Stepbrother Desires (Billionaire Contemporary Romance)

Copyright © 2015 Bianca James

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in full, without express
written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief
passages in a review.

All characters
appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living
or dead is purely coincidental. All characters depicted are aged 18+ and all
sexual acts depicted are consensual and occur between non blood relatives.

From the time she
opened her Mom’s laptop as a small child and wrote her first story, Bianca
James knew she wanted to be a writer, although her Mom probably wouldn’t
approve of her current stories.

As an award winning
freelancer, Bianca has made her mark in the world of magazine journalism over
the past decade, during which time she has been a voracious reader of erotica
and romance.

Now, she has found
her true calling – writing hot, uncompromising and highly entertaining erotic
romance.

With a penchant for
sexual fantasies (yes, we all have them, even if we like to think that we
don’t) Bianca’s stories are never predictable and always push the sexual
boundaries to their limits, including some acts which many may regard as taboo.
Never say never is a recurring theme in her stories as Bianca believes that
exploring sexual boundaries can have a profound and exciting impact on other
aspects of life.

Bianca enjoys her
new calling with a passion and hopes you will enjoy reading her stories as much
as she does writing them.

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Shit! It
really shouldn’t be this hard. Should it?
I thought,
just before I landed square on my ass.

I’d seen the
bimbos on YouTube doing this stuff and they made it look so easy. What should
have been a smooth, sexy dismount from the dance pole quickly turned into a
total train wreck. I hit the deck hard and fast. Straight away I knew there was
going to be some serious bruising the next day.

After months of
practice and countless lessons, I was still struggling with some of the basic
pole dancing moves and spins I needed to execute before I could progress to the
more advanced routines. But, things weren’t going to plan. Alright, that was
the biggest understatement since Noah said ‘looks like rain’. I couldn’t even
see
the plan from where I was standing.

What I could
see, though, were the chances of remaining financially independent and being
able to pay my college tuition as a Pole Dancer ebbing away by the minute. I
couldn’t let that happen. There was no way I was going back home and asking for
a handout. Not while
he
was still there and not while there was even a
slim chance of making it on my own.

It seemed like a
great idea at the time. After all the kickboxing lessons, many months of
serious weight training, regular Swing Dance classes and some intense yoga
sessions, I thought I was athletic and flexible enough to pull off some decent
moves on the pole. It looked like a pretty easy way to earn my living expenses
and college tuition. The money sounded good and from what I could tell, you
didn’t exactly need a doctorate in nuclear physics to get a job in a ‘Titty
Bar’.

OK, so now
you’re judging me. I can tell. Sure, Pole Dancing isn’t exactly glamorous.
Yeah, it has a sleazy reputation. But that reputation is more because of the
dirty, drunken old men who hang out at the strip clubs than the girls who
actually work there. Well, that’s how I see it, anyway.

And wasn’t it only
a few years ago that they tried to get Pole Dancing into the London Olympics.
So, technically, it’s a sport, then, isn’t it?

A lot of things had
changed since I left home for college, trying to escape the aching need, the
hollowness I felt at being in the same house as my stepbrother. One of the biggest
changes, though, was how I looked. I barely recognized myself as I looked at my
reflection in the huge mirrored wall that surrounded the pole stations in the
studio. Even lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, I could see how obvious it
was that I wasn’t the curvy, OK, chubby stepsister any more.
That
girl
was so yesterday. Even my mom, who hadn’t seen me in almost a year, would barely
recognize the lithe, toned, hourglass figured girl who stared straight back at
me. All the hours at the gym, kickboxing classes and a hell of a lot of
discipline in the kitchen had finally paid off in spades.

Maybe I was
ready to meet someone. Someone special. Someone I could truly be with, heart
and soul. Someone I wasn’t forbidden to fall in love with.

Laying there,
trying to regain my composure I realized how far I’d come, how much I’d grown
up, since I left home. A couple of years ago, I’d have been so embarrassed at
making such as ass of myself that I probably would have cried like a girl and
run to the bathroom. But that wasn’t the new me. Not now. I wasn’t a runner
like I’d once been. I’d learned to stand my ground and tough it out. I was a
better person for it, too. If only I’d been tougher back then. If only I had
the strength not to have run away. Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to go to
college in another city. Maybe I wouldn’t need to get a job in a Titty Bar to
pay the bills. If only.

“Hey, Anna! You
OK down there? You haven’t pulled anything, have you?” Kandice’s voice broke
through my reminiscence. “Back on the pole, girl. That steel ain’t gonna work
itself, now.”

Kandice was a
great instructor, but she was all business and I was sure she pushed me a lot
harder than the other girls in the class. Maybe she knew I was serious about
this, unlike most of the others who were just there for a bit of fun and
fitness. I’m sure some of them were only there so they could tell their friends
and coworkers about their pole dancing classes to make their otherwise mundane
lives seem less tragic and a lot more interesting than they really were.

The building
maintenance guy peeled the last of the backing layers from my name decal, now
stuck permanently, or as permanent as anything gets around here, on the crystal
clear glass wall of my corner office.

T.J Reynolds III

VP
Organizational Planning

Named after my
great grandfather and founder of the Reynolds Oil & Gas, Tyler Jefferson
Reynolds, I stared at the name a little too long as the maintenance guy
shuffled awkwardly, in respectful silence, unsure whether to take his leave or
not.

“Have I done
something wrong, sir?” he asked timidly.

“Yes,” I said
softly to myself. “Oh, no, sorry, everything’s fine. It’s perfect. Thanks,” I
said aloud. “I’m not used to seeing my name all
formal
like that. I
guess I’m not just plain old ‘Ty’ around here, am I? I’m not in college
anymore.”

Unsure how to
respond to my rhetorical question, the maintenance guy, Al, according to the
badge pinned to his sharply pressed cotton drill shirt, picked up his tool box
and turned to leave. I suddenly felt
different
. Like things had already
changed for me and were going to change a whole lot more now that I was
becoming an integral part of the family business and people like Al were going
to be treating me different to what I was used to. My fun in the sun college
days were well and truly behind me, now. Al and a whole bunch of other employees
were going to be counting on me to make decisions and keep them in a job.

“Well, Son,
how’s it feel to be a permanent fixture around here?” I felt my father’s hand
clamp down on my shoulder as he approached from behind. We both stared at my
name and title on the glass.

“Surreal, Dad.
That’s the only word for it.”

“Now, don’t get
too comfortable. You’ve got a lot to prove and the board will be watching you.
Closely. You understand?”

“Yeah, I know,
Dad. I’ve heard it all before.” I tried hard to remain respectful while we were
in earshot of the staff, but it still rankled that he kept beating the same old
drum over and over again, like I was a child and had to have everything
repeated.

“And that
signage isn’t straight.” He shook his head as if to admonish me for accepting
such shoddy work. “Get it done again. Call maintenance and put a rocket up
their ass. That’s your first job.” He turned on his heels and was striding to
his office before I could tell him that it was actually perfectly straight.

It had always
been like that with dad. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. Anything I
thought was alright or that I enjoyed, well, he’d either tell me I could do
better or belittle my interests or hobbies.

And when it came
to women, he was even more acid tongued. I sometimes thought it was because of
him that my stepsister, who I nicknamed ‘Wimp’ left home the way she did, not
even saying goodbye to him, or me when she moved out. Her mother, dad’s third
wife, always sided with him. She knew which side her bread was buttered on,
that’s for sure. That’s dad, though. He can be such a narcissistic bastard. An
insensitive one at that. He’ll destroy a relationship between mother and
daughter, stepfather and stepdaughter, stepbrother and stepsister without even
noticing the fallout, least of all give a damn. My old man can be a real prick
sometimes.

I don’t know
why, but thinking of Wimp creates a strange sense of longing in the pit of my
stomach.

What the hell
is that about?

I tried to shake
it off and proceeded to unpack my box of personal crap to make my office feel
more homely. The nagging feeling of emptiness lingered for the rest of the day.

Something was wrong.
Like, seriously wrong. Excruciating pain. Every muscle aching. Every limb blistering
with pain even before I moved a single muscle. I hoped someone got the license
number of the bus that ran me over. At least I could sue someone’s ass off.

Advil.
Bathroom cabinet. Too far away. No, you can do it.

Gritting my
teeth, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and started to stand up. Bad
idea. Every joint, every muscle fiber screamed in protest. The bathroom might
as well have been on the next block. Walking the few steps to reach the Advil
seemed like a gargantuan effort.

Come on, stop
being such a wimp. The sooner you pop some pills, the sooner you can start
feeling human again.
I tried to convince myself,
but I’m suddenly reminded of my stepbrother. Again. I used to hate it when he
called me that. He was always making fun of me and picking on me. I should have
hated him for that. Instead, I …

That’s when I noticed
the bruising and thankfully, it distracted me from my thoughts. There had been
a couple of small ones yesterday, but overnight those had grown larger and
darker. And they’d multiplied. My arms and legs were covered in them. Big,
ugly, discolored patches.
Could this get any worse?
  Struggling to
straighten up, I realized that, yes, it can get worse. I hobbled toward the
bathroom, each step a new adventure in pain.

Maybe, just
maybe, I overdid it a little in class. Alright, dammit, a lot. I want to get
this nailed. It’s so damn hard and I have to make this work. If I don’t, I’ll
end up having to go back to …
I couldn’t even
finish the thought. I tried to direct my attention to how I came to be in so
much pain in the first place.

When I first
joined the Pole Dance class, it started off pretty easy. Then it got real challenging
mighty fast as the basic techniques and spins were put together to form complex
routines, requiring the transitions that I quickly learned to dread and a great
deal of coordination and strength. There were countless spills and a hell of a lot
of bruises along the way.

I’d done well
learning the classic Fireman, Front Hook and Back Hook Spins, and I thought I
looked pretty hot when I finally got the hang of the Martini Spin, if I do say
so myself. After all, what could be hotter than a dance move named after a
cocktail!

It was around
that time that I met Melissa. She approached me during a rest break.

“Hi. I’m Melissa.
I couldn’t help noticing how good you are at this. Have you done it before?”

No! Not a
talker. Go away. I’m not here to make friends or listen to your problems.
At the time, there was no way I was in the mood to be meeting
people and making friends.

“No, never done
it before. I’m Anna, by the way. You’re working the pole behind me, right?”

“That’s me. I
nearly walked out when I got here for the first class. I was so nervous.
Seriously, I thought I was going to be sick. Then I saw you and you looked so
confident and at ease. It kind of made me feel more relaxed, so I stayed. Glad
I did, too. It’s hard work, but so much fun.” Melissa replied, looking
awkwardly at the bottled water stacked on the table behind me.

“Sorry. I’m in
your way,” I said as I handed a bottle to my classmate. “I’ve been called many
things in my time, but
calming influence
has never come up before.”

“I hope you
don’t mind, but I’ve been watching what you do. It really helps me follow
along. I’m struggling with some of the moves, so I just follow your lead.”

“That’s fine,
just promise you won’t laugh when I try my Bunny Slide or Wide Squat and end up
looking totally not sexy. I’m OK with the athletic side of it, but I’ve never
thought of myself as the sexy, seductive type. I feel so awkward doing that stuff.”
Wow, I can’t believe I actually opened up like that to a complete stranger
.

“Really? Are you
serious? You looked awesome on the pole, but when you do the floorwork, you
look like you really own it. Not trying to weird you out, but I thought you looked
drop dead sexy.”

“Well, thank —”

 “OK, ladies.
Who’s ready to up the ante and try a Cross Knee Release?” shouted Kandice as
she clapped her hands, signaling the end of the break.