10. Ten
Ten
Bull
I curse myself for watching Betsy’s perky, round ass walk out of the room as she disappears into the kitchen. The sway of her hips, the defiance in her step. She’s no longer the young girl I can protect with my thick wallet, hiring private tutors and taking her on lavish vacations to keep her from hanging out with boys her own age.
She’s a woman with needs, and I finally see that. But I’m so much older, literally her stepfather. I’ve been entrusted to care for her. I don’t want to be the one to cause her to suffer ridicule.
“You’re playing with fire,” I say to Rocky for making her think we can be together.
He faces me, his expression hardening. “Exactly why I’m not playing .”
“We’re so much older than her.”
His eyes bore into mine. “Exactly why we’d be able to give her the world. We’re not working minimum wage jobs to make ends meet. We offer her security. If she wasn’t your stepdaughter, would you pursue a relationship with her?”
The question hangs in the air. I hesitate to admit, “It’s not that simple. I was married to her mother. I promised her I’d care for Betsy, protect her.”
Rocky sits across the room from me. “Who better to protect her than us?”
I stop him. “Us? How perverted would that look?”
He looks away, then back at me, his expression serious. “I have feelings for her too, Bull. Think about it—how better to ensure someone will always be there for her than to make her ours?”
The thought of Betsy with another man flashes through my mind, and it nearly kills me. My possessiveness is overwhelming. “Rocky, we can’t—”
“Can’t what?” he interrupts. “Can’t admit that we’re both drawn to her? Can’t look around and see the number of unconventional relationships in Eggplant Canyon?”
“Stepbrothers are very different than stepfathers and uncles.” I’m torn between my loyalty to my late wife and the undeniable pull I feel toward Betsy. Rocky’s words challenge me to confront feelings I’ve suppressed. The thought of Betsy with someone else is unbearable, but the thought of crossing that line, of breaking that taboo, is daunting.
I study Rocky, my brother, my confidant. He’s come to terms with this struggle. If I don’t claim Betsy, he will—without me.
The rich aroma of coffee fills the room as Betsy returns with a tray of mugs. But it’s not the coffee that commands my attention —it’s her. She’s tied her shirt, exposing her entire midriff and ample cleavage. More skin, more temptation.
My body reacts, a primal response defying every paternal instinct. I hate myself for loving her—not in the way a stepfather should, but in a way that’s forbidden. That my family will never forgive me for.
I try to distract myself, imagining my mother’s reaction. The horror, the disgust. Bringing Rocky into this madness would only make it worse. This can’t happen. Not now, not before the Christmas party.
The thought stops me cold. Would I be willing to try this after the party? When the pressure’s off, when we have time to explore, to understand?
“No cream for you.” Betsy hands me a cup, her fingers brushing mine. A spark ignites, electric and as intense as when I touched her at the club. Her eyes lock onto mine, a challenge equal to her words.
Heat rises through my body. My pulse quickens. I grip the mug tighter, fighting the urge to pull her close, to claim those defiant lips.
But she moves on, setting the tray on the table beside Rocky’s chair. Then, she does the unthinkable and straddles his lap. My heart stops as jealousy surges through me like wildfire.
“So,” she begins, her voice casual, as if she hasn’t spread her wet pussy over her uncle’s lap. “I thought we could discuss coffee, cream, and cocks. Would you like cream?”
Rocky’s hands rest on her hips. “As long as you’re serving it.”
I stumble over words, trying to stop them.
“Bull, back off,” he warns.
Betsy continues, “I need to learn about sex, about intimacy. And I’d rather do it with men who care about me.”
Men? She shouldn’t be thinking like that. I stomp closer, reaching for her, trying to pull her off Rocky’s lap. They both force me away. “Betsy, your first time should be special,” I insist, my voice tight.
She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “What was so special about your first time?”
The question catches me off guard. Nothing. It was sex, and not very good sex in retrospect. I shake my head.
Rocky says, “The only thing special about my first time is that it was my first time. I’m pretty sure it sucked for my girlfriend.”
Betsy rests her hands on Rocky’s shoulders. “Exactly. The point of the auction was to make my first time memorable and fun. I want that. With both of you.”
Rocky and I don’t know what to say until Betsy breaks the silence, her sultry voice something a stepfather should never hear. “So, Rocky, about that cream…”
She strokes a finger over her panties, drawing attention to the damp spot. Also something a stepfather should never witness.
Rocky’s eyes darken. He takes her hand, slowly bringing her finger to his mouth. His lips part, and he sucks.
The display fills me with confusion. They’re going to regroup with or without me. I need a new plan. Which plan am I on? D, E, F…? I lost track.
Betsy’s breath hitches, her eyes widening as she watches Rocky, her lips parting slightly. The air in the room shifts, growing thicker along with my cock that I want to stuff into her parted lips.
Her hips rock in response to my brother’s actions. It’s dangerous and exhilarating, pushing the boundaries of right and wrong, control and restraint. I pull Betsy’s hand from Rocky’s grasp, allowing it to fall anywhere that isn’t his mouth.
She licks her lips. “I have ideas, lots of them. Things I want to try. Are either of you up for it?”
I find my voice, though it’s rough. “Where did you get these ideas, Betsy?”
She shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. “Romance books. They’re quite educational.”
I shift uncomfortably. All of those trips to the library weren’t as innocent or as properly educational as I thought. “Those books don’t portray reality.”
“You mean women aren’t always supposed to enjoy sex and have lots of orgasms?”
“That’s not what he means,” Rocky blurts, surprising me by backing me up.
Betsy tilts her head, her eyes meeting mine. “Are you willing to help me sort reality from fantasy, or should I trust someone else with that task?” She returns her attention to Rocky.
“I’ll make your fantasy meet reality,” Rocky commits.
I hold up a hand, stopping him. “A moment, Rocky. We need to talk. Alone.”
Betsy nods, sliding off Rocky’s lap. “I’ll be in the kitchen making a batch of cookies for the holiday party. And I lost my earbuds, so I’ll have my audiobook playing. You can get a taste of what I like.”