Forbidden.
Irresistible.
That’s when I know that I’m depraved. Because the fact that they’re totally off-limits makes me hot. My soon-to-be stepbrothers are what I want … and all I want.
Closing my eyes, I imagine them here, squeezed into my double bed on either side of me. Of course there’s no way we’d all fit on here together, but this is a fantasy, so I go with it.
My hand slips inside my panties, fingering my already-slick flesh as I relive our moments in the taxi. The scent of them, clean and masculine; the vibration of Brock’s voice against my skin; their hands sending me to ecstasy.
I rub my clit, slow, then faster, but it doesn’t work. Even the memory of my mind-blowing triple climax isn’t enough to send me over again.
I need the real thing.
For another half an hour, I toss and turn, wrestling with temptation. Trying to reason with myself. It’s late; they’ll be asleep. They’ll think I’m rude.
They didn’t really mean all those things they said. They’ll think I’m easy. They’ll know I’m desperate. Don’t be desperate, Megan.
None of it works. My body is aching with need, and there’s not a vibrator in the world that could do the trick, let alone my fingers.
Only warm muscled flesh, skin to skin, their mouths and hands all over me, is going to get me off.
Finally, I give up and find my phone. I tense as I turn it on, breathing a sigh of relief when I see Jason hasn’t called again. Maybe he’s finally given up. Or passed out.
Flipping through my contacts, I search for Brock. Then Cody. Then Easton. Even Beast. Nothing. Did Brock forget to save after he put the number in?
Then inspiration strikes.
I search for Ride. And there it is — the Rockin’ Ride Service. I can’t help grinning as I type out a message.
You guys awake?
I hit send, and hold my breath.
Begging for It
Brock
I’m not sure what’s bugging me more — the engagement announcement, the state of my Porsche Panamera, or the temptation of Coach’s sexy daughter. My mood would be best served by a session at the gym, but I already had my workout this morning, and I need to rest for Sunday’s game. Tonight, beating my brother’s ass at Madden 17 will have to do.
I’m close to taking him down, but he keeps interrupting my focus.
“What about Mom and Coach?” he says, not for the first time. He brought it up on the ride home, but I changed the subject.
“What about them?” I say. “You can’t tell me you were surprised.”
“I guess not. Just… again? How many times is she going to get married?”
Cody’s player comes out of nowhere and pulls an interception. “Fuck!” I say. I know his talking is just a strategy to distract me from the game. And it’s working, dammit. “Maybe we’ll be traded to another team by the time they get divorced.”
“Damn, that's a cynical view,” Cody says.
“You're right. Maybe the fourth time will be a charm and Mom will ride off into the sunset with Coach. Fuck, I really wish she hadn't gotten involved with him.”
“Says the guy who had his fingers inside the coach’s daughter this afternoon.”
I smile at the memory and my brother breaks through my defense and scores. “Fuck!” I hurl a pillow at him, lean back and close my eyes for a few seconds, remembering the feeling of Megan’s soft ass squirming over my hard cock in the taxi.
“I'll have more than my fingers inside her next time,” I say.
“You'r
e not worried about Coach or Mom finding out?”
“Fuck no,” I say as I watch Cody’s kicker score the extra point.
“I'm not sure Megan's going to let anything happen again,” he says. “She was pretty freaked out by the engagement.”
“She's going to be begging for it,” I retort.
As if on cue, my phone vibrates on the coffee table. I may not be winning the game today, but I know women. I can't help but laugh as I slide it over to show Cody.
“‘You guys awake?’” he reads aloud. He laughs as he starts to type a response.
Forbidden Fruit
Cody
Hey, Megalicious… I type.
Brock?
No, it’s Cody. What’s happening?
I can’t sleep.
It’s nearly midnight. I slouch down into the couch and grin. Need us to come help you relax? I write.
Brock’s watching me with a questioning look. “Megalicious can’t sleep,” I explain.
Almost a minute passes before her next message. I need… something, she replies.
We can be there in ten minutes.
My dad wouldn’t like that.
Brock’s still watching closely. I hand him the phone, knowing what will happen next. He taps away at the screen, pauses, taps some more, and then abruptly gets up. “C’mon. Time to go pluck some forbidden fruit.”
I shake my head at his choice of words, switch off the TV, and follow him to the door. We take the elevator down to the garage and Brock tosses me the keys. “Truck,” he says. He’s still in a mood about his car. We have an F-150 and a Mustang, but the Porsche is his baby.
I drive us over to Coach’s house, but before I turn onto his street, Brock tells me to park around the corner. He sends a text, and a response chimes back immediately.
“What’s going on?” I say.