Chapter 2
2
Emily
H e’s gorgeous . Christian Degas is at least six four, towering over me in a woolen shirt that strains at his broad shoulders while emphasizing that burly chest. His long legs are sheathed in denim, those powerful thighs bulging against the fabric, and I already can see him in my imagination, hefting an axe in the air, shirtless and sweaty, before bringing it down onto a helpless log with a loud thunk.
Yum.
My mouth waters because wouldn’t I love to see those abs flex as sweat runs down his chest? Wouldn’t I love to see him huffing and grunting, exertion making that bronzed skin gleam? After all, the alpha male is a mountain man gone wild. Sure, Christian is actually a billionaire hotel magnate with too much money for his own good, but at this moment in time, you’d never know. His dark hair is shaggy, dropping over glowering blue eyes and harsh, masculine features. His nose is proudly Roman, and that chin made of granite. His lips look far too mobile, but also dominant and ruthless, like he’d kiss the life out of any woman mewling beneath him in bed.
Too bad he hates me.
Those blue eyes glare as he stares me down as if I’m a tiny pile of shit that doesn’t belong on his property.
“Who are you?” he demands. “Emily who?”
“Pamela’s my mom,” I clarify in a steady voice. “Remember? Pamela has a daughter from her first marriage, and I’m that daughter. I think the last time we met was three years ago, but I haven’t gone anywhere, Mr. Degas. I just grew up, that’s all.”
Harsh streaks appear on the man’s high cheekbones as he continues to glare at me with disgust. My heart’s fluttering in my chest as my stomach feels funny because the truth is that we didn’t just “meet” three years ago. Or rather we did, but he doesn’t know that I saw more of him than I expected.
After all, I visited his home for the holidays one year, and we were introduced. I was a fright to behold then, with my frizzy hair, bad skin, and revolting overbite. Food literally dropped out of my mouth sometimes when I chewed, and honestly, Pamela was more than a little embarrassed that I was her blood relation. As far as I know, my mom’s always been gorgeous and never suffered the indignity of adolescence.
But she made the introductions, and we had a normal-enough dinner together on Christmas Eve. Pamela and Christian were still in their lovey-dovey phase then, and gazed into each other’s eyes as we ate our food. It was disgusting, to be honest, but I couldn’t help but notice how handsome my new stepfather was. He was every inch the dashing billionaire, with penetrating blue eyes, an arrogant air, and a powerful masculine body made for sin.
Obviously, I was embarrassed at these dirty thoughts because this man and I were now related . How could I even be thinking these things like a naughty girl? Cheeks blushing, I basically bolted my food and then excused myself after dinner to hole up in the guest room because I couldn’t handle the high-wattage gaze of my new stepfather. I was a bad girl, and so embarrassed yet titillated about the attraction.
Of course, Christian Degas was about ten million times hotter than the stupid boys at school, with their gangly limbs and thin torsos, but still, this was my new stepdad . There was no reason why I should feel so over-heated in his presence, and I clenched my thighs with need as my lady parts tingled a bit. Humiliated at the moisture pooling there, I resolutely changed into my nightgown and got into bed, before snapping off the light. These thoughts were wrong, and I had to stop.
But things went from bad to worse. Unable to sleep, I tossed and turned, finally rising in the wee hours of the morning. It was probably four a.m., and not even light outside. But grumpy from sleeplessness, I slipped on a robe and made my way downstairs for a comforting mug of hot cocoa. That’s when I got the shock of my life.
Christian used to live in a giant mansion on the outskirts of Vegas, and there are a billion amenities, including an indoor pool in the basement, a steam room, a sauna, a private gym, as well as a warm-up room outfitted with the latest-model Peloton bike. I figured I’d explore a bit after making my cocoa, and silently drifted to the basement, intent on seeing what was on offer. Hell, I could stand to tone up a bit, and maybe I’d even work out during Christmas break.
But as I tiptoed down the hall outside the gym, I happened to pass the sauna. I know. The heat and steam alone should have given me a clue, but I was delirious from lack of sleep and utterly exhausted. The glass doors lining the halls resembled a fun house, and when I turned to glance through one, I saw Christian sitting on one of the pine benches in the sauna . Holy shit ! My jaw dropped open as my eyes almost bugged out of my head because the alpha male was fully nude in the small, wooden room. Of course, this is his house and it was only four a.m. Christian had every right to do what he wanted.
Still, the billionaire was a sight to behold with his eyes closed, his dark head tipped back, and a glorious expression on those handsome features. My eyes jerked downwards, and sure enough, the man was tugging himself, pulling with long, firm strokes on his thick rod. OMG, OMG. He’s at least ten inches long, purple and meaty, with veins running along both sides of his fat dick. His six pack was on display, his pecs like marble slabs as he spread his knees wider, showing off churning balls already drawn up tight against his body.
“Fuck,” he grunted, eyes still closed. “Oh shit.”
I watched, mouth agape, as the man continued to jerk himself off. Before my eyes, a pearly drop of fluid formed at the tip before sliding down that huge shaft, providing moisture. My nipples tightened as my thighs pressed together unconsciously, every cell in my being catching fire. I wanted to kneel before Christian, with my mouth open and a plea in my eyes. I wanted to choke on his massive length, lubing it up with my saliva, before climbing up his big body and impaling my swollen folds on his thick shaft. It would be pure Heaven and a tremor ran through my cunt.
But it wasn’t meant to be because Christian came like a hydrant then. I literally saw the come shoot at the base of his cock pulse, and his hand motions became furious and jerky. The color on his cheekbones deepened as his six pack strained.
“Fuuuuck,” he began low in his throat. “Shit shit shit FUCK!”
Then it happened. His cock jerked and pulsed, and hot streams of seed spurted heavily from the tip. The semen spattered high and wide, all over the sauna, coating the walls and even blocking my view as it spattered on the glass door separating us. “Fuck!” he screamed again, lash after lash of viscous semen spraying everywhere, like a machine gun on rapid fire.
The mug dropped from my hands. Literally, my fingers lost their strength and the thing crashed to the ground, spilling the remnants of my cocoa on the floor before rolling away. Oh shit! That’s when I sprang into action. I spied some Kleenex on a nearby side table and grabbed a few tissues before dropping to my knees to wipe up the mess. The mug, fortunately, was the heavy pottery kind that didn’t break, and I scooped it up in one hand before fleeing the scene of the crime. Oh my god, oh my god, what did I just see? What did I just do?
Once back in the safety of the guest room, I sat on the bed and tried to calm my heart rate. That did not just happen. But it did, and visions of my naked stepfather ejaculating powerfully in his hand swam before my eyes. My pussy ached and my breasts felt heavy and swollen, begging to be touched. I slipped a hand down into my panties, and my fingers came away tacky and wet, evidence of my desire.
He’s your stepfather! the voice in my head screamed. Are you fucking serious, Emily? You’re touching yourself to thoughts of Christian Degas, your mom’s husband?
The thing is the voice was right and I was embarrassed and ashamed at my taboo reaction to the powerful alpha male. Yes, the woman in me cried out to his virile male form, begging to be taken, but at the same time I couldn’t ignore the hard reality of our situation. He’s married. To my mom. Full stop.
So I made my excuses and got out of that house within hours. I said I had a school friend who had an emergency, and I needed to support her. Then, I basically made myself absent for the next few years, avoiding Mr. Degas like the plague. My mom would talk about him sometimes, but I’d never say much in return, merely muttering “sounds good” and “that seems nice.”
But then, her conversations took another tone. She’d complain about Christian working all the time, although she was also busy with her own job. Then, he forgot their anniversary, and she was mad as a skunk about it. The complaints kept piling on, and before I knew it, they were divorced.
It’s crazy how easy, and yet how hard, divorce can be in the United States. It’s a legal battle with serious financial consequences, and to be honest, I don’t understand the nitty-gritty. But from what I do know, Christian and Pamela are legally single now. They are no longer married to one another, even as the rest of the divorce is negotiated.
I suppose that’s why Pam dragged me to the cabin.
“I can’t let him have it,” my mom hissed, throwing random items into her suitcase. “No way he’s getting the cabin as part of the settlement.”
I stare at my mom.
“Mom, I understand what you’re saying. But why do you want the cabin? You’re not an outdoorsy person, and you hate stuff like hiking and camping. This cabin is literally in the middle of nowhere with only basic amenities, while you love being pampered. Why not just let Christian have it? You can get something else.”
“Because I want it!” she replied furiously, hot spots of color on her cheeks. “No way should that man be able to keep it. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law, so we’re going to stake our claim, baby. Pack your bags and throw them in the car. That property is ours.”
I shook my head because I don’t exactly agree with her reasoning, but Pamela wasn’t listening. It’s been an acrimonious divorce and there’s no talking sense into her when the words just go into one ear and out the other. So I threw a couple things in a bag, and joined my mom in the car.
Now, we’re at the cabin as my mom hollers from the front porch.
“Grab your stuff, Emily!” she calls. “We’ll be making ourselves comfortable here.”
My stepfather is unmoving, his huge form towering over me. I see the skin around his eyes go tight as those words, anger making his chest puff out. Frustration emanates from him in every direction, and I soften inside. How awful it must be for Christian to be going through this. I wish I could stroke his black hair while pulling his head against my soft breast, providing comfort the way a woman does for a man.
But then his blue eyes snap back to me, and I’m reminded that this man hates me. He detests my presence in his life, and the sooner I’m gone ... the better.