My Billionaire Stepbrother (Lexi's Sexy Billionaire Romance #1) (5 page)

“Anything for you, Parker?”
 

“No.”
 

“You sure?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

Mom asked for a glass of water, but I’m sure she did it so I wouldn’t be the only one with an order. Bill, awkwardly, got nothing for himself. He handed me the Diet Coke and Mom her water. He didn’t sit. I cracked open the can and sipped, feeling heavy eyes upon me.
 

“Maybe we should go look at rooms,” Bill said.
 

Parker looked up. “Good idea. We don’t have any
rooms
at our place.”
 

“I mean … ” He looked at my mom, now chewing his lip. I’d seen Bill raging drunk, and it was uncomfortable. Now stone sober, he was worse. I almost wanted to tell him to take a few shots and recover his balls because right now he was embarrassing himself. “I mean
your
room.”
 

Parker looked up, his head tilted, the sarcastic smile back on his face. He was handsome, his smile toothy and somehow disarming — or would’ve been, I imagined, if he hadn’t aimed it at his father.
 

“Now I know we have one of
those
at our place.” The smile vanished, and I saw it for the farce it was. Everything clicked.
 

Why were we being introduced?
 

Well, because there had been talk about Bill moving in.
 

And what would happen when Bill moved in?
 

Shit
. I was suddenly not okay with this.
At all
.
 

I knew which room they were talking about. The extra room next to mine — the one where we’d always tossed our junk. I’d noticed Mom clearing it out but thought she was thinning the hoard.
 

I felt incredibly stupid. How could I not have realized that Bill and his son were a package? I’d honestly never considered it. I’d been off in my selfish teen-girl world, caring only about my car and my friends and my schoolwork. Things only mattered if they directly affected me.

Well, a jaded, obnoxious asshole of a teen boy moving into the room beside mine — sharing my bathroom, becoming a presence in my living space — would affect me a
lot
.
 

“Wait,” I said.
 

Parker effortlessly read my expression. He turned his hard gaze fully on me for the first time. I wanted to run.
 

“What, you don’t want to be roomies?” He looked up at our parents. “I imagine this is news to you, too, huh?”
 

“I told you, Parker. I told you Maria and I were moving in together.”
 

“Maria and
you
,” Parker repeated.
 

“And that means you, obviously.”
 

“Why obviously?”
 

“Where are you going to live?
Obviously
, you’d live with me.”
 

“I could live with Jimmy, like I said.”
 

“You’re not going to bum off your friends, Parker.”
 

“Oh, no. It’d be
terrible
, like a
deadbeat
, hitching onto someone else’s rent for a free ride.” Parker looked at his father then at Mom, but both decided to comment. Hopefully, they were trying to make peace, not refraining from response because it was true. Mom had too much stress and not enough money already.
 

I wanted to weigh in, but it seemed ridiculous. I’d known Bill was thinking of moving in. I knew he had a son. I hadn’t known he had full custody, sure, but failing to put two and two together was dumb. I’d assumed somehow that this son (the one Bill for some reason had thus far avoided introducing) would either live with his mother or … well … anywhere else. Again, I was a teenager. Things weren’t in my world until they were smack-dab in my face.
 

We’d been sitting together for maybe five minutes, and I’d already started counting seconds until he could leave. Duly introduced, we’d never have to meet again. His aura was unpleasant. I sensed anger, violence, irritation, annoyance, maybe self-pity. Sharing the living room with him for an hour was proving to be terrible. I definitely didn’t want him here every day, camped on the couch when I wanted to do my homework, gunking up the bathroom, pissing all over the toilet. Thinking about it gave me chills. The house was meager; now it would be worse. Tense. With this dickhead around, I wouldn’t feel comfortable telling Mom about my day, because I wouldn’t want his ears to hear … or for his sly, sarcastic mouth to mock me.
 

“We talked about this at length already, Parker, and — ” Bill’s temper was beginning to flare. Even without alcohol, it was terrible.
 

“Oh, well,” Parker retorted. “If you talk about something long enough, It stops being unfair.”
 

“Unfair?”
Bill snapped.
 

“Yes,
Dad
, unfair. I’m seventeen fucking years old, and — ”

“Watch your mouth.”
 

“ — and I don’t see how whatever bullshit you decide has to automatically affect me, especially if I can just go out and — ”

“And
what
, Parker?”

“I could get my own place.”
 

Bill laughed. My mother half stood, seemingly unsure what to do or say.

Parker stood. “I have money saved.”
 

“From your music bullshit? From that little ‘club’ project with Jimmy?” He laughed again.
 

“No, this other guy.”
 

“Who?”
 

“Duncan.”
 

“The black guy?”
He said it like mom would say “Jews.” I cringed.

“I suppose you have enough to get a place, huh? A big, swanky place, right? You got a security deposit, too, smartass? First and last month’s rent? How about utility deposits?”
 

“Apparently, not all of us are permitted to freeload off someone who already has a place.”
 

Bill’s hand moved like lightning. There was a flat smack, and Parker’s head rocked on his neck. Parker recovered and gave his father a small shake of his head. An
of course
shake, as if he’d been waiting.
 

“You will
respect
me, Parker. I put food on your table.”
 

“And give me so much to respect.”
 

I thought another slap might follow, but it didn’t. Between Parker and Bill, Mom’s eyes were giant saucers. She seemed more surprised than aghast but clearly didn’t know what to do.
 

Finally, Bill’s shoulders slouched.
 

“Look. It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said.
 

“Right. But it
does
have to be
this way.
Your
way. Right?”
 

“It’s not just me, Parker. Since your mother left, it hasn’t been easy. Now with us all moving in together, we have another chance to be a … well … a
family
. And after the wedding … ”
 

I gasped first. But then, looking over, I almost gasped again at the look on Parker’s face. Another obvious fact had escaped me. If they were moving in together, of course Bill would be bringing his son. And if they moved in together, it shouldn’t have been at all shocking that they were planning to marry.
 

But nobody had mentioned it to me … and by the looks of things, nobody had mentioned it to Parker either.
 

His jaw worked.
 

“Fucking unbelievable,” he said, then walked out the front door and slammed it behind him. Bill had driven, so I have no idea where he went, but he never came back that day.
 

That’s how I met Parker — my stepbrother — for the first time.

PARKER

I
RARELY
DO
DRUGS
THESE
days. I used to do plenty, but that stopped around the time I left the old neighborhood and my dad behind. Drugs impair your judgment and make you do stupid things.
 

I’m thinking this while fucking Samantha’s ass on my terrace, this girl I don’t even know below and between us, licking my swinging balls.
 

“Fuck me, Parker!” Samantha yells back over her shoulder. “Stick that big cock of yours up my ass!”
 

I oblige, ramming her harder.
 

Samantha is the most black-and-white person I’ve ever met. She’s as slutty as they come, though Duncan found her while looking for a new foundation to throw millions of dollars at. I figured it out; my donations have reached official tithe level: just over 10 percent of my gross income, if you work it out just right. It’s simple for most people. Angela’s mom, for one, used to tithe down to the penny, giving 10 percent of her pay to the church. Even back when Maria had been working, her tithes had probably been, like, fifty bucks a week, probably less. For me, the numbers are bigger. My take-home pay, if you count WinFinity’s IPO and ignore all the loopholes we threaded it through, was something like $1.4 billion. It’s not every year we have an IPO, so it’s not like that’s the figure I base things off of, but I’m still “tithing” almost eight figures. You run out of places to put that much money. I’m always looking for foundations. Like the one run by Samantha, whose ass I’m about to cum inside of.
 

“Oh my god, your thick cock feels
sooo
good,” she growls. There’s no other word for it:
growls
. It’s not a purr. I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I imagine it’s hard to purr with your anus stretched. You grunt, groan, moan, shout, and growl.
 

The woman who’s been licking my balls comes out from underneath and lies down on what I’m assuming is a vent. My part of the roof terrace is beautiful, and immaculately well appointed. There’s a huge space for my helicopter to land where we could be getting dirty. But the girls wanted something more exotic, so here we are among the compressors and cellular antennas. I hope this other girl, whose name I can’t remember, doesn’t fall through the vent before I finish fucking her.

“Don’t you
ever
stop fucking my ass!” Samantha shouts. She’s totally naked. We all are. Low-flying planes can surely see us, but Sam’s been saying she wanted to get me more press.
 

The other woman has spread her legs, slipping two fingers into the cutest little coin purse of a bald cunt. She has black hair and alabaster skin. Somehow, it works. Her lower lips are swollen and pink. I want to dive in and eat, but my dick is at the controls.
 

My cock flops out of Sam’s ass. She thinks I want her to roll over, so she does, spreading herself beside the other woman (Carrie? Corinne? Connie?). Sam’s pussy is bright-pink too, but her ass is still gaping its little hello.
 

“Get your big cock back in here,” Samantha commands.
 

I can’t satisfy everyone, so I compromise by shoving my dick balls deep into the black-haired woman then leaning over to get a face full of Samantha’s soaking gash. She’s gushing like a fountain. Sam pretends to be upstanding, but once her Sunday benefit hat’s on the floor, she likes to be slapped, choked, spanked, hair pulled. When Sam’s holding the reins of our fuck sessions, it probably looks like a fight. She the kind of girl who could get me arrested for assault then get me out by cumming six times in a row.

This must be okay with Sam because with my tongue still on her clit, she rolls her top half-sideways and starts kissing the other woman, rubbing her tits, interfering with my thrusts by brushing the port of entry with her fingers.
 

“Fuck her until she cries,” Sam tells me.

I don’t know if she’s going to cry, but I sure feel like I’m going to cum. This whoever-she-is has a tight little snapper, and it feels right now like I’m being vigorously milked.
 

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

But she’s cumming now and can’t answer. Then, breathlessly, she does.
 

“Angie.”
 

That almost stops me. I had a moment of vertigo in the lobby, and it had felt for a while like I’d been in two places at once. For most people, life is a slow, creeping progression. You grow a little each day, and although you might be a very different person at the end of your days than you were in your youth, there’s a logical curve journeying from one to the other. For me, things were more abrupt. The man I am today would barely recognize the kid I once was. I grew like bamboo. One day a sprout, the next day a skyscraper.
 

I used to be an asshole who treated people horribly. I’m not like that anymore.
 

I’m thinking this while fucking this girl I don’t know, wondering if I should cum while choking the shit out of Samantha.
 

“Angie?”
 

Something’s bothering me. I don’t know what it is. Probably the fact that I’ve been smacked with too much past in the last hour or so. It’s my birthday. I’m thirty: the point when you finally have to admit you’re no longer a kid. And that card from my dad’s family. Not
my
family, not really. Dad decided to tie that knot, not me. Angela, that other Angela, is just the daughter of that woman my father married. That’s all Dad’s business; he and I have never been friends. If that son of a bitch doesn’t deserve my money, neither do they. So what if I lived with them for a while? So what if we ate meals at the same table? You do that at summer camp, too. Sharing room and bread and board doesn’t make anyone blood.