RICH BOY BRIT (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (2 page)

There was another person in the elevator, and old man with a bucket full of ice who stood to one side and watched us curiously. Usually, when someone looked at me, I was instantly self-conscious. I know it is a problem, but it is the truth. Someone looks at me, and the whirring, burning, invasive questions start:
What are they thinking? Are they judging me? Am I fidgeting? Can they tell how nervous they are making me? Am I making a fool of myself?
It had been like this ever since I could remember. But not on this magical night. Tonight, I didn’t even care about the old man with the ice bucket. It was like some social-anxiety-soothing spell had been cast on me.

We climbed out before the old man. The lion led me down to the end of the hallway, pulled his swipe card from his pocket, and swiped us into the room. The sun was beginning to set, and over the city of Bristol a cool orange light was thrown. Down below (we were about twenty stories up) I could see students who hadn’t yet gone home for the summer walking the streets. I thought about college back home, briefly wondering how I had done in my first-year finals. But then those thoughts were pushed away.

The lion’s hand moved up the back of my thigh slowly as I looked out upon the city. My eye moved from the streets below to the bay of sparkling water and on-boat restaurants and clubs and then to the large sailing ship that moved through the bay. I placed my hands on the glass, splayed like starfishes, and closed my eyes as he moved his hands over me.

His hand moved slowly, and then it was at my pussy. I didn’t realize how wet I’d become until he touched my underwear. I moaned loudly, the sound strange on my lips. I’d never moaned so freely before. There had always been someone in the next room, or I hadn’t wanted to seem over-eager, or I wasn’t really that into it. But now, I moaned loudly, not caring. He moved his fingers under my panties and found my clit.

The moans grew louder. “Fuck, yes, fuck,
fuck
.”

He rubbed my clit with his middle finger. I pushed his hand away and turned around. I wanted to touch him, too. Falling into him, I reached down and grabbed the front of his pants. He was hard, and big, bigger than any cock I’d touched before. It bulged against the front of his pants, as though it wanted to burst out. I rubbed up and down the length of it, feeling it pulse beneath my palm. And he rubbed my clit, faster and faster, until I felt the start of an orgasm. I threw my head back (wolf mask still on, I must’ve looked like I was howling) and let out the moan to rival all moans.

I had gone skeet shooting as a girl. The shotgun had kicked my shoulder so hard I’d almost fallen, even with the instructor behind me, bracing me. The orgasm reminded me of the jolting sensation. It knocked into me, and caused my whole body to writhe. Sweat pricked every part of me. The room was suddenly hot, like a blanket. And then it all released, and I buried my face in the lion’s neck, pressed my face against the mask, not caring that it dug into me. I was even wetter now.

“Fuck me,” I whispered in the lion’s ear. “Fuck me, now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed my arms under the armpits and lifted me like I weighed nothing. This turned me on like crazy. I loved feeling small, weightless, powerless. I loved the
idea
of it, anyway. I had never met a man who could really fulfill the role. But when the lion lifted me, I recognized the eruption of lust in me for a long-awaited feeling. He carried me to the bed and threw me down on the mattress. He unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, kicking his shoes off. His cock sprung up, huge, almost intimidating. Usually it would have been intimidating. It was too big. Good ol’ Jessica couldn’t take a dick like that, but the wolf could.

I pulled my panties down (damp on my hand) and kicked them off my ankles. I was about to kick my heels off, too, when the lion laid his dagger-hand on my leg. “Keep them on,” he said, in the tone of a man who will accept nothing else.

He knows what he wants, I thought, a thrill moving through me, touching every part of me. It was refreshing to meet a man who knew what he wanted, and was willing to take it. The boys at college—and they were boys, most of them, even the puffed-up frat boys who thought they were the manliest men around—were not like that at all. They were timid, mouse-like. I stopped kicking my heels off and opened my legs, baring my pussy for him.

He ran his hand up my leg, from my calf to my thigh, and then to my pussy. I closed my eyes and focused on the ball of wet heat down there as he slid his finger inside of me. He wiggled it deep within me, massaging my sweet spot. My pussy went tight, and a mini-orgasm shot from the heat and took my body. When I opened my eyes, the lion’s jacket and shirt were off. He had tattoos on his torso, too, I saw. Across his chest he had a swirling pattern that was like a tribal tattoo, only colored blue and red, like the dagger. His six-pack, hard-muscled belly was tattooed with two daggers, brothers of the one on his hand, with drops of blood dripping down toward his cock.

I pulled my dress over my head (careful not to disturb the mask). Then he leaned down, lifted me, and undid my bra with one expert motion. My small, pert breasts were loose. My nipples went hard. He tweaked them casually, and then knelt down and fished a condom from his pants pocket.

“You’re well prepared,” I commented.

“You should always be well prepared,” he replied, sliding the condom onto his rock-hard cock. “You never know when you’ll meet a sexy as hell wolf, do you?”

I opened my arms to him, gesturing him. I had never wanted so badly for a man to be inside of me. Losing my virginity, and the spattering of experiences after that, were nothing compared with this. I had never felt such heat, such intensity. My arms and legs, my hands, my feet, my breasts, my nipples, my clit and deep inside my pussy—all of it ached. All of it begged to be touched by the lion. He fell atop my, bracing his arms around either side of my head. I reached up and grabbed his muscles, feeling the curvature of them, how they bulged. He was built like a quarterback, tight and honed and muscular.

The lion looked into my eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

His cock slid into my pussy. It was so huge that all I felt for the first few minutes was a white-hot pain. He thrust into me slowly, opening my pussy, and then it got used to him and spread. It opened for his cock, and then the pain was replaced with pleasure, a deep pleasure that sent hot tendrils throughout my body. I gripped his arms harder, digging my fingernails in. “Fuck me hard,” I squeaked. “Fuck me
hard
.”

The lion’s gaze turned to my breasts, his breath coming quick, his cock deep inside of me. And then he began to pound me. He forced his cock deep inside of me, pounding me hard, in and out, in and out so fast that I couldn’t distinguish any single movement. All I felt was burning. My pussy was on fire. That was how it felt, like everything below my waist was engulfed in flames. I never knew fucking could feel so damn good.

I lifted my legs, pointed my toes, and bounced up and down no his huge cock. He fucked me hard. Sweat covered both of us, dripping from his muscular pecs onto my breasts, but I didn’t care. We were two animals, fucking madly. I moved my hands from his arms to his back, which was as muscled as the rest of him, and dragged my fingernails down his skin.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Fuck, yes.”

His voice was like a trigger. When I heard it, something fired inside of me. His cock pounded into my sweet spot, each thrust jolting heat through me. My pussy went super-tight around his cock, so tight that I could feel him forcing past the tightness to keep fucking me. I had never squirted before—I didn’t even know I
could
—but I did then. My head became heavy and I clamped my eyes shut and buried my face in his sweaty chest, pressing the wolf mask against his skin, and I squirted all over his huge, hard cock. He kept pounding me as I came, my screams muffled by the mask and his chest, and then he grabbed my throat, choking me.

He released me for a short second. “Do you like it like that?” he breathed.

I had never
tried
it like that, but the idea of the lion grabbing me, choking me, turned me on even more. “Yes,” I nodded. “Do it.”

He grabbed my throat and I was utterly helpless. His cock moved fast, pounding me, and then I came again. I came hard, so hard that I didn’t even realize that he was coming, too, until afterward, until he rolled to the side and lay on his back.

I leaned up in the bed, sober now, my limbs aching, panting like after a ten-mile run.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” the lion said matter-of-factly. It didn’t have the ingratiating, flattering tone that other men would use when saying something like that. He really meant it, I felt.

“Me, too,” I said honestly.

We said little else. When we dressed, we kept our masks on. Neither of us asked for the other’s name. I think we both knew that that would ruin it. This night had been something magical. Knowing who the lion was, knowing who the wolf was, would break the magic.

Eli

The morning after I met the wolf woman, with her perky breasts and her amazing figure, with her tight, hot pussy and her amazing ass which I could not get out of my head, I got a text from my mom saying she wanted to meet. I really could not get this woman out of my head. I’d booked the hotel room so I didn’t have to travel through the city at night when I was drunk, but I’d never imagined having amazing sex like that with a complete stranger. My nose was filled with the scent of her perfume, which was a curious and beautiful mixture of fresh-cut grass and rain.

Before meeting Mom, I checked out of the hotel and rode the bus to my apartment in the center of the city. I was a second-year at Bristol University (I had left the halls and the animal-like living behind, mostly) and now rented a one-bedroom slap-bang in the middle of Bristol. I showered and changed, my lion mask atop my wardrobe in case I needed it again. Breakfast was a quick bowl of cereal and a huge mug of coffee to fight away the mild hangover.

I never learned her name. That was what got me the most. I had spent a night with this woman without ever learning her name. It was horrible. I needed to know her name. I needed to know her. She was easily the best sex I’d ever had. When I’d told her that, I’d meant it. I was usually pretty calm, pretty laid back. I didn’t go crazy with anxiety when I had to give presentations at university, like some of my classmates did, and I wasn’t squeamish about talking to women. But when I thought of the wolf woman, I felt like a boy at a school disco. My palms became sweaty and I found myself staring at the floor.

I rode the bus to the café, climbed off, and waited just outside. It was a Saturday morning, and Bristol was alive. Students were everywhere, gamers with baggy t-shirts and long shorts, glamorous women with expensive handbags, determined students with glasses and tons of books cradled precariously in their arms, and then the non-students, the single mothers pushing prams and the men in suits with sausage rolls from the bakery in one hand and their smart phones in the other. The street where Mom wanted to meet me was one of the quieter ones, but I could see through the glass that the place was still half full. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. But her body, the way she moaned, the way we had just
done it
. . .

I shook my head, as though something as simple as that could shake the thoughts of this woman away. “Yeah right,” I muttered, heart still pounding with the thought of her, palms sweatier than if I’d just spent two hours at the gym. Mom didn’t seem to notice, however—Annabelle Finch was wearing a colorful dress that made her look like an aging hippie (in a good way). Her hair was long and flowing and only tinged with slight bits of gray here and there. She rose to her feet with her long dress flowing around her like an aura.

“Eli,” she smiled. “You made it!”

“Yeah, Mom, I made it,” I said.

I loved Mom, of course I loved her, but she did lean toward the melodramatic at times. Take right now, for instance. Her face did not only
light up
at the sight of me. It was like a supernova exploded behind her eyes. Light bloomed from the sockets and exploded out of her. She seemed like the happiest person in the world. One of my roommates in first year had jokingly asked: “Your mom is on drugs or something, right? I’ve never seen someone so happy.” I’d told him that she wasn’t, but I understood why he thought she might be.

She threw her arms around me in a huge embrace and kissed both my cheeks. I wiped them and made an
urghhhhhh
sound, which made her laugh, as it always did. When we sat down, I was a bit calmer. My heart was still beating quickly, but I was able to relegate it to the background. The setting was not appropriate for the kind of thoughts I was having. I pushed myself into the room, into the moment. But always, in the backgrounds, a constant stream of thoughts ran through my mind:

I didn’t get her name. She was so damn sexy. I wish I could see her again. Who was she? She could be anybody. Maybe that’s why it’s so hot. Why, why didn’t I get her name?

“You seem distracted,” Mom said. “Is something wrong?” She tilted her head in that you-can-tell-me pose.

“The party finished late,” I said. “That’s all.”

“So nothing’s wrong?”

“Nope,” I lied.
Except that I met the sexiest, horniest, dirtiest woman in the world last night and had the best sex I’ve ever had and I don’t know who she is!
But that’s not the sort of thing you tell your mother, is it?