, hammering so hard and fast I struggled to breathe. Words couldn't express how much he was the last person I wanted to see on this flight but, infuriatingly, he looked so good. The ponytail was gone, his long hair hanging loose and wild around his beautiful face and, with the expensive and perfectly fitting, light-gray suit, all I could think was: urban cowboy chic.

There was nowhere to hide so, when he saw me, those full, pouting lips turned up a fraction and I saw his deep brown eyes sparkle.

"Well hello, Sophia Angelo," he said, amused.

"Alexa?" I said, still looking at Cameron. "Honey, I'm going to need you add some bourbon to this coke.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him once he had sat down and I had a fresh drink. Alexa was fetching Cameron a scotch and preparing for takeoff.

"This is my plane, actually," he replied as Alexa passed him a glass. "I should ask what you're doing here."

I looked down at the drink in my hand. I quickly revisited the feeling of uninhibited abandon I enjoyed with the wine I had that night he and I... met, and weighed it with the fact that I hadn't touched hard liquor in years. If I drank this, what was I likely to do? The idea of a three-way, mile-high romp with him and Alexa did not appeal, so I just swirled the glass around, making the ice cubes tinkle.

"Well, if it's your plane, don't you know the manifest and itinerary?" I tried, making myself sound all knowledgeable and professional. So my mom had asked one of her wealthy friends if they wouldn't mind ferrying me over to LA the next time they were headed this way. I wanted to be annoyed that she'd put me in this position, but I couldn't really blame her. There was no way she could have known I'd accidentally got drunk and banged her high-powered acquaintance's son and heir.

"I do," he replied. A slight look of nervousness crept across his face. "I'm heading to LA to attend a wedding next week. I was asked to bring the bride's daughter over with me..."

"So far so good," I said, wondering why he had trailed off. He was looking out the cabin window, a slightly pained expression on his face. "Why you?" I continued. "What's your relationship to the bride?"

"Err..." he hesitated, "she's marrying my father."

There was a crash from the back of the plane. We both spun our head's to see what it was. "I'm so sorry," panted Alexa, "I dropped a glass. Besides, it's time to strap yourselves in, if you wouldn't mind."

I decided that was a good idea. This was going to be a bumpy ride.

### Chapter 8

Cameron Strapped himself into one of the safety seats. I took a look around and selected the seat I decided was a far from his as possible. The whole process of taxiing and liftoff passed by in a blur. After his piece of news, I made the conscious decision that I'd been missing hard liquor from my life and threw back my drink in one long swallow. I spotted Cameron doing the same.

A wave of vertigo hit me as I picked my way to the harnessed chair, but I couldn't be sure if it was the alcohol, or the fact that I just found out I fucked my step-brother to be, that was upsetting my equilibrium. The plane quickly launched itself into a steep climb and, two or three minutes after we had leveled out, Alexa appeared with another drink for me.

I kept my gaze straight ahead. I wasn't ready to talk to him yet but I could feel his eyes on me as he sat back and to the right of my seat. Okay, so he had no more idea about our parents than I did. Thankfully, we hadn't just found out we were blood-related, because I may have just taken the opportunity to throw myself out of the plane if we had. He also seemed as deeply shocked as I was. I finally turned to him.

"Are we going to have to spend the rest of this six-hour flight trying to ignore each other?" I put to him.

"Well," he responded, at length, "this is a new Gulfstream G650, so the flight should take no more than four hours. Other than that, I've never been in this position so I really have no idea what to say."

Yup, I was definitely feeling light-headed. And, I hated to say, despite everything he looked really good. I felt a faint throb deep between my legs as I remembered the touch of his long, hard manhood resting on my tongue or sliding deep inside me. That's right, Sophia, sit there thinking naughty thoughts about your new brother. That's well adjusted.

"But I think we can both agree," I ventured, "that, as hot as the other night was, it's in the past and will stay there, right?"  
"That's probably for the best," he smiled. I remembered that it's always a good idea to stroke a man's ego if you want him to agree with you. "Do you mind," he continued, "if we move over to the couches. It will be much more comfortable and I can barely hear you."  
Even though it was eerily quiet inside the cabin, it was no library and I didn't feel like shouting this conversation across two rows of seats, either. We moved over to one of the comfy couches nearer the bar and sat with a sofa section between us. This put us closer to Alexa, but I had the feeling she had already pegged out our unfortunate situation and would keep it to herself.

"I got the feeling," began Cameron, as we sat down, "that you were in no hurry to see me again, anyway."

"What gave you that idea?" I smiled, coyly.

"You disappearing while I was in the shower," he smiled back. "And that Silvia told me you were hiding in the bedroom when I was looking for you."

"Silvia...?" I lied. He looked at me as if I was being stupid. "Fine. It's not me to go so far with someone I just met. It used to be, but that was a lifetime ago. I didn't even know your name."

"Didn't that make it more exciting?"

I ignored him. "Did you really have sex with Silvia that same night, before I got there?"

He looked away, "Silvia and I are very old friends. We like to have fun."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Fine. Something else occurred to me, "Why aren't you Cameron Cartwright?"

"I am, legally," he answered, looking back at me. God, his eyes were so mesmerizing. I took another swallow of my drink. "I use my mother's maiden name professionally. I don't want any special treatment because of who my father is. Christ, can you imagine if he becomes president one day? What do you think that will do to my life?"

I nodded to show I understood. "And what's with your swinging secret funhouse?" I asked him. He looked confused. "You know, the frat boy's heaven that sits just above my bed?"

"Oh that," he laughed. "I bought that building years ago and made it co-op. I just keep that place as a... funhouse, like you said. I have my own apartment on Park Avenue."

I felt myself sinking into the couch as he talked, watching his sultry lips move. My knee had fallen against his and he hadn't moved away. My head was beginning to feel foggy.

"You know," he carried on, "I could give you a key. Anytime you fancied having some fun or bringing some friends over, you could just help yourself."

"Really?" I smiled at him. I moved my face closer to his. His gorgeous features, the touch of his leg against mine, the smell of him, it all made things low in my body tight and wet. "And what if I just see your car there and want to come up?"

"I guess that would be fine too," he gently bit his delicious looking lip, my sex throbbed harder and I moved in to put our mouths together. His soft lips on mine felt divine. This time, I opened his mouth, sliding my tongue inside him, moving it over his teeth until I found the velvety softness I was looking for. I feel his hand on my thigh, I picture his firm, long cock and what I'd like to do with it. I could actually feel my pussy opening, getting ready for him, when the plane bucked sharply, scarily, making us break apart.

The ride quickly returned to being smooth as glass again and I remembered how fucked up this was. I scooted back fast, leaving him sitting, looking confused.

"We can't do this, are you crazy?" I almost screamed at him. I saw Alexa behind the bar, pretending not to listen.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you wanted it."

"That's beside the point."  
"It's just, I never met anyone like you. I can't stop thinking about that time on the terrace."

My heart was racing and, I'll admit, it was good to hear those words. But I couldn't let the booze allow me to make another unfortunate error of judgment.

"I'm sorry too, Cameron, but we can't do this. From now on, we're brother and sister, okay?" I tried to sound compassionate, yet firm. It was really the best choice for both of us.

We barely spoke for the rest of the journey, beyond a little small talk. We watched TV, him choosing well-written dramas and me choosing trashy reality shows but, to be honest, I was uncomfortable and couldn't wait to land. And, from time to time, I couldn't stop myself fantasizing about what would have happened if I hadn't stopped him.

We landed and stepped straight into another Mercedes. It took us directly to a restaurant where our parents were waiting. Weird was not the word for it. On top of not seeing my mother for five years, I had to reconnect with her in the company of my new brother who had come inside of me.

Cameron went to greet his father, who was basically an exact, slightly older version of him. Tall, broad-shouldered, ruggedly handsome but with a little extra girth and some salt and pepper hair. They stood and embraced, smiling at each other as they held one another by the shoulders.

I stood there opposite my mother. She wore her forties well. Her hair was long but high up off the collar, as well as being blonde now. Her cheekbones still stood out to give her the same distinguished look that I had, and her emerald green eyes, again mirrors of mine, shone. She smiled a Beverly Hills smile at me that was so bright, I couldn't help but return it, and her figure looked trim in her gray pencil skirt and white blouse. I stepped forward into her offered embrace to find she was two inches taller than me, which meant she was wearing six inch Monolos.

"It's so good to see you," she whispered as we hugged. I couldn't help it, I felt the same. After everything, she was still my mother. I breathed her in and relaxed with her arms around me. She pulled back, still holding me, and looked me up and down. "You look gorgeous, dear, but we must get you into some Prada as soon as possible." I knew she was going to say that regardless of how I looked, so I let it pass.

We sat down to an early dinner. I couldn't pretend it wasn't awkward and I had a headache from the drinks on the plane. I didn't eat much, just drank lots of water.

It was not the ideal situation to reconnect after so long, so the conversation was mainly about wedding plans. I could understand that. I'm sure Alistair had already heard one version of events and I didn't feel like putting mine across right now, or trying to argue with hers. On top of all this, making things even more awkward, Cameron kept offering me secret smiles and knowing glances. I did my best to ignore him, but he was relentless. I had to say something so, as we were waiting for dessert, he got up to go to the restroom and, a minute later, I made my excuses and did the same.

I caught him as he exited the men's room. Waiting for him to come out, I'd worked myself into quite a lather. Who did he think he was? What did he think he was trying to do? How could he just ignore my wishes?

"What do you think you're doing?" I attacked him as he nearly bumped into me, turning left out of the door.

"What do you mean?" he responded.

"I feel like you've been undressing me with your eyes all through dinner," I complained. "It's entirely inappropriate behavior."

"And yet," he began, a self-assured and satisfied smile creeping across those kissable lips, "if we never slept together, you probably wouldn't have noticed me, or said anything if you did."

I was stunned for a second. His sheer arrogance shocked me. I stood still for a heartbeat, staring at him, at his mouth, unable to come up with anything to say. His smile never leaving his lips, he bent down to kiss me and I came to my senses.

"Woah, partner," I stopped him. "We're done, keep your hands and lips to yourself." I turned and strode off without waiting for a response.

Cameron returned to the table shortly after me, his face giving away nothing. I scrutinized him for a while, not really listening to my mother expound about the wedding preparations, until it dawned on me that I was being addressed.

"Sophia, darling," I realized she was saying, "as I'm all tied up tomorrow with the caterers and everything, maybe lovely Cameron can keep you company? I'm sure you had a marvelous plane ride but Alistair and I would be so happy if you became friends. You should spend as much time as possible together."

I glared at Cameron, willing him to make some excuse, say he has business, anything. Of course, he looked directly at me, smiled that smile again, and replied, "I'd be delighted, Maria. There's nothing I'd rather do than get to know your beautiful daughter."

I nearly screamed.

"Wonderful," cried Mom. "It's so good to know she'll be in good hands until all this wedding stuff is over."

"We still have the Zeepaard docked down in Marina del Rey," offered Alistair. "Go take her out tomorrow, I insist."

And that was that. I was going sailing tomorrow with the very last person I wanted to be stuck on a boat with, and there was nothing I could do about it.

### Chapter 9

Even though it was still early we all seemed pretty pooped, so we headed straight back to Alistair's opulent home in Santa Monica. The gloriously tall, white, 1920's Spanish Colonial sat right on Palisades Beach Road and backed directly onto the shore, with only a long, sparkling, turquoise pool between the house and the sand.

Inside, it was all white walls, wooden beams, and Moroccan tile floors. Maybe a little outdated, but gorgeous all the same. Mom made noises about us sharing a drink and talking. I told her, gently, that I didn't drink anymore and that I was far too tired to get into that conversation. She reluctantly agreed and showed me to one of the guest bedrooms.

We climbed the winding, central, wood staircase one floor and she let me in my room. It wasn't huge, and the ceilings were lower than downstairs, but on the polished wood floor sat a large and supremely comfortable looking white bed, with an enormous, white buttoned headboard that faced a small terrace and a most glorious view of the yard and ocean. She hugged me, bid me goodnight and closed the door.

The French doors were open and I could hear the surf, so I threw my bags in the corner, lay down and stared at the waves, wondering what tomorrow's boat trip might bring. I pictured a huge, ultra-modern white yacht, complete with a bearded captain and stunning stewardesses. I saw us tearing across the blue-green sea until there was nothing to see in any direction, except Cameron moving about the deck with his shirt off, rubbing oil into his bronzed, sculpted chest.

If I were soaking in some rays, showing as much skin as my skimpy red bikini would allow, he would probably offer to add that same oil to my skin, tugging the string of my top undone so he had full access to my warm slender back. Being diligent, he wouldn't forget my sides, his strong hands spreading the oil over me, his soft fingers brushing the exposed sides of my breasts as I lay face down...

I realize I'd drifted into a dream, somewhere between sleeping and being awake. I had to stop fantasizing about him. It was like my brain was rebelling; every time I stopped concentrating I was picturing being with him.

I undressed and got into bed to sleep, defiant images of him with his shirt off making my clit twitch. I was pretty sure he wouldn't risk stealing into my room and try something in his father's house, but there was still a part of me that wished he would.

The next morning was bright with typical Southern California sunshine. I had some breakfast in my room, then dressed for my day out in a navy blue vest top, some cotton shorts and tennis shoes. I packed a towel and my bathing costume, just in case. Thankfully, I didn't own a skimpy red bikini, just a multicolored, tan-through one-piece.

My mom called for me to hurry up, so I headed down to the driveway at the front of the house. Cameron was waiting at the wheel of a silver, open top sports car. I think it was a Maserati? Anyway, it was small and loud. I put my bag on the back seat and was glad I'd worn my hair up. I didn't complain about the lack of roof for two reasons: First, the day was beautiful and the mid-morning sun felt amazing. Second, the loud, Italian engine, coupled with the wind noise as we covered the five miles to Marina del Rey at speed, meant it was impossible to hear each other, so we didn't have to talk.

When we arrived, he was nothing but polite pleasantries as we boarded the boat. I was right in almost every respect. The Zeepaard was a sleek, 120 feet of white, yachting luxury and we had gorgeous stewardesses. Our captain didn't have a beard, though. We were welcomed aboard and told to remove our shoes. As it was only a day trip, the chief steward Fiona told us, they didn't bother showing us the cabins but rather took us straight up to the main sundeck, complete with its parasols, bar, and hot tub.

With surprising speed, we were underway, quickly navigating our way out of the harbor. Fiona told us to relax and they would soon serve some lunch, in the meantime she offered us drinks. There were various high-end hors d'oeuvres laid out, like crudités, smoked salmon, caviar and so on, but I was determined to stick to soft drinks. I didn't need another liquored-up judgment lapse and Cameron, in light linen slacks and a loose white shirt that I could clearly see his dark nipples through, looked too good for me to trust myself.

"Don't you get tired?" I asked him, as I lounged back on a big love seat and rested my feet on the side of the boat.

"Tired of what?" he said, taking a gin and tonic from Fiona and stretching out on a sun lounger.

"Of having everything? Of having nothing to wish for. 'It's a nice day, let's take the yacht out... I'll just pop over in my Ferrari...' and so on," my mock impression of him was quite good, if I say so myself.

"Not really," he smiled in return, letting me make fun of him. "It's a Maserati, not as Ferrari. And we don't have a yacht. This is a rental my dad chartered for the week, to show your mom around the coast."

It was my turn to smile. Maybe I was being a bit high and mighty about him and his family's money.

"Look up there," he pointed, changing the subject. I turned towards the cliff-top rocks he was indicating.

"What is it?" I asked.

"That's Malibu," he seemed quite excited, "it's where they built the set for Iron Man's mansion in the films!"

"Cool," I said and meant it. "Big comic-book fan are you?"

"I used to be," he seemed a little bashful now. "These days I'm just your average internet geek."

He'd moved closer to me and was crouching by my seat. As he looked out to the shore my eyes traveled up and down his body again. There was nothing geeky or average about him.

"Does it bother you? Living off your father's money?" I asked him softly.

He turned his head to face me. "I own three online media companies, invest in four more, own eight properties in the greater New York area alone and have a stock portfolio that's through the roof. I haven't taken a penny from my father since I left college."

He wasn't cross or bragging. He said it all in a matter-of-fact way, the tone of which stunned me to silence. I thought he was an arrogant rich kid, turns out he's actually a brilliantly successful businessman. I felt like I'd totally misjudged him.

"And look there!" he said again, very excited now. Off the starboard bow, I saw the rare, yet familiar, sight of a dolphin launching itself out of the water. And then another, and another, until it appeared there were at least a dozen of them swimming and keeping pace with our yacht. Watching them jump them gave me chills, despite the heat of the day.

We ate lunch as the boat headed out to sea, cooked for us by our five-star chef in the galley below. It was a delicious selection of fresh seafood, but I stuck with iced tea to wash it down.

The boat eventually stopped and dropped anchor. We were far out to sea, yet the ocean seemed as smooth as glass. Cameron went to change and Fiona showed me to a cabin where I could do the same. She said there were some fresh items if I forgot to bring a costume. I couldn't help taking a look and there it was; a skimpy, red bikini almost exactly like the one I'd imagined.

Something came over me. I knew we could never be together, should never look at each other that way again, but something in me wanted him to see me again, with that lust in his eyes, like I was a piece of meat and he was a starving man, just once more. I slipped into it, the tiny thong sliding high into my butt and the dainty triangles of cloth proving only just big enough to keep my full breasts decent.

I shook my hair out and looked in the mirror. The thong made my legs seem so long and slender, my stomach was looking slim and tight, and my hair fell delicately down around my shoulders. Yeah, I thought, not bad at all.

I stepped back into the bright sunlight, slipping my dark sunglasses over my eyes as I looked out on the deck. There he was, his tanned, muscled torso twisting as he turned to look in my direction. I hoped, for his sake, that my revealing outfit didn't have too big an effect on him; his equally small blue Speedos weren't going to be able to hide much.

He did the slightest of double takes as he saw me approach, his eyes lingering on my body a fraction longer than was appropriate. I felt a wonderful warm feeling low in my body as I imagined what must be going through his mind, what he must be thinking, what he wished I was doing to him right then.

"Drink, Miss Angelo?" asked Fiona, breaking me from my reverie.

"Iced water, please," I said, still staring at Cameron as he stared at me, "I'm going to go lay over there, in the sun."

I spread my towel at the back of the sundeck and lay face down. I continued watching Cameron, as his eyebrows raised a little at me undoing the string of my bikini top to save me from tan lines.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to rub some lotion on your back?" he asked. "The sun's pretty fierce."

"As long as you can behave yourself," I teased him. He was over in a second, squeezing white cream onto the palms of his big hands, then rubbing them down my back. It felt good. And, just as in my dream, he didn't neglect my sides. Goosebumps prickled all over my skin as I felt his soft fingers delicately torment sensitive edges of my breasts. I could sense the eagerness in him, hear his breath laboring. "Do my legs, too," I murmured, dreamily.

He began at my ankles, sliding cream up the calf of one leg, then the other, before moving to the backs of my toned thighs. My face towards him, I could see the bulge growing in his trunks, poor thing. He stopped at the top of my leg. "Keep going," I whispered. He tentatively spread more sunblock onto my buttocks, then kneaded it into my skin. His slippery hands gliding over my firm ass, the sun beating down, I was in heaven. I hear his breath catching in his thought, and I saw the lump in his Speedos twitch. I could feel a similar throb in between my legs and my most intimate parts getting wet at the thought of how much he wanted to, needed to fuck me. I wanted him too, but it was not going to happen. This was fun but it was over.

"Thank you," I said. turning my head away. He was silent for a second. I could tell he was frustrated and wanted to say something, but instead he stood up and, without a word, leaped over the side.

I sat bolt upright in surprise, only just remembering to hold my loose bikini in place. I heard a splash from below and then raucous laughter. I bent over the rail to see him treading water.

"What the Hell...?" I yelled down to him.

"Sorry," he called back up, "I just really needed to cool off."

He laughed again and I laughed with him. I was done teasing him and I felt the tension between us disappear a little. The rest of the afternoon passed by in a far more relaxed way. We swam, sunbathed and talked about nothing. It almost felt like we were actually becoming friends.

### Chapter 10

That night, after a light dinner on the boat, Cameron took me back to the Palisades Beach house. He came in the door long enough to apologize to me, my mother and his father and announce that something had come up with a deal he was working on. He had to fly back to New York right then but promised to be back that Friday for the rehearsal dinner. For once, I was not happy to see him go.

I spent the next three days with my mom, who I hadn't spoken to in five years, and what did we do? Shop. The first day we spent shopping for the wedding. The next day we hit Rodeo Drive and I had ridiculously priced outfit after ridiculously priced outfit heaped upon me. It appeared my mother wanted to make up for the bad times by carrying on as if they never happened and burying them under enormous credit card bills.

As much as I hated taking gifts from my mom, if this was the only way she could admit she was wrong, maybe filling some whole in her heart, then I couldn't object. Doubtless, I was going to have some cool stuff to talk to my therapist about in later years, but we did seem to be healing the fractures in our relationship.

Before we knew it, it was the night before the wedding. There was a big meal booked which involved hiring the entire lounge of the trendy Beverly Hills restaurant, Sur. Cameron hadn't arrived back in town by the time my mother, Alistair and I got into the limo to take us to dinner.

Sur had a reputation to uphold, to me especially as I'd seen it on Reality shows The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Vanderpump Rules repeatedly, and it didn't disappoint. The white chairs and tables were clean and chic; the hosts, waiting and bar staff, all part time models and actors, were gorgeous and good at their jobs; and when the first round of appetizers arrived, they were delicious.

The only problem was I barely knew any of the people there. They were mostly colleagues or political associates of Alistair, or high society friends of his or my mother's. We had no family left and neither, it seemed, did the groom. So I found myself missing Cameron, if only for someone to talk to. But, be careful what you wish for, they say. Something made me glance towards the door and that was the moment that Cameron chose to walk into the restaurant. I didn't even realize that a smile had suddenly splashed itself across my face, until I saw he had his arm around someone else. Dressed in a small black cocktail dress, slashed high enough up her hip to see she was going commando, and plunging right down past her tiny boobs to her navel, this blonde supermodel was beaming a huge grin at him. I felt the smile slide off my face as I saw she had her hand in the back pocket of his suit pants. Of course, they headed right over to where I was sitting with my mom and his dad.

"Darling!" cried my mother as she saw them. "And who's this?"

"This is Shana," he announced to everyone, "it's Fashion Week in New York. We bumped into each other again, after two years, while she was between shows and got to reminiscing."

I tried to smile politely as I was introduced, but all I could feel was a thick sucking feeling in the pit of my stomach that threatened to pull my heart from my chest and swallow it forever. I got up and strode off, not stopping until I hit the bar.

"Tequila," I said to the tall, good-looking barman. He set up a measure of golden colored 1800 in front of me. I felt stupid. I had no right to be offended by him bringing a date, no right to feel jealous that she had her hands on him and I didn't. He was going to be my step brother and there was no way for us to be together. And yet I now felt like shit. I swirled the tequila in its glass and quickly shot it back. It was smooth and barely burned going down. "Another," I told the barman who, having watched me drink the last one, served in a shot glass this time. It went down the same way and I quickly felt a slight dizziness and a satisfying numbness setting in. I ordered another, which my barman dutifully poured out.

"Are you doing okay?" I heard Cameron's voice behind me as I drank back my third. "Maybe you should slow down?"

"Maybe you should slow down," my voice slurred a little.

"What do you mean?" he asked as I turned to face him. Why, oh why, did I always feel so vulnerable and yet secure whenever he was close and towering over me?

"I don't know," I confessed, after thinking about it for a few seconds. God, his lips were so gorgeous. I could feel myself chewing my own in place of his. "All I know is you're supposed to want me, but you're here with Shalala from Fashion Week." I was aware I wasn't making much sense but, right then, I didn't much care.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"I did," I said, much too loudly, "but I also wanted to have my hand in your back pocket!" I felt very dizzy now, but I was able to focus long enough to see that arrogant mask, that superior look, an expression on his face that told me he was enjoying my suffering. He liked that I was jealous and I was suddenly furious about that. I looked down to see my shot glass had been refilled again, so I picked it up, threw the tequila in his face and stomped off, as steadily as I could manage.

I'd made it as far as the kitchens before he caught up with me. I felt his hand on my shoulder so I shrugged him off.

"Sophia, stop!" he yelled. I spun around to face him. He went to say something but a very pretty waitress burst out of the doors beside us, a tray of platters in her hand and we had to dodge out of her way. Realizing we were right in the busiest part of Sur, he pushed me gently back to another door behind me. It opened into the alley behind the restaurant and, as I stepped through, the warm night air hit me like a house, my new Dior heel landed badly on the uneven concrete, and I would have fallen if Cameron hadn't caught me.

I was back on his terrace again as he held me upright, his body almost pressed against me, his face only inches from mine, and his presence filling my every sense.

"You can't have it both ways," he hissed at me, and I realized he was angry too. "You can't tell me there's no way for us to be together, then hate me for trying to move on." I had my arms on his, steadying myself against the weight of my emotions and the drink I'd consumed. I looked up into his deep-set, beautiful brown eyes and saw how hurt he was. I didn't remember moving but suddenly our lips were pressed together again. A low moan trembled in my throat as his tongue caressed mine, sending frantic feelings directly to my groin, as if he were licking me so much lower. I could feel him growing hard, pressed against me, and I was overcome with a desperate need to have him inside me again, shooting his seed against the walls of my aching pussy. The sensation was so strong I felt my knees go weak. I almost stumbled again, breaking our mouths apart, and I was able to take a deep lungful of hot LA air.

With as much force as I could muster, I pushed him away, turned, and ran towards Robertson Boulevard. Over the clacking of my heels on the pavement, I heard him call my name. I didn't stop. I reached the road, waved down the first cab I saw and told the driver to take me to the nearest hotel.

### Chapter 11

My head was pounding as sunlight poured in through the window, directly onto my face. I summoned the energy to force myself over to closed the drapes that I'd flung open during the night.

The Hotel Beverly Terrace was where I had ended up, just five minutes down Melrose Avenue from Sur and therefore the last place Cameron would think to look for me, if he decided to. It was nothing fancy but they still charged $229 to my credit card. I was just grateful they let an overdressed, obviously hysterical lush check in at a moment's notice. They even found me some toothpaste and a toothbrush which, this morning, I fully appreciated.

I'd crashed into the room, fell on the bed and cried. I was a complete mess and I did not have the strength to stop myself from hitting the minibar. Two whiskeys, a vodka, and a gin later, I'd turned off my phone because it kept ringing and fallen asleep fully dressed, face down on the bed. Now my head hurt, I was wracked with depression about what happened with Cameron again, and I had no idea what time it was.

I came out of the bathroom feeling a little better and decided to turn my cellphone back on. It immediately beeped at me that it had a ton of messages. The first few, predictably, were from Cameron. He pleaded to know where I was and wanted to talk. Then there was one from my mother. She said she was sorry I had felt unwell and that she'd see me tomorrow for the wedding. Shit. I'd forgotten that the wedding was today, on the beach out back of Alistair's house. I checked the time and it was nine-thirty. The wedding wasn't until two.

Then there was another message from Cameron. This one made me sit up and take notice. He said, "Sophia, something terrible has happened. I don't know where you are but please call me urgently." I started shaking, wondering what was wrong. I dialed his number and he answered on the third ring. "Hey," he croaked.

"Hey," I muttered back, "what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he said after clearing his throat, "I just thought you should know. Shana saw us last night... in the alley. She's threatening to tell people we are having an affair if I don't give her money."

I was incensed. "How much does she want?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"A lot," he answered, "but that's not the point. I've got no problem paying her off to protect you. It's only money! I just want to know if you really want me to pay her."

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Sophia, it's obvious we have a connection, and it seems stronger than both of us. I... I'm not sure what to say about how I feel for you but, right now, I really think people finding out about us would just be a huge relief."

I didn't know what to say. My brain was still angry that we were in this position, but I could feel my heart doing little backflips, over the moon to hear him almost admit he had feelings for me. I fought to control my breathing and spoke, "So what are you going to do?"

"I thought I'd let you decide," he replied. He sounded broken. One of us had to be strong, though, and make the right choice. I knew it would hurt him and, deep down, I didn't think it was what I wanted either but, if this secret got out, it could ruin him, his father, my mother, and probably destroy what was left of the relationship she and I had, not to mention this new marriage.

"Pay her," I said.

"Really?" he sounded heartbroken.

"It's the right thing to do."

Cameron insisted on knowing where I was so he could have me picked up and brought to the wedding. I told him, on the condition that he promised not come here himself. He sent a car and I was back at Palisades Beach and in the shower before eleven.

Mom was kind of hilarious to watch. She was so happy, and so wrapped up in herself, she hadn't noticed I didn't come home until this morning. I guessed that Cameron had done some damage control, last night and today, so I just pitched in with the other bridesmaids in getting everything and everyone ready.

Surprisingly, my bridesmaid dress didn't suck. It was a simple, flowery summer dress that flowed beautifully, showed my bust and slim waist off well, and didn't make me feel like a munchkin even though I was wearing flats for the sand.

The ceremony was simple. There was a pergola with white and pink flowers sewn on. We three bridesmaids, the other two being rich ladies far closer to Mom's age than mine, stood behind my mother. She wore white and saw no shame in it. Alistair looked quite dashing in an open-necked guayabera shirt and light linen pants. His three groomsmen matched him. I think one was his slightly younger brother, the other a friend while, of course, the last was Cameron.

We tried to avoid each other's eyes throughout the ceremony, only he looked so devastatingly handsome as the breeze lightly ruffled his long brown hair, and blew his loose shirt back so that it pulled taught across his firm chest and abs. The wind did the same to the other men but it had nowhere near the same, stunning effect. He caught me staring and offered a shy smile back, his gazes running up and down my body in a way that made me feel deliciously naked in front of him.

We headed back to the house for the reception. There was a bar set up in the yard, opposite the pool, a DJ and dancefloor by the gate to the beach, and a selection of food stalls cooking on the sand, just beyond the back fence, which included barbecue, taco's and fajitas and such, and a seafood and sushi stand, all brought in to cater. I was a great idea but, my head still suffering from the night before, I stayed far from the bar.

I also stayed far from Cameron. I knew now, despite what we both seemed to want, that there was no way we would be able to keep our hands off each other if we got together. The only thing to do was to try and keep fifty feet between us at all times. A self-imposed, emotional restraining order.

Only, I knew it would never work. I just finished a conversation with one of Alistair's political colleagues and his wife when, as they moved politely away to say hello to someone else and I was left temporarily standing alone, I felt a warmth against my back and goose bumps pop up along my shoulders as Cameron's strong hands brushed achingly delicately along my arms.

"Dance with me," he whispered, his soft breath on the back of my neck sending shivers right through my body, right down to that most intimate center of me. So I'd dance with my new step-brother, there's no harm there. Of course, as we hit the dance floor, the music changed from the relentless guitar solo of ZZ-Top's Sharp Dressed Man, to the unhurried, emotional tones of Spandau Ballet's True. I heard the tempo slow and immediately knew this couldn't end well. I turned to leave the floor, but Cameron's grip was too strong. He pulled me to him, completely unashamed, and held me close, swaying us gently to the music.

"What are you doing?" I whispered to him, trying to fight the fact that his touch was turning my legs to jelly and my heart was beating like thunder.

"I paid her off, just like you said," he breathed back in my ear. "Only, I couldn't let that be the end of it."

"We agreed that there can be nothing between us anymore," I protested but, to be honest, if he'd changed his mind and bowed out like I wanted him to, I might just have asked the earth to swallow me up then and there. "What's with you?" I hissed. "Can't you take no for an answer?"

"I've never had to before," he whispered back, entirely without humor. "And I've never met a girl who just didn't care about my money. I lied, you know," he continued, "there was no business deal emergency. I just knew I couldn't stand to be around you another three days and not touch you, so I disappeared. I just can't stop thinking about you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I knocked that box out of your hands. And..."

"Yes...?"

"I think I'm in love with you," his voice almost vanished completely beneath the song. "I think I've been in love with you since that first night on the terrace." I felt a heat rise up through my whole body, right up through my face, and I nearly fell. Only Cameron's sure grip held me close to him. "After Shana threatened us, I realized I didn't care what she said. I paid her because you told me to, but I want to be with you, and I don't care what anyone thinks about it."

That was it, I couldn't take anymore. "I need to get off this dance floor," I said.

### Chapter 12

My head was spinning; except, this time, I'd had nothing to drink. He walked with me along the beach, only a couple of dozen yards and the music from the wedding DJ was still loud enough to be clear. He walked beside me until I stopped and looked out to sea, my back to some dunes that hid us from the yard of the next beach house.

The sun was orange and about to plunge into the cool water below it. I couldn't think what to say, so I said nothing. A moment or two passed, then I felt him behind me again. This time, his muscular arms encircled me, above and below my breasts, his head came down to rest on my shoulder, and we watched the sun sink into its bed.

"You haven't told me what you think," he said eventually, as the last rays were swallowed by the ocean. I turned in his embrace, pushing my way around to face him. We stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before I tilted my face up to kiss him. Our lips touched and, knowing this was going to be our last kiss, we devoured each other.

It was heavenly. Every caress of his tongue made my body quiver, my loins wet and my pussy open wider, longing for his stiff rod. Every stroke of my hands on his face, his neck, down his chest seemed to make him harder, his engorged dick poking at me through his loose-fitting pants.

The temptation was strong to just give in to our lusts, right there in the sand but, just when I thought I could take no more, when I felt that if I didn't rip his beautiful cock free of its prison any second, I was going to explode with desire, I pulled away.

"It has to be this way, and we both know it," I said, walking backward away from him. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. He didn't say anything. He didn't try to follow me. He just watched me go, until I turned and ran back to the house.

I ignored the party, ignored my mother, and disappeared up to my room. I fell on the bed and cried. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized I was in love with him too, and I couldn't have him. The repercussions would be too great. Lives could be ruined.

I cried for hours. Every time I heard a foot on the stairs I wished it to be him, coming to just take me and take me away, then prayed it wasn't. Eventually, dawn rolled around. I was still in my summer dress but I'd stopped weeping. I just hadn't had the urge to move, for a long time.

I was supposed to stay another week with my mom before she jetted off on her honeymoon, but I quickly change my plans. I packed, changed into some sensible traveling clothes, called a taxi, and was standing at the United kiosk in less than an hour, buying a one-way ticket back to New York City.

Unfortunately, there was nothing until lunchtime, so I had to sit and wait. I knew I couldn't stay around Cameron another week. We needed to be as far apart as possible for a while. After four Starbucks and some ill-advised shopping, my plane was finally ready for boarding. I got to my seat and waited patiently for the 757 to fill up.

Something was wrong, though. My seat was close enough to the door to see the attendants whispering together. One of them then got on the speaker and, to my horror, said my name and asked me to come forward. I reluctantly grabbed my carry-on and headed back to the door.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked the statuesque, fifty-year-old blonde who seemed to be in charge.

"Miss Angelo? I'm so sorry," she said with a smile, "there seems to be a problem with your papers. Could you go back to the boarding desk?"

"You'll hold the door for me, right? This must be a mistake."

"I'm sure they will sort it out at the desk."

I was pretty steamed as I headed back up the jetway. Even more so when they closed the airplane door behind me. What the fuck...? Was I suddenly on the no-fly list? I got back to the desk, ready to tear the staff a new one only... there he was.

"You asshole!" I screamed at Cameron, hitting him with my purse. He ducked and defended himself, but he was far from afraid. In fact, the big jerk was laughing.

"I'm sorry, Sophia," he wailed, still smiling, "I just couldn't let you go like that."

"Well, thanks to you my bag is now on its way to JFK without me!" I stopped hitting him. It was good to see him. I couldn't stop myself thinking that. "What are you trying to do? You know that if we keep pushing this relationship your business could be affected. People are understandably edgy about siblings being romantically involved. What if no one wants to do business with you again? You could lose everything."

"I know, but I figured something out," he said back. "I figured out that if I lose you, I've already lost everything. I don't need the businesses, the money or any of that. I just need you."

I managed to keep a straight face, but my heart was melting inside. How could I pass this up if he felt like that? As I saw my plane take off without me, I felt like it was actually useless for us to fight against this anymore.

"I need..." I began, "I need a ride back to New York."

"My plane is waiting," he said smugly. I let him gather me in his arms. "Does this mean that you're giving us a chance?"

I stared at his beautifully full lips for a long moment, then pressed my own against them. We kissed again, totally wrapped up in each other, like the rest of the world didn't exist, before I had to come up for air. "It does," I told him, "just as long as you promise not to make this into a huge deal."

"I think that's a good idea, for all concerned," he replied.

THE END

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About Laura Havemeyers

Laura Havemeyers is a crafty erotic writer who digs deep into inner fantasies and magnifies them onto paper for your purist enjoyment.
  1. My Irresistible New Stepbrother
    1. Introduction
    2. Chapter 1
    3. Chapter 2
    4. Chapter 3
    5. Chapter 4
    6. Chapter 5
    7. Chapter 6
    8. Chapter 7
    9. Chapter 8
    10. Chapter 9
    11. Chapter 10
    12. Chapter 11
    13. Chapter 12

