Royal Brit Bastard: a badboy stepbrother romance Read Online Free Page A

burst.

    Those long, agonizing afternoons are still among my most cherished, hidden memories.

One hot Saturday morning Father shouted from the hallway, “Baz! Deirdre’s here for you.” Deirdre Macon was the oldest cheerleader, and she was the sexiest. This was the girl that all of the jocks and the whole football team panted after, howled at, and slavered over.

    “I haven’t invited her,” he scowled. Then he looked up into my eyes, pleading. “If they throw themselves at me, what am I supposed to do, but really,” his temple creased, “Have these girls no pride at all?”

    Roger pushed me and told me quickly to get inside his closet and hide. I said that I could just slip back to my room, but he said in an urgent whisper, “No, she’ll see you,” as he bundled me into the closet.

    The closet had two sides. A mirror hung over one door, and the other door was slatted. He pushed me into the side with the slats, and I thought he must have made a mistake, because if you looked hard enough you could see inside the closet.

    Deirdre wasn’t looking at the slats, though, so it didn’t really matter.

    She leaned against him, “It’s so great to see you, Roger,” and he winced at her breathy Valley-girl meets gangsta bitch voice. Well, I assumed that was what made him wince as she wrapped herself around him. Whatever it was, his wince didn’t slow the flapping of her eyelashes.

    Roger held her face, pulled her roughly to him by the waist. “Oh, yes,” her voice was extra-dreamy. “Do it, Roger. Do what you want with me.”

    She nuzzled him and put her lips on his neck as his hands slid all over her body. She had on a crisp white shirt and a short pleated plaid skirt over black tights. She cooed into his neck.

    “I know you might want to be rough, Roger. I don’t mind,” She rocked her hips, pressing her sex against the ridge of his cock, “I really don’t.”

    He made her kneel on the floor and face the closet. Looking at the mirror, I guessed. Her nervous eyes flicked behind her and her face was a mass of conflict. He knelt behind her, put his hands over her body. Slid over her shirt, grabbed and squeezed her breasts. Then he lifted her skirt and ran his hands all over her thighs. He bit her neck and her eyes rolled.

    Then he undid the first few buttons on her shirt. Her big breasts heaved, looking like they’d bust out of her black lacy push-up bra. He ripped downwards and the buttons flew off her shirt. Her breath fluttered, and she moaned as he slipped his fingers into the bra. One by one, he scooped her tits out.

    He tweaked and pinched her nipple, then the other. His hand went to her throat and he bent her backwards to plant great hickies on her neck. As he did it, he looked up at the cupboard He sunk his lips to her breasts as his eyes found mine through the slats.

    My breath caught as he yanked the shirt down over her shoulders. Right at the bottom it was still done up, so it was like she was tied up with it. Her neck craned towards him. She planted big, wet kisses wherever she could reach his face or his neck, but he pulled away from her each time.

    I tingled all over as he pulled her skirt right up, enough that I could see her white cotton panties under her sheer black tights. Her stomach rolled. I found it hard to stay still. The tops of my thighs were hot and wet. I ached from my throbbing nub all the way to my own hard, sore nipples.

    When he ripped her tights and rubbed the darkening, damp cotton of her panties, her hips writhed and snaked. Mine, too. As his fingers pressed along the center and the fabric clung to the folds of her crotch, her thighs opened and stretched apart, and I found my fingers had made their way into my own panties.

    I had to bite my wrist to keep from making a noise as he pulled up the wet, white gusset and ripped it. His fingers dove into her swollen lips, hooked inside her and hammered in and out. My own fingers did exactly the same.

    Her back arched,