Step Scandal - Part 2 (2 page)

“Harper, I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “I thought I was protecting you.”

The limo driver held the door open and she crawled in, grabbing bunches and handfuls of her black dress as she climbed over the threshold. She still wouldn’t speak to me.

“All I wanted was to hear Hayden apologize,” she broke her silence. “It wasn’t like I was running back into his arms.”

“But you snuck off to do it. You have to understand that looks bad.”

“I snuck off because I had to. You’re this, like, possessive animal.” She glanced out the window, refusing to look at me. “I don’t know what’s come over you, but suddenly it’s like you think you need to control everything I do.”

“You’re mine,” I said unapologetically. “For the next three months, you’re mine. That means I give a shit about you and what you do. And it means I get to call the shots. If you want this to work, if you want this to look real, if you want to get your little career back on track, you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

She spun around to face me, her hair flying and falling as her full, cherry lips parted to speak, but I silenced them with a kiss. Claiming her mouth in the backseat of the limo as we headed out of Beverly Hills, I pulled her on top of me.

“What are you doing?” She peeled herself off my mouth to protest, but my hands grabbed a handful of her silky blonde hair and pulled her lips back to mine. The way she kissed me back told me she had no objections to what was about to go down. Her words may have been asking questions, but her body was not.

I pulled the hem of her dress up until it was up around her waist, exposing a tiny black lace thong. I pulled the fabric aside and slipped a finger into her pussy. Wet and tight, just like the first time.

“Xavier,” she moaned, her words barely an audible whisper on her full lips as she let her head fall backwards. I slipped a second finger inside her as my dick grew several sizes, constrained against my pants.

“This is mine,” I said as she reached up and grabbed the handle on the roof of the limo to steady herself. Her hips wriggled and bucked against my fingers. After several miles, I could tell she was getting close, so I pulled my fingers from the tight grip of her pussy and pushed her off my lap.

“What are you doing?!”

Without saying a word, I hiked her dress up again and climbed on the floor between her legs. My hands spreading her thighs, I stuck my tongue between her swollen lips and tasted her arousal. Sweet and musky. Exotic. Delicious. I sucked on her clit as she gripped a handful of my hair between her fingers and sighed with each flick and circle of my tongue against her nub.

I craved her. I’d craved her since that night six years ago, and I craved her even more now. Something about Harper made my urges primal and instinctual. No other woman had done that to me before. I had to protect her. I had to own her body. She was all woman, and she was the only woman I needed.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered. “Fuck me, Xavier.”

My dick throbbed with the mention of request, fully engorged in my pants. I pulled a condom from my wallet and unzipped my pants, sheathing my cock as the car bounced across bumps in the road.

“Hurry, please. I need it,” she pleaded.

I placed the tip of my cock at her wet and waiting entrance and pressed myself into her slowly. I was fucking my fucking stepsister. I should’ve been disgusted with myself, but she was begging for it, and I wanted it. That was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

We already had our secrets. What was one more?

A soft sigh left her pretty mouth as her hands tugged my hair some more. “Oh, god, that feels good…”

She circled her hips as I thrusted inside her. Though the rough carpet of the limo floor burned my knees, I pushed through it.

“Do you know how good you fucking feel right now?” I groaned.

“This is so wrong,” she said as her hands flew to her face, yet her hips kept circling and meeting me thrust for thrust. “But it feels so right.”

I wished we were anywhere but the limo. I wanted her naked. I wanted to touch her bouncing tits and suck on her pink nipples until they turned raw. I wanted her soft skin rubbing against every inch of mine. I wanted to sink my fingers into her tight little ass.

Instead I had to settle with fucking her tight pussy in the back of a bumpy limo. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, I supposed.

Thrust after thrust, I filled her up with my indestructible hard on. The limo driver probably heard all noise we were making, but I didn’t give a fuck. This was L.A. he’d probably seen and heard it all.

“You’re so goddamn tight,” I heaved. “I could stay in this all day long.”

“Keep fucking me,” she begged. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

My thrusts grew harder and faster and more intense as I dominated her tight pussy.

“Oh, god,” she yelled out. “I’m coming.”

As if on command, my cock writhed and wriggled inside her like a wild snake. I dumped my load inside her heaving-on-earth pussy before falling on top of her in a sticky, heaving mess.

I pulled myself out of her and carefully peeled the condom off, wrapping it in a handful of tissues from a nearby tissue box.

“What the fuck, Xavier…” she sighed, attempting to catch her breath.

I slipped a hand between her legs, inching up to her wet, gaping hole. “I told you, it’s mine. For the next three months,
you belong to me
.”

There was an ache between my legs the rest of the night, but not a bad ache. Not a soreness. More of a longing. I wanted more. Xavier, my stepbrother, had just fucked me in the backseat of a limo, and already I couldn’t get enough.

Did I like it? Yes.

Did I want it to happen again? Yes.

Was this part of the plan? Not at all.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be fake. Like in the movies. He wasn’t supposed to give two shits about me, and I wasn’t supposed to be daydreaming about his cock at all hours of the night.

I woke up the next morning to find Xavier passed out in bed next to me, fragments of the night before starting to play in my mind as I realized we’d fucked not once, not twice, but a total of three times the night before. It was as if we’d unleashed years of pent up sexual frustration into one, champagne-fueled night of guilty and forbidden pleasure.

I pulled my phone off the charger. Text messages from Elijah and Jenny as well as Google alerts notified me there was more dirt out there about us as people tried to figure us out.

It was funny. I thought I knew exactly what we were, and now I was right along with the rest of America, trying to make sense of it all.

I pulled up an article on a gawker website where a photo of us leaving the premier the night before rested front and center. My back was to him. My arms crossed. We were fighting. It was right before we got into the limo. Right before he fucked me.

783 comments!

I read through them all. Some people were appalled. Some disgusted. Some intrigued. Some even turned on. A handful of people were gracious about it with a live and let live message. It was a grab bag of a thousand different emotions – all of which I was certain I was feeling at the same time.

The doorbell startled me into an upright position. It rang again. And again. Over and over. My heart raced as I flung the covers off and ran toward the foyer as Xavier gently snored away under a mountain of covers in my bed.

Standing with crossed arms and a look that could kill was my mother – the incomparable Sharon Bliss.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I pulled the door open and rubbed my eyes. “It’s really early. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Do
not
play dumb with me, young lady.” She whipped her oversized sunglasses off like an overly dramatic soap opera actress as she stepped past me. Her Louboutin shoes clicked on the wood floor of my entryway.

“What are you talking about?” I was still half a sleep, and most of my mind was still in Xavier mode. It was too early to have to think.

She untied the silk Pucci scarf from around her head and let her blonde curls loose, shaking them out a bit. She walked around my house like she owned the place, which was funny because she’d never given me two cents her whole life. Countless times I’d started writing my own “Mommy Dearest” memoir about her in my head. I’d never publish it though because I wasn’t like that, but man, I had some stories.

Sharon Bliss only cared about what happened in my life when it directly affected hers. And that’s when I realized why she was there. Xavier. Me. The gossip.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She held her phone up inches from my face where a picture of Xavier and I kissing at the club was plastered across the screen. “Is this some desperate ploy to get my attention? Because if it is, it’s working.”

I laughed to keep from crying, though the tears would’ve been more from embarrassment than anything else. “If I told you, Mom, you’d never believe me. Let me just tell you it’s not real. It’s all staged. Publicity.”

“Oh, my god,” she groaned, covering her eyes with her manicured fingers. “Please tell me you’re not that big of an imbecile.”

I scrunched my brows. “A little early in the day for name calling, isn’t it, Mom?”

“There are a million other tricks you could’ve pulled to get publicity. Dating your stepbrother is not one of them!” Her voice reached a high fever pitch like I’d never known before. It was almost cartoonish. I could practically see the steam escaping her ears.

“I asked for your help,” I said, crossing my arms and peering over her shoulder into the crashing blue waves that lined my sandy backyard. “You didn’t have time for me. You were too busy polishing your Oscars.”

She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands in the air for an extra, added dramatic effect. “For the love of God, Harper Elizabeth, you are not the only person in this world going through something right now. It’s not all about you.”

“It’s never been about me, Mom.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I am my mother’s daughter.”

“Do you realize what this is going to do to our family? Our reputations? Our careers?”

“You mean, your reputation and your career?” I brushed past her and headed outside, pulling the slider and relishing in the fresh, ocean breeze that kissed my face. I couldn’t stand inside with her a moment longer or I’d suffocate. She followed me outside. “And what family? You and Conrad are divorcing anyway. It’s not like Xavier will be my stepbrother much longer anyway.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointing daughter to you.” My hands clenched the smooth balcony railing as I watched the ocean waves. “But you haven’t exactly been thw world’s greatest mother either.”

I heard her gasp, but I couldn’t look at her. I knew my dig wasn’t going to go over well with her. She was in utter and complete denial about any and all of her imperfections. Her entire career was spent honing and shaping her public persona, and over time, she’d come to believe she really was that perfect image she so carefully crafted.

“Harper Elizabeth Bliss, you are
forbidden
from seeing him.” Her words hung low and carried more weight than anything I’d heard her say before.

My fingernails dug into the railing until they began to bend back and send waves of pain up my hands.

“Oh, hello, Xavier,” she said, her greeting as fake as the implants holding up her 45 year old breasts. I spun around to see Xavier standing in the doorway to the balcony, shirtless with a whole mess of sex hair going on. My cheeks flushed. There was no getting out of this.

Fuck
.

“Uh, hi, Sharon,” I mumbled as her blue eyes burned holes into my naked torso. I glanced over her shoulder to where Harper stood, red faced, and gave her a quick wave. “Good seeing you guys. I’m just on my way out.”

No amount of skilled wordage could’ve gotten me out of that situation, so I had no other choice but to get the fuck out of there and deal with it later. Not many people could put the fear of God into me the way Sharon could with one look, though I suspected she’d cultivated her villainess expressions from years of stage and screen acting.

It could’ve been an act. It could’ve been real. There was no way to know with her, so I had to play it safe. I’d have to reconvene with Harper later, at a more convenient time.

***

The second I got back to my apartment, I checked my phone. Four missed calls from Conrad.

“Nice.” I shoved the phone on the edge of the kitchen counter and stripped my clothes off, making my way to the shower. I could still smell her on my skin. I could still feel her on my cock. I could still taste her on my tongue. A smile curled across my lips as I mentally calculated how many times she’d made me cum the night before as the water rinsed her off me.

I dried off a few minutes later and changed into jeans and a t-shirt before heading out to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. All night rolling in the sheets with Harper had left me starving. I’d intended on taking her out for breakfast that morning until Sharon showed up.

“Holy shit. How’d you get in here?” I about had a fucking heart attack when I saw my mom sitting on my sofa.

“You left your door unlocked.” She didn’t look happy, which was rare for her. She was usually an effervescent energy of happiness at all times. My own personal ray of sunshine that loved me with a kind of unconditional love I didn’t deserve most of the time.

“What’s going on?” I tried to play dumb, but I knew it was coming. I’d seen that look on her face only once before, when I was eighteen and got caught getting lit in the back of the school auditorium with some friends which resulted in a two week expulsion.

“Why, Xavier?” Her black hair hung in her face and her honey brown eyes, which matched mine, flashed with a heavy disappointment that punched me straight in the heart.

“Mom, I can explain.” I took a seat next to her as I tried to gather my thoughts and form them into sentences that would remotely make what I was doing palatable.

“Please do. I’m dying to know.”

I stared into her eyes once more. The same ones that had nurtured me my entire life and loved me without pause. The ones that would do anything to see me succeed in life and believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself. “Harper is paying me to pretend to be her boyfriend for three months.”

Her hands flew to her lips, and I immediately saw she was shaking.

“Three months, Mom. When it’s over, she’ll give me the money I need to open my shop.”

“Xavier, I told you I would help fund your shop.”

“I don’t want to touch your money. I told you that. You worked hard for that money, and that’s what you live off.” Society had been unkind to an aging super model like her. She’d once walked runways in Paris and Milan, and now she just walked her two Yorkies down the streets of our quaint little neighborhood in Brentwood. She lived off her earnings from her younger years. I wouldn’t have touched those if my life depended on it.

“This is just very embarrassing for me.” Her bottom lip trembled as she blinked away tears. “The ladies in my Bunco group are starting to ask questions, and I don’t know what to tell them, Xavier.”

Fuck. I never meant to hurt my mom.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really sorry.”

“Please end it, Xavier.” She stood up, her dark hair falling into her face as she headed to the door. “Please.”

With that, she was gone, and I was officially the world’s biggest asshole.

My phone lit up on the counter. I fully expected it to be Conrad calling again, as I was quite certain he was chomping at the bit to rip me a new one, but instead it was Harper.

Maybe she was calling to tell me we had to end it. Maybe I wanted to end it too. Maybe I didn’t.

All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I’d royally fucked up. I had to make a decision, and someone was going to be supremely disappointed in me. I needed more time to think.

Ignore
.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rossi St. James is a twenty-something young woman with a passion for Oreos, crazy, twisted stories, and hiking trails with her two yellow labs, Sunny and Cloudy. When she’s not writing, you can probably find her scouring Pinterest for inspiration for her next book. (That’s pretty much all she uses Pinterest for anyway, as Rossi St. James cannot cook, sew, or craft).

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