Stepbrother for Christmas Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Single Dad’s Christmas Present

  Club Desire

  The Doctor’s Fake Marriage

  Santa’s Naughty List

  Amy Brent’s Sneak Peek’s

  More Steamy Romance by Amy Brent

  Stepbrother for Christmas

  by

  Amy Brent

  Candy Gray

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.

  Description

  Santa knows I have been a naughty little girl,

  Touching myself to my stepbrother fantasies.

  And now, Santa wants to punish me.

  The punishment shouldn’t feel so good, right?

  How can the one person I can’t have be the only one I need this Christmas?

  My crude, arrogant, filthy rich stepbrother!

  Those Greek God like looks and that panty melting, devilish smile…

  Shhh…you didn’t hear that from me, okay?

  He’s teasing me, tormenting me, hurting me…

  And I am loving every moment of it.

  Then he tells me that he’s going to protect me.

  That he’s going to be loyal.

  He wants me,

  I need him.

  The problem?

  He’s my boyfriend stepbrother, and I want him to please me – in every way possible.

  How do I let Santa know that I don’t want forgiveness?

  I just want my HOT Stepbrother for Christmas.

  Chapter 1

  Crystal

  The fall leaves twirl outside and pass by my window. I stand in my small, cramped dorm room. I fold my arms and sit down on the bed. My mom is supposed to be picking me up in a few hours to bring me back home for Thanksgiving, and I haven't even begun to think about packing. I guess that's what happens when you are a pre-med major in your senior year of college. You don't get time to think about anything else but school and maybe sleep. I stare in the mirror across from my bed. It’s one of those thin, flimsy ones you get from Walmart that warps slightly. It's Andrea's. Even though it bends in, I can tell I have lost some amount of weight. At least, my tits are still a good C cup. Even with my boobs, I still haven't been laid in the past two years. I haven't had any time. The dorm door flies open with a whoosh.

  Andrea, my bubbly, roommate stands in front of me. Her dyed black hair is pinned up, and for the first time in a while, she has makeup on. It's something you don't bother with when you have finals all week. She is wearing a tight pair of black jeans and a low cut sweater, so her cleavage is hanging out in the open. Andrea was also getting her pre-med undergraduate, but she lived by the Ds to get degrees lifestyle. I envy her ease to relax and party. It's like my brain doesn't know how to turn off.

  "Hey," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Two pretty hot guys stand behind. They both look they play football here at Hills University, located right outside of Pittsburgh.

  "Hey," I say, my eyes flicking over to the men. I am suddenly, very self-conscious of the fact I am sitting in my sports bra and cotton shorts. They say hi. Andrea turns around.

  "Just give me one sec," she says to her entourage, before shutting the door. She turns and begins to go through her things.

  "Who are they?" I ask.

  A wicked smile appears on her bright red lips.

  "The linebacker and tight end. Want to come out with us? It's a lot of dick for me to handle," she sighs, picking up her purse and throwing her keys into it.

  "I would, but my mom is already on her way," I sigh, glancing back down on her phone.

  "Tell her to go slow. They will totally nail us both."

  I chew on my bottom lip. My pussy jerks awake at the idea of sex, like it, suddenly realizes what it needs. But - my logical brain switches on. I am not going to hook up with these two strangers, not right now anyway. Besides neither of them is that hot.

  "I'm okay. Have to pack."

  She shrugs and opens the dorm door.

  "Have a good time, Crystal," she says, shutting it with a thud. I roll back on the couch. Maybe I should have gone. But they really weren't anything special - not like Dylan. I bite my tongue for even having that thought.

  Dylan is my incredibly hot stepbrother. He is literally perfect in every way. I can remember the first time I met him a few years ago when I was junior in high school. He is older than me by about three years, so he hardly paid any attention to me at that time. The last time I saw him was at my mother's wedding. Then he seemed to suddenly disappear to travel the world for his business or something. I look at his Facebook profile on my phone. His profile photo is him standing on the beach somewhere. His shirt unbuttoned to reveal his tanned chest. A tattoo I can't quite make out covers it. But I can see the v of muscle underneath a six-pack leading down toward his dick.

  What if he is at Thanksgiving? The thought jumps into my mind, and my pussy likes this. He hasn't been to the last several holidays, but what if this year he does? I chew on my lip. I lean back on the couch and begin to flip through his photos. His dark blue eyes stare back at me through the screen. I wonder what he thinks about me...if he is as attracted to me as I am towards him.

  Probably not, he is my stepbrother after all. I wish more than anything he wasn't. I yearn for him to be here next to me on the couch, standing over me, looking at me with those eyes. My hands slide underneath my shorts to my hungry clit. I can’t even remember the last time I touched myself. But it's not my hand I think I feel, but Dylan's. His long fingers touch me gently, then all of a sudden fast. He wants this as much as me. He is hungry for me too and wastes no time slipping his head between my legs, licking ferociously. My hips turn up, but he holds me down until waves of pleasure tumble over me, and I cum. My clit is throbbing and thumping, my pussy closing tight. I sit up breathing heavy. Jesus, I really need to get laid. I slowly sit up. Maybe I should have gone with Andrea.

  I begin to pack my small bag with a few outfits; I am a bit pickier this time. Usually, I would just throw in whatever I felt like. Going home is never too exciting, but there is a small part of me hoping that Dylan will be there this time, and I have to make sure that I look amazing. I stop staring at the things I have packed. I try to remind myself it is utterly foolish of me to even think about being with my stepbrother, let alone the idea that I am going to seduce him or make him attracted to me. But still part of me wants to think it all could happen. I mean, how awful would it real
ly be if we just hooked up once?

  Terrible, the logical part in my mind says louder.

  After an hour of waiting, my mom texts me that she is waiting outside of my dorm. I walk downstairs, swinging my backpack over my shoulder. I force myself not to bring any school work home. I need to focus on spending time with the family, even if it is my stepdad.

  I see my mom's white BMW parked on the side of the building. Even though it is cold and rainy, she has huge sunglasses covering her face to hide the green eyes we share.

  I open the back door and throw my bags into the trunk.

  "Hey, sweetie," she calls out. I get in the car next to her and buckle in.

  "Hey, mom," I say leaning back in the leather seat. I pull down my Hills University sweatshirt. She glances down at me.

  "How's it going with everything?" she asks. The car turns down the road and passes a few of the bars. I catch Andrea – at least I think it's Andrea - pushed up against the side of the wall with her mouth glued to a guy's. I should have gone out with her.

  "It's going. You know. I have really just been focusing on school and stuff," I trail off. I don't want to talk about school. "How are you mom?"

  "Great! Just getting ready for the holidays. George is excited to have you staying with us."

  "Of course. What are the plans?"

  "We will be going to his mother's house Thursday morning."

  "Okay, I like his mom. She's cool." And freaking loaded, I think. George is the heir to a massive fortune for some random construction company. He is part of the reason why I am able to go to Hills University.

  We sit in silence for a moment. The man on the radio talks about the rain coming up.

  "So mom," I begin. She turns her head.

  "Is Dylan coming this year?"

  "I don't think so, honey. George hasn't heard from him in a while." I lean my head back and sigh.

  "I know...it would be nice to see him, and it would be good for you to have someone to hang out with."

  "I'm fine, mom."

  "I know you work a lot. Don't go out too much." I don't respond. I don't know how to. I am probably the only person in the world who has a mother who wishes they would go out more, instead of staying in and studying.

  "Are you okay?" she asks, her eyes bounce from the road back to me. Can she tell that I am upset about not seeing my stepbrother? But it's not because I miss hanging out with him or someone my age.

  "Just stressed." I can't tell her. That would be weird. I wouldn't even know how to explain my feelings to her. She nods.

  "Well, we are going to have a good time, this Thanksgiving. I promise."

  We walk inside of the monster house. I can see that my mom has added some of her design touches. I am sure George gave her an unlimited budget. I walk up the stairs and put my things in the guest room, where I normally stay on my visits. I walk back out to the kitchen. I’m pretty hungry. That’s the best part of coming home from college. I know that the fridge will be full of yummy, good food. But then I stop before I reach the end of the stairs. A bedroom door is slightly cracked. I have never been in here before. I push the door open and peek in. It’s a plain room, similar to the one I stay in. A queen sized bed with a gray duvet cover and a white dresser. Except for on the dresser there are photos of Dylan and his father in the frames. I walk over and look at each one. God, he is so hot, I think to myself. I walk around the room and open the closet. I try to ignore the rational part of my brain telling me that this is creepy as fuck. He has a few of his clothes hanging, just some forgotten button downs. My eyes glance down at a pair of boxers wadded up on the floor. It smells like guy in here, but I like it. It’s clean and reminds me of a nice cologne.

  I stare at the bed. So here is where Dylan used to sleep and probably jack off. I grow wet just thinking about him laying there jerking himself off. And it is also where he probably brings a bunch of models to smash. I shake my head. I should probably leave. I really have no place snooping around. I wouldn’t mind if I was one of the girls he brought back here secretly, not to wake his dad up and be caught.

  That will never happen though, not in one million years. Dylan doesn’t even come home for the holidays. Why would we ever give his stupid, little step sister a shot? I walk out of the room shutting the door behind me. The house smells like banana bread. My mom is getting ready for the holiday celebration. She always brought banana bread. It was the one thing she knew how to make.

  “Crystal!” she shouts out.

  “Yeah, mom.”

  “We’re gonna have dinner here tonight, okay?”

  “Yup. I think I am going to take a nap now. Can you wake me up in an hour?”

  “Sure, sweetie.”

  I shake my head and turn back down the hall. I should probably try and rest up as much as possible before I return back to school and slave away at getting a degree. I lay in the fluffy bed. My body is not wanting to rest. It wants to think about Dylan. The smell of his cologne lingers in my nose. I try to shake it off. I am so wound up from everything. I feel like this is just my body crying out for some sort of release. But I can’t obsess over my stepbrother. That’s not right. That is sorts of fucked up. I chew on my lip and roll over. My thighs tighten as my pussy keeps me up. I think I hear a car pull into the driveway, and my head snaps up to look out the window. It is just the neighbor pulling into their driveway. I roll my eyes. He is not coming. He has never come to Thanksgiving. You need to drop it, Crystal. But I can’t. Some small part of me still hopes that the handsome entrepreneur will arrive, and then at least I can stare at him or something.

  Chapter 2

  Dylan

  I grip the steering wheel of my Audi. The leather feels good against my fingers. Reaching into my pocket, I slide out a carton of cigarettes and pull one out. I flip open my lighter and an orange and blue flame appears. It flickers and waves. Rain steadily drops onto the car. I close my eyes and take a long drag. The smoke relaxes me and as I inhale every piece of it. The smoke twirls around my nose. I flick the cigarette butt out the window.

  Fuck, I am horny. My dick throbs underneath my jeans, hard as a rock. I suck more smoke down. It's been a few days since my last fuck. I glance out the window and see a man and woman walk into the bar. I bet he's going to get laid, but she isn't really my type. She doesn't have enough meat on her ass. I like to be able to get a handle full when I want.

  My phone lights up. It’s a text message from George reminding me that he would like to see me this time for Thanksgiving. I stare at it, contemplating my response. I haven't reached out to him in a while. I've been traveling Asia, trying to build relations for my technology company. I should go. I can't even remember the last time I was at home for the holidays. It will be weird now since he has a new wife and a fucking step daughter. What was her name again? Christy? Fuck. I don't know. I just remember a tall, gangly girl. Poor thing. I text him back letting him know I will check my schedule. I don't want to commit to anything in case something or someone better comes up. I watch a busty blonde in tight jeans walk by my car. Our eyes meet. Too old I think as she walks past the car. I turn the engine on.

  The rain starts to thud down even louder now. I stop at the intersection. If I turn right, I will end up at my Dad's, or I could go back left, to my apartment. I'm not sure which one is better. Dammit. I should go to my Dad's. The guilt is building in me the longer I wait. I turn down the road. I guess I will just have to take care of this boner myself. I chew on my bottom lip and try to think of any girls from high school who might still be living in the town. But none come to mine, all the good ones moved on after college.

  After a few hours, I arrive at the large estate my father has built. The white pillars stand over a wraparound patio. Everything was built and designed by his ex-wife, my mother. A horrible woman who ended leaving us both for the gardener. My car pulls up next to what I am guessing is Martha's BMW. My dad only drove Volkswagen. The rain was starting to let up now. I pull my leather jacket over my
head and run into the house. My key slides into the lock and I open the door, closing it behind me with a woosh from the wild wind. My father stands in the foyer with a look of shock plastered on his dark round eyes. His silver hair is slightly disheveled.

  "Hey, stranger," he laughs. I brush off the few leaves that stuck to my jacket.

  "How are you doing, old man?" I ask, walking over and hugging him. He smells like pine needles and cigar smoke.

  "Some weather we are having," he laughs. My dark brown hair is already damp from the outdoors.

  "Seriously." my eyes dart around, looking for Martha or her daughter.

  "How was the drive?" he asks.

  "Fine." I hang my coat in the closet and look at the house. It is almost as though the whole place has been gutted and changed.

  "Looks good in here..."

  "Thank you. Martha redid it all when she moved in. She's an interior designer."

  "Great," I say, smiling. I am happy my dad seems to be doing well.

  "Is she here?" I ask.

  "Yeah, she and Crystal are upstairs."

  Crystal! My mind turns back. That's what the girl's name is. I should have remembered that. I nod. My father cups his hands around his mouth.

  "Martha!" his voice carries up the winding staircase. In a matter of seconds, the tall, lean woman peaks her head over the railing. She has pretty green eyes and her eyes cascades down her shoulder. I remember Martha well. She smiles wide and runs down the stairs.