Escape: A Stepbrother Romance Novella (3 page)

She
goes to the closet and disappears inside, emerging seconds later with a box. 
She sits on the bed, cross-legged, and motions for me to join her, the box
between us.

“What
is it?” I ask as she lifts the lid.  Inside it is a mess of papers and photos
and trinkets.  She pulls out the things on the top and shuffles through them,
handing me a picture.  It takes me a moment to realize it’s something I drew
when I was about ten years old.  A lioness curled up around her three cubs with
my attempt at the arid landscape of Africa in the background.  It’s childish
but detailed.  I look up as she passes me more, all things I’d drawn and left
behind.  All pictures of things that had fascinated me as a child, and maybe
still did. Not that I’d admitted that to myself in years. 

She
passes me a packet of photos, and her expression is worried.  “What?” I say,
suddenly nervous of what I might find inside. 

“They’re
just pictures,” she says.  “Family pictures.”

From
her tone I know that she’s concerned about how I might react but I can’t tell
her I don’t want to see.  I have only one picture of my mom and me as a child,
and none of Sammie and her dad.  I open the packet and start to flick through. 
The more I look, the greater the burning sensation at the back of my throat
worsens.  We all look so damn happy and I can’t stand it.  I can’t bear
remembering all that contentment because it’s gone and it’s never coming back. 
The packet wobbles in my hand and I drop it onto the comforter and walk out of
the room, needing time to steady my shaking hands.  I stand at the window in
the den looking over the city that has housed us both for years and kept us
apart so well.

I
hear Sammie’s bare feet padding on the hardwood but I don’t turn.  I feel her
hand rest lightly between my shoulders and all the love I feel for her seems to
spill out of my heart and into my chest, pulled by that small touch of her palm
against my t-shirt covered skin.  I swallow and it’s so damn quiet in the room
that it’s audible.

“Bran,”
she says rubbing my back.  “It’s okay.”  When I don’t turn she places her other
hand against my cheek and draws me until we are facing each other.  I can’t
hide anything from her.  I never could.  Sammie’s always been my best friend
and my home.  We stare at each other, her eyes so sad and filled with a yearning
that I know is reflected in mine.  It’s like the threads that had bound us
together when we were kids are fusing back together.  She licks her lip and the
sight of her tongue makes my dick prickle.  It’s a tiny reaction but it freaks
me the fuck out.  But then she’s got her hand around my neck and she’s pulling
me towards her and we’re hugging and it feels so good, so perfectly right.  She
soothes me with her hand that rubs up and down my back and her words that she
whispers in my ear.

“It’s
okay, Bran.  You’re here now.  We’re back together.  Sammie and Bran Bran, best
friends forever,” she says just like she used to.  But it doesn’t feel like
friendship when I’m distracted by her soft breasts pressed against my chest and
the curve of her hip under my palm.  When her lips graze my ear I think it’s an
accident.  She’s whispering close after all.  But the soft feel of it, that
little graze, makes me sigh and then she sighs too and I know it wasn’t an accident. 
“I love you, Bran,” she whispers, her mouth now so close to my neck I can feel
the wetness of it against my skin.

The
air feels alive with something.  It’s our history swirling around us like a
vortex that’s drawing me closer to her when I know I should be pulling away. 
Fuck.  None of this was part of the plan but I can’t stop the way my hands want
to feel the skin of her back and slip inside her blouse.  Her hand grabs at my
shoulder, molding the muscle there as if she needs something firm to keep her
grounded.  I can hear her breathing hitch as I stroke across the silkiness of
her back.  With my face pressed into her neck I can almost pretend this isn’t
really happening. It feels like a dream, a fantasy that will be gone when I
open my eyes.  She’s like an angel visiting me in purgatory and her sweetness
and strength just make me want more. 

I
know I shouldn’t. 

I
shouldn’t be here.  I don’t belong in her perfect life.

I
shouldn’t want her.  She’s my stepsister and it’s wrong.

I
shouldn’t.  But I do and I can’t stop myself. 

Chapter 5

Samantha

Oh my god.  I can
feel Bran shaking against me.  He’s trembling like a leaf as his fingertips
graze my spine.  It feels so good to be in his arms, so right.  It’s like
slipping into your most comfortable clothes, like a custom made suit.  He feels
perfect but it’s Bran, my stepbrother, and we shouldn’t be doing this. 

But
I want to.  Like the song, my minds telling me no but my body has other ideas.

His
breath gusts against my skin and he’s gone still as though he’s warring with
himself too.  I feel like I’m standing on a ledge and just one little step is
gonna take me into oblivion, and it’s scary but I want to fall into him. I want
him to catch me.

“Bran,”
I breathe and his lips graze my bare shoulder, revealed by my silky blouse. 
“Oh god,” I say.

“Sammie,”
he says, like he’s in a dream, but this is real.  It’s so, so real when I
inhale the scent on his skin and it explodes something in my mind.  Everything
about him is familiar but different.  I can’t get a grip on what’s happening.

His
fingers are running up my side, thumb slipping around the front of my ribs, so
slowly I can’t take in air.  One move and he might stop.  One move and we might
both come to our senses. 

Oh,
I don’t want him to stop. 

I
know the moment he realizes that I’m not wearing a bra.  His thumb grazes the
underside of my breast and he goes totally still again.  Seconds tick by, a
siren passes outside at a distance, and we exist like mannequins in an erotic
window display.  I’m panting and the sheer
want
I feel inside eclipses
all restraint and sense. 

I’m
lost.

“Don’t
stop,” I say, kissing his neck and running the very tip of my tongue over his
skin.

His
thumb runs upwards until it finds its goal; the very tip of my nipple.  He’s so
still again and I can feel the skin puckering and my breast aching for more. 
When the tingling has stopped he presses down hard and it feels so good I
moan.  His hand grips my flesh, squeezing, kneading as his chest rises and
falls against my palm.  He feels like a coiled spring.  Inside, I am too. Ready
to unfurl and surrender at any second.

“Oh,
fuck,” he mutters as I slip my hand under his shirt, marveling at the swells
and dips my hand discovers. He’s like a rock, a beautifully sculpted hunk of
mountain.

My
mind is going crazy.  Brandon has his hand on my breast and his mouth on my
neck and I’m pawing at him like I’ve been starved of men for years.  I suppose
I have really.  No boyfriend I’ve had has come near to the level of closeness I
felt with Brandon.  I’ve never loved anyone like I love him.

“Tell
me to stop,” he whispers and he sounds like he’s in real pain.  Is this hurting
him?  The desperate tremor in his voice pierces the fierceness of my drive for
more.  All I want is for Brandon to be in my life again.  If this feels wrong
to him, if he doesn’t want it, I can’t take him somewhere that might drive us
apart. I couldn’t bear for that to happen.

I
pull my hand from under his shirt and use them both to cup his face and bring
his eyes to mine.  They flick over me, trying to read my expression, or trying
to tell me things I just can’t read.  The vivid blue-greenness of them stuns me
momentarily.  “It’s okay,” I say.  I stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek, then
pull him into a hug again.  I feel his hand slip from under my blouse and I
want to weep with frustration, but I don’t.  I let him hold me tight and I tell
him that I love him and that nothing would ever change that.  I feel his
fingers nestle into my hair and we stand like that for the longest time while
inside my heart feels like little pieces of it are peeling away, petals falling
from a wilting rose. 

I
have this terrible feeling that when Brandon leaves my apartment I’m never
going to see him again.  I want him so much but everything feels jumbled.  Love
and sadness from our past seems to have translated itself into longing, not
just for a rekindling of friendship or a sibling relationship but for something
more.  Maybe I should just say ‘fuck it’ and lead him to my bedroom and let him
take me like I know he really wants to.  I can feel how hard he is against my
belly and the pulse between my legs is like a living thing.  But if I do, there
will be no chance of us keeping in touch.  I know Brandon.  He stayed away from
me all this time for a reason.  I don’t want to give him any more.

“I’m
sorry,” he says. 

“Don’t
be,” I say.  “It was me as well.”

He
pulls away and looks over the skyline as though he can’t bring himself to look
at me anymore.  It all hurts so much.  Worse than when I watched him drive away
the first time because then I believed we would be reunited soon.  Now I have
so little hope.

“I
should go,” he says so seriously, still not looking at me.

“Stay,”
I say.  “We can just talk.  Or watch a movie.”  I know I sound desperate but I
can’t help it. 

He
looks at me then with so much sadness in his eyes that my heart crumbles.  I’ve
got a molten lump in my throat and a geyser of tears waiting to be let loose.

“I
need to go,” he says, reaching out and stroking over my hair.  Bran looks me
over like he’s trying to take a mental photograph.  With the little remaining
composure I have left, I smile.

“Okay,”
I say.  “It was good to see you again.”

“Yeah,”
he says.

“Will
you give me your number?” I ask.

He
looks down at his feet and shakes his head.  “It’s best that I don’t.  I don’t
want you getting mixed up in my life.”

“I
already am,” I say.

He
shakes his head again.  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Sammie,” he mumbles and then,
as though he’s finally awakened from that dream, he heads towards the front
door. 

When
he gets there he pauses and turns, holding onto the handle.  “What was it
like?  The wombat?”

“It
was heavy.” I laugh, sounding slightly manic.  “It was warm and wriggly with
the thickest fur coat you ever saw.”

He
smiles, just a small flicker of it on his lips, and then he leaves without
saying goodbye.

I
wait, watching him walk towards the elevator, taking a mental picture of my
own.  He’s got a swagger to his walk that I hadn’t noticed before and the
longest, thickest thighs.  Everything about him is strong and powerful, except
perhaps his heart. 

When
he’s inside the elevator he looks up at me and nods, then the doors close and
he’s gone.

In
the morning everything seemed to be going so right.  When I saw Brandon in that
cell I thought I’d find a way to have him back in my life for good.  But now
he’s gone again and I just can’t hold it together anymore.  I cry, not just
dainty tears but terrible ugly crying because I hadn’t realized how empty I
felt until he came along and filled that gap inside me so perfectly.  And
ripping himself out again has only made it worse. 

I
slump onto my couch, hugging my big velvet cushion and wiping my face with
tissues from the coffee table.  But as I exhaust myself, I start to feel
angry.  Who the fuck does he think he is, making decisions for us and letting
me have no say in the matter? He thinks he can just walk out of my life again
and I’m not going to fight for him to stay.  I’m feeling vulnerable, but I’m a
warrior in my work life.  I can battle for him.  And if he doesn’t want
anything more than friendship, we can be step siblings again. 

All
I want is my Brandon back in my life.  And I’m gonna try my hardest to make it
happen.

Chapter 6

Brandon

I leave Sammie’s
apartment with tightness in my chest that feels fucking terrible.  I know she’s
crying, I could see it in her eyes, and I want to punch something with the
guilt of it.  What the fuck was I thinking?  All the memories have me so mixed
up.  I love her but it’s brotherly love, isn’t it?  It’s childish love.  I
can’t believe what we did, what I did.  I should have pulled away but I
couldn’t.  I felt like I was underwater and everything was happening slowly.  I
wanted to drown in her softness.  Fuck. 

I
head straight over to Jackson’s Bar where the rest of my crew will be
gathering, wanting to be anywhere in the world but here.  It’s dark inside and
stinks of beer and man.  Jackson is leaning on the bar picking his teeth and I
shake my head at where I’ve ended up.  It’s about as far away from Sammie’s
world as I could get, short of prison. 

“Brandon,
get your ass over here,” Adam calls from a booth at the back.  He’s nearly
sixty but still insists on wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans.  I suppose the
gym is keeping him in okay shape but his face is worn and sharp from years of
bad living.  I stroll slowly across, gesturing to Jackson that I want a beer.  When
I slip into the booth Adam’s eyes scan me as though he thinks he can read my
mind just by looking.  “Where you been?” he grunts.

“I
had to see a friend.”  Jackson brings my beer and I take a deep swallow,
needing it more tonight than I have for a while.

“What
friend?”

“No
one you know,” I say.  “So, what did I miss?”

“Connor’s
gone with Tom to make the drop. I wanted you to go with him but it seems like
you had different priorities tonight.”

“Connor
can handle it,” I say.

“Connor
shouldn’t have to handle it,” he says. 

“So
what do you want me to do then?”

“Get
over to Sandra’s and collect the takings.”

“Fuck,”
I mutter.  “You know I don’t want to have anything to do with that shit.”

“What,
too good for the ladies?”

“There
ain’t no ladies at Sandra’s.  I just don’t like that place.  It stinks of
desperation and those girls look fucked up.”

“They
like it,” Adam says with a dirty grin.

“You
keep telling yourself that,” I say and his eyes narrow.

“You
might not like it but that’s your fucking job tonight, okay?  Next time, you
get here when you’re supposed to and I’ll find someone else to go see Sandra.”

I
down my beer knowing that there’s no point in arguing with him.  It’s his way
of punishing me and I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of resisting him
anymore.  These are the games we play.

“Okay,
I’m out,” I say.

“Before
you go, there’s been more trouble with those new boys.  They’ve been seen near
Joe’s this time.  They’re getting more brazen, trying to push out our guys.”

I
nod, wondering where all this bullshit is going to end.  “You want me to do
anything about it?” I ask. 

He
shakes his head.  You just keep your mind on the job, boy.”

It’s
only just south of midnight by the time I reach Sandra’s.  A blonde in black
strappy heels and a negligée answers the door, having checked me out via the
video intercom.

“Hey,
Brandon,” she purrs.  “Haven’t seen you over this way in a while.”

Her
eyes are glassy from whatever she’s been given to help her get through the
night.  There’s something about her that reminds me of Sammie – maybe it’s the
shape of her eyes – and it turns my stomach.  How do some girls end up sinking
like this?

“I’m
here for Sandra,” I say, trying to sound friendly.

“She’s
in the back.”  I walk through the red painted corridor, passing a waiting area
that I avoid looking into.  Seeing the girls makes me sad. Seeing a bunch of
sick fucks languishing around before they head upstairs makes me angry.  This
is the part of Adam’s business that I hate above anything else. 

Sandra’s
office door is at the end and I knock.

“Come
in,” she drawls.  She’s from South Carolina and her accent sounds so melodic
and homey, but Sandra is anything but.

When
I open the door she grins widely.  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.  You
know you get more handsome every time I see you.”  She’s at least forty-five
but she’s dressed much younger in a lace up corset and tight leather pants. 
Her cleavage has that crinkled skin you get on women who’ve spent too much time
in the sun or on tanning-beds, her lips are blood red, and her hair
bleach-blonde.  She’s got the madam look down to a tee.

“Is
that so?”

“Yes
it is.”

“I’m
here for the takings.”  I want this done with quickly so I can get out of this
place.  The smell of cheap perfume and sex is turning my stomach.

Sandra
rustles around for an envelope and then opens the safe that’s bolted to the
floor in the corner, pulling out a wad of notes.  When everything is packed and
sealed she hands it over to me, stroking her index finger on the back of my
hand as she passes it over.  “You’re just like your daddy,” she says, and I
snatch my hand away.  It’s just about the worst thing anyone could ever say to
me.

“I
don’t think so,” I growl, unable to hide the disgust in my voice. 

“What
did I say?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.

“Nothing. 
Forget it.”  I turn, stuffing the envelope into the waistband of my jeans and
pulling my t-shirt down over it.

“You
know you’re welcome here anytime,” Sandra croons from behind me as I make my
way back towards the front door.  “I know Angie would be more than happy to get
her hands on you…no charge.”

Above
us I can hear the rhythmic banging of a headboard on a wall and the
high-pitched moans of one of Sandra’s girls.  The blonde in the nightwear is
leaning in a doorway, watching.

“I’ll
see you around,” I say to no one in particular, hoping it won’t be the case. 

“You
keep safe, Brandon,” Sandra says.

“You
too.”  I wonder how many times those women have felt the violence of a man.  My
own hands are still bloody, the bandages removed and left at the police station,
and I feel shame for the anger and loss of control they reveal.

 Out
on the street I take a deep breath and walk quickly away.  I don’t want to
spend any more time in this part of town than I have to and I’m feeling tired
to my bones.  I jump back in my car, throwing the envelope on the passenger
seat, and drive back to Jackson’s.  Adam is still sitting in the booth but now
Connor is with him and Jeremiah, who everyone calls Tom in some weird
transition from Jeremiah, to Jerry, then to Tom because of the cartoon.   They
go quiet when I reach the booth.

“Interrupting
something?” I say, taking a seat on the stool. 

“Nah,”
Conner says, looking between me and Adam. He knows our relationship is
difficult but stays out of it when he can. 

“Okay,”
I say.  “Sandra sends her regards.”

“I
don’t give a shit about her regards.  You get the money?”

“Yeah.” 
I slip the envelope under the table and he shoves it in his bag. 

“Anything
else, cos I’m finished.”  I rub my hands over my face, feeling the deepness of
my tired eyes.

“That’s
it for tonight,” Adam says.  “You make sure you’re here tomorrow when you’re
supposed to be.  And no more getting busy with your fists.  You cost me a
fortune today and next time I might not be so generous about bailing you out.”

“I’m
no use to you in the pen,” I say.

“You’re
no use to me if you cost me more than you earn me,” he says.  There he goes,
reducing me to nothing more than a fiscal transaction.  I get a mind flash of
Sammie’s voice telling me she loves me and I stand, needing to get out of there
and home as quickly as I can.  My nerves feel raw.  I’m a mess all round.

“I’m
out,” I say to Connor and Tom and they nod.

When
I finally get back to my apartment I close the door, toe off my shoes and grab
a bottle of water from the fridge.  In the shower I wash myself quickly then
stand and let the hot water run over my head and down my back.  It feels good
but it makes me think about that photo again, the one in Sammie’s den.  We used
to enjoy those sprinklers on a hot day.  I try not to think about Sammie and
what happened between us, but as soon as I get the image of her in my mind I
remember the feel of her breast cupped in my palm, her nipple stiffening under
my thumb. I remember her moans and the way her lips felt on my neck, and my
cock is hard.

I
don’t want to be thinking about her like this but I can’t help it.  My mind is
full of her and my body is so switched on my dick twitches, craving her soft
hands, her mouth.  I rest my hands against the tiled wall, willing my erection away
but it doesn’t help.  I remember her windows and think about getting her to put
her hands against the glass while I stroke over her curves.  My hand reaches
down to my now throbbing cock, squeezing it tightly at the base, but it only
makes me want more.  I try and think about the last girl I fucked.  She was a
short brunette, so nothing like Sammie.  She took me back to her place and
sucked me off like a vacuum cleaner then begged me to do her from behind.  I
try and keep the image of her ass in the air in my mind but it isn’t working. 
Instead I recall the softness of Sammie’s skin, and the way her shoulder had
been scented with lotion.  My hand is slippery with soap and it feels so good. 
Everything tightens; my abs and glutes clench and my balls draw up tight as I
pump my fist.  I want to come so badly and all I can think about is Sammie and her
smile, her soft hair and her small breast that had rested perfectly in my
palm.  The soap is making wet noises, my hand against the wall is trembling and
my elbow is starting to ache but I’m so close to coming I don’t give a shit. 
It feels so good, just my hand and the image of Sammie in my mind, and I know having
her in reality would be mind-blowing.  I shouldn’t imagine any more than we
did.  What’s done is done and I can’t change it.  But I do.  I need more to
push me over the edge.  I feel disgusting but I imagine slipping my hand in the
front of her jeans and the tip of my finger slipping down between her wet pussy
lips. That’s all it takes for me to come, moaning as white streams hit the wall
and spill over my fingers. 

Fuck.
I’m such a degenerate.  A pervert.  I just jacked off to images of my
stepsister and it felt so good my knees are weak.