His words send me hurtling over the edge, the rush so unexpected it takes my breath away. My orgasm washes over me. It’s so overpowering that I start to scream, but he covers my mouth with his, his tongue warring with mine as he thrusts inside me again – once, twice, three times.
When he comes, I feel it. I feel every bit of it. He floods me with his warm seed, and the sensation only intensifies my orgasm.
Afterward, he stands unmoving, still inside me, my legs wrapped around him. We’re frozen in place, neither of us speaking. The only sound that cuts through the stillness in the hallway is the sound of our breathing.
"I'm going to do that again as soon as we get in the room," Albie whispers.
Okay? That's all I can muster?
It’s possible that fucking Albie might have made my IQ drop by ten points.
When he slides me down from the wall, slipping out of me and pulling up his pants, he looks at me approvingly. "You're disheveled," he says.
My hand automatically goes to my hair, then to my mouth, feeling the presence of his lips still on mine. "I feel disheveled."
"It looks good on you," he says. "Like that night in Vegas. You’re meant to be disheveled."
He takes my hand, and I walk with him the ten yards or so to his room, my thighs pressed together.
I can feel his cum dripping from me, and the sensation makes me feel dirty.
I feel filthy and used.
And I think I like it.
The realization shocks me, and I still must look stunned when Albie turns around at the door. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say, shrugging. This is definitely not something I'm ready to put into words.
"You’re giving me a look."
"Um, I think I need a towel or something."
Albie grins. "That's kind of hot."
"It's kind of gross."
"Hot," he says, pressing his thumb against a keypad at the door. The door swings open, and he quickly walks across the room toward the bathroom. "Make yourself comfortable."
Make yourself comfortable.
Like I'm a guest and not the stepsister he just fucked up against the wall.
Albie reappears with a warm washcloth in his hand, bending down to kiss me while he slides it between my legs. There's something incredibly erotic about the way he moves it over my skin and cleans me.
When he’s finished, he stands. “I’m going to let Noah know I’m indisposed for the next few hours,” he says, turning.
“Wait – what if someone comes looking for me?”
He turns and looks at me with a cocky grin. “Then they’ll find you underneath me, I guess.”
When I come back from giving Noah a bullshit excuse for missing whatever the hell is on the agenda this afternoon – some scheduled activity, no doubt, even though we’re supposed to be having a relaxing summer – Belle is naked.
Belle is naked, in my bedroom.
She’s walking toward the bathroom, her perfect ass toward me, and I stand there for a second, watching her.
This is the first time I’ve seen her totally naked.
She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Did you make an excuse for me?” she asks. "Security assigned me a bodyguard, you know."
"I did," I say. "Your bodyguard knows you're here."
"What?" She spins around toward me, looking at me with wide eyes. Her hand is on her hip, her perky breasts visible now that she’s facing me, and I make no attempt to hide the fact that I’m ogling her.
And I don’t make any attempt to conceal the raging hard-on I get from looking at her. She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.
"Relax," I say. "I told him you're here because we're discussing my involvement with the charity work you're going to be doing."
"In your bedroom," she says, scowling. "Noah isn't stupid."
"No," I agree. I'm sure he suspects something is going on between Belle and I. "But he's very loyal."
She purses her lips for a moment, as if she’s considering leaving. “You’re staring at me like I’m a piece of meat.”
“I haven’t seen you naked before. I’m admiring the view,” I say. “I enjoy looking at what’s mine.”
“Has anyone told you you’re kind of a misogynistic prick?”
“More times than you think.”
She laughs. “I’m not sure I like someone referring to me as his possession,” she says.
“You liked it a few minutes ago,” I say, walking past her and pausing long enough to slap her ass. Just to emphasize the whole misogynistic prick thing. “Besides, I’m just stating a fact.”
She follows me into the bathroom, standing in the doorway as I turn on the water in the oversized tub. “You think owning me is a fact?”
Crossing the room, I keep my eyes on hers as I reach between her legs, my fingers pressing against her clit. When she inhales, her breasts rise, her nipples grazing my chest. “You’re saying it’s not?” I ask. “I thought I left my mark a few minutes ago.”
A crimson flush rises to her cheeks, and she opens her mouth but doesn’t speak.
“Don’t leave your mouth hanging open like that, luv,” I say, crossing the bathroom to shut off the water. “It only tempts me.”
I don’t wait for her to respond before I disrobe and step into the tub.
“A bath?” she asks, watching me from the door.
She pads across the marble floor with light steps, and dips a foot in the water. “You should stop ordering me around.”
I wait until she sinks into the water to respond. “You should stop doing what I tell you to do.”
Belle sits on the other side of the bathtub, like she’s suddenly chaste and trying to keep something from happening between us. “What?” she asks, when she catches me watching her.
“This is weird.”
“You mean sitting in a tub with your stepbrother?” I ask. “What could be weird about that?”
“Stop calling yourself that.”
“I only do it because you’re so hung up on it.”
“I’m not hung up on it.”
“Sitting in the tub with my wife, then.”
Belle’s eyes widen, but the corners of her mouth curl up and she splashes me playfully with water. “I told you not to call me that, either.”
“I thought we already established you don’t do the telling here, luv.”
She laughs. “You have some major control issues.”
“I’m a prince,” I say. “What do you expect? And I already know you enjoy being told what to do, despite your protests otherwise.”
She smiles and arches an eyebrow. “And what if I don’t?"
"Come over here," I tell her.
It's not a question. There's no trace of a question in my tone.
She studies me for a long time before relenting, sliding across the expansive tub until she's face-to-face with me. "And?"
"Why?" she asks, but she turns before I can answer. Pulling her back tightly, I press my hardness against her.
"Because I want to feel you against me." I slide my hands over her arms, across her breasts, down her stomach. When my lips hover near her neck, she tilts her head to the side, responding to my touch, and I breathe her in deeply.
"Did you just smell me?"
"You totally just smelled me. I heard you sniff."
"I like the way you smell."
She finally relaxes in my arms, as I run my palms over her taut stomach. When she leans her head back against my chest, I sit there, holding her for a long time.
The rational part of my brain tells me I should get the hell out of this bathtub.
I should get the hell away from her.
This feels too much
like something more than it can be.
I’m not this man, the one sitting in the bathtub holding a girl like this.
I’m not this man, who’s sitting here still, in one place with Belle.
I’m not this man who feels content.
"You love this place,” Belle says abruptly.
I love being here with her.
“This whole thing,” she says. “The summer house.”
“We all used to love it here -- Alex, especially. Now, not so much – all of her friends are in hotter cities, and there’s no club scene here.”
“We had a place on Cape Cod like this,” she says. “I mean, not like this place. It was a small summer home, my father’s first huge purchase after his company became really big. He kept it, even after he was really wealthy and could get a huge place in the Hamptons or whatever.” She pauses for a long moment before speaking again. “He was a good man. It was hard for my mother, after he died.”
“It was sudden,” I say. I looked up the stories about her father’s death, but that doesn’t mean I know how it was for her when it happened.
"It happened on a Friday night when my parents were out at dinner. He was having chest pain all afternoon. My mother had a hard time after that," she says. "She wasn't always so…political…you know. She used to be warmer than she is now."
“I think she makes my father happy,” I tell her honestly. “She seems to care about him, and that’s good for him. He wasn’t the same after my mother died."
"What was your mother like?"
"Joyful," I tell her. "She had a way of making the huge palace feel like a home. She knew everyone by name – all the staff, and the names of their kids. She knew who had an aging parent or sick child. Everyone loved her, my father most of all. The cancer took her joy away slowly. It bled the life from her. I think it did the same to my father. Until your mother came along."
"I hope she makes him happy," Belle says.
"I hope so too," I tell her. "Alex and I have been a disappointment to him."
"Albie," she says, her voice tender. "I'm sure that's not true."
"You can't ever live up to a ghost," I say. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about our parents anymore."
"Then what should we talk about?" she asks softly.
She does it without protest, sliding onto my lap, and I bring my lips to hers. I kiss her tenderly, softly, my tongue finding hers like it’s finding its way home. I kiss her like that for far too long until she breaks away from me. “No more talking,” I say.
Belle smiles, her hands around the back of my neck. She raises herself up so that she's looking down at me with her breasts in my face. Hovering above me with one leg on either side of me, she reaches between my legs and wraps her hand around the base of my cock. Teasing me, she rubs the head of my cock against her clit. “Whatever should we do, then?”
“This.” I reach up to grab a handful of hair at the nape of her neck, and I pull her face down to mine, my other hand grasping her hip. I lower her onto my cock, her slick wet pussy so tight I can’t imagine anything in the world better than being inside her. She’s warm and wet; the water in the tub hasn’t washed that away.
Belle moans my name. Her eyes close, and when she leans forward with her forehead near mine, her hair falls around our faces like a curtain, the ends curling into the water and dragging it down.
When she rocks against me, pushing my cock deep inside her, she throws her head back. It drives me crazy, the way she looks with her eyes closed and her head tilted, like she’s savoring the sensation of my cock inside her. "You love it," I say. "You love the way my cock feels in your tight pussy."
"Yes," she murmurs. "I love the way you feel."
"This slick wet pussy is mine," I say. I’m not sure if I’m reassuring her or myself. My hands explore her breasts as she picks up momentum. Having this girl riding me, taking her pleasure from me, makes me want to explode inside her.
"Yes," she says. Then she moans the word again when I take her breast in my mouth, my tongue flicking slow circles over her nipple.
I pull her close, my hands roaming her back and arms, fingers tangling in her hair as she rides me, gripping then flesh of her ass. “This ass is mine.”
“Yours,” she breathes.
“All of it,” I tell her. I spread her ass cheeks as she fucks me, and push my finger against her asshole.
When she registers my touch she gasps, inhaling sharply and looking at me with wide eyes. “I’ve never…”
“I know,” I say. “But I want all of you. Every inch of you is mine. Say it.”
“Yours,” she whispers, pushing me deeper inside her. I press my finger against her asshole, slowly, letting her get used to the sensation. She rocks on my cock, riding me at her own pace, only once hesitating. I revel in the way her expression changes, the way she winces at my finger initially, but then lets go, pain changing to unabashed pleasure. “Albie,” she whispers. “That’s so…good.”
“Relax, luv,” I tell her. “I want to fill all of you.”
She whimpers, then moans louder as she lets go. She throws her head back, beginning to lose control. My finger pressed just slightly inside her tight hole, I let her ride me until I can feel her on edge, her pussy swelling around me.
When she makes the little whimpering noises that signals she's close, I pull her off my cock and stand, my hands on her waist.
“What are you doing?”
I step out of the tub and reach for her. She stands on the floor for a second before I wrap her in a giant white towel, then slide one hand behind her knees and lift her off her feet. "I want you out here."
"I'm dripping wet," she protests while I turn to reach inside the bedside table. When she sees what I have, her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“I told you I want all of you, luv.”
“I don’t know if I can…” she starts, but her voice trails off, her eyes fixated on me as I apply lubricant to the butt plug.
“All of you,” I say. “I want everything.”
She squeals when I climb onto the bed, but her legs spread immediately, like a reflex. “I’ve never done this before, Albie,”