Stepbrother Master (5 page)

The moment the reception started, I put as much distance between myself and Ford as possible. I was still painfully aware that he was watching me, but at the same time,
pleasantly tipsy and happy for Mom. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on was in the air, a kind of … lightheartedness. Like the future was nothing to worry about—either because it didn't exist, or because everything would turn out okay in the end. I wasn't sure. Mom had grabbed happiness wherever she found it, and that hadn't always gone well, but things eventually worked out for her.
Maybe I should try that attitude, too. Stop thinking so hard about life and just live it.

Easier said than done. Which was why I danced with every man who asked, even dragging old Griff out onto the floor, all in an effort to avoid noticing how delicious Ford looked in his tux. It was a losing battle.

              As I danced with TJ, Ford stared at me in a way that brought heat to my cheeks. Angry, lustful, possessive. I forced myself to look away and back to TJ's face, letting the hand I'd rested on his shoulder drift to the back of his neck.

“You havin' a good summer, Miss Emma?” TJ asked.

“Fair enough,” I replied with a smile. I couldn't help liking TJ. Probably nobody could. He had a gentlemanly way about him, just rough enough around the edges to be even more charming. And his looks didn't hurt—he had a body like a Western romance novel cover.

“Well, if there's anything I can do for you, just give me a holler. Like a ride into town … on a horse or in a truck, whichever you like better.” He flashed a crooked grin.

I laughed. Mac would have said something like, “a private tour of the bunkhouse.”

“Hang on, you got a little somethin' there.” He brushed a stray lock of hair off my face.

Behind TJ's head, Russ cornered Ford at his Emma-watching post by the edge of the tent. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but Ford looked more irritated with every second. At least he had finally taken a break from ripping off my dress with his eyes. Relieved and oddly disappointed, I tried to focus on dancing with TJ again.

But even a tongue-lashing from his father—now my stepfather, too, I reminded myself—didn't stop Ford for long.
As soon as Russ headed off in Mom's direction, Ford strode over the dance floor, coming closer until neither of us could ignore him.

He and TJ exchanged a long glance. Communicating what, I wasn't exactly sure, but the tension in the atmosphere was unmistakable. Just as I thought TJ had landed in deep shit, Ford turned his full attention to me. “I believe you promised me a dance, Emma.”

I didn't promise you a damn thing
, I was tempted to say. But I didn't want to pitch a fit in the middle of Mom's reception. I glanced at TJ to gauge his feelings and saw him already on the edge of backing off. And I had to admit, the idea of getting close to Ford wasn't unappealing.
Oh, what the hell—one dance can't hurt anything.
I nodded at Ford.

With a quick farewell, my dance partner bailed. TJ was far from stupid; he knew not to waste any time standing between Ford and something he wanted. I felt suddenly paranoid. How much did the ranch hand know? Maybe he thought Ford was just being overprotective of his new stepsister. There was no way I could dig for information without making him suspicious. And if he
did
think there was something going on between us … would he keep his mouth shut, since Ford was his boss, or was there a possibility of this getting back to our parents?

But before I could wonder too much, Ford practically yanked me into his arms. I stiffened against him, startled and way too aware of the body beneath that tux. After avoiding him for so long, his close proximity now gave me a head-rush, much more potent and dangerous than my champagne buzz.

He bent his head. I shivered at his breath tickling my ear. “Just because they didn't do a bridesmaid-groomsmen dance,” he said slowly, “did you think you'd get through tonight without me having you in my arms?”

“Why are you doing this?” I hissed. It came out much breathier than I had intended. “What if someone—”

“There’s absolutely nothing improper about me dancing with my new stepsister. It’d be strange if I didn’t.”

Was I imagining the grin in his voice? Smug bastard. Maybe a brother-sister dance wasn't inherently weird, but he held me way too close, with his hand not even an inch above my ass. We were damn near grinding together. My face heated when he hardened against my belly.

“Don’t call me your stepsister if you’re going to rub
this
against me,” I retorted, nudging my hip into his crotch for emphasis.

Ford's gaze didn't waver. “I can’t help what you do to me.”

The note of sincerity in his voice gave me pause. I had meant to embarrass him, but he wasn't even trying to conceal how much he wanted me right now. He was completely unashamed of himself—his body, his desires. The realization filled me with equal parts envy and shock.

But I was even more shocked at myself when I pressed closer. And dear God, the bulge in his pants felt huge.

Ford's voice turned even huskier, almost a growl: “You shouldn’t do that unless you’re prepared to deal with the consequences.”

A thrill went down my spine. I did this to him. And he did it to me—the hot pull in my belly was like a magnet. We had drawn each other in and now he was here, ready to claim me as soon as I said the word. I felt a strange, electric juxtaposition of power and vulnerability.

Before my better judgment could slap me down, I replied, “I think I can handle any consequences you can dream up.”

Heh heh. That got a reaction out of him.
His eyes sparked with interest, then narrowed slightly. “I don’t take well to little girls who like to tease when they’ve got a little champagne-fueled courage.”

“It’s not the champagne.” That might be the excuse I'd use tomorrow morning, but right now, I was drunk on something else. “And I may not be as experienced as you, but I’m not teasing.” I swallowed, steeling myself, then confessed, “I can’t stop thinking about it. Hell, I even
dream
about it.”

He studied me with a sharp eye as we edged away from the main crowd of dancers. “You better be sure that you want this, because you just might get more than you bargained for.”

This was it. The point of no return. Not because I was scared of Ford—if I changed my mind at the last minute, I knew he'd let me go. But right now, I still had plausible deniability. I could walk away clean, blame everything that had happened between us on bad luck, hormones, whatever … and spend the rest of the summer being tortured by his panty-creaming presence. If I said yes, I wouldn't be able to lie to myself anymore.

But that was exactly what I'd been living, wasn't it? A lie.

Again, I felt that sense of lightheartedness from earlier, and with sudden clarity, I realized life was short. Why the hell
should
I lie to myself? Why shouldn't I give in? Just take what I wanted, without caring what some hypothetical third party would think?

My heart raced with anticipation. Long before I'd known it myself, something deep in my gut had decided for me.

Finally I said, “I want this.”

Ford wasted no time. With a growl, he tugged me away from the dance floor, and I hurried half a step behind him.

* * *

Ford led me around the private lake to the gazebo where our parents had gotten married just a few hours before. A waxing moon reflected across the water, broken up into wobbling shards of white light. The reception was still in full swing on the other side, but if someone felt like an evening stroll, nothing would stop them from seeing us.

He crushed our mouths together in a bruising kiss, then pulled away just as suddenly, leaving me gasping. “You know, I'm officially your stepbrother now. There's still a chance to back out.”

“I know that.” If he didn't get inside me in the next five minutes, I was going to combust. Even the thought of being discovered didn't cool me down—it just added to the forbidden allure of what we were about to do. “Don't ask me to make this decision all over again.”

With a low, dark chuckle, he started to undo his black silk tie. “As long as you're sure.”

Now that he's about to get laid, he's positively playful.

He moved forward, crowding me against one of the gazebo's columns. “I'm going to tie your hands,” he said, stroking my cheek. “If you don't want that, speak up now.”

“I told you I wanted this, and I meant it.” Without being prompted, I held up my crossed wrists. What I'd seen in the tack room was still burned into my mind; I had dreamed about every detail. With this part, at least, I knew what to do.

With a low, pleased noise, he went to work. The silk slipped cool and smooth over my wrists. When he stepped back again, I pulled on the knot experimentally. It was tight, but not painful.
I guess I already knew he's had a lot of practice at this.
I lowered my hands,  suddenly aware of how my breasts thrust out, pushed together by my upper arms.

Ford watched closely as I tested my bonds. With more bravado than I really felt, I stared back and said, “Well? What're you waiting for?”

“Don't be so impatient, pet.” One hand gripped my hip. The other slipped up my back to cradle my head, holding it still so he could taste me at his leisure. He bit at my exposed collarbone—gentle for now, but with the promise of more later—and trailed lingering kisses up my neck. Every touch zinged straight between my legs. “You have to pick a safe word first,” he murmured into my ear.

Right now, I could barely remember what a
regular
word even was.  My thoughts kept scattering and swimming, like the moonlight on the lake. I could still hear the jazz music from the reception floating over the water. The possibility of getting caught raced through my mind again, and I squirmed with arousal.

He reached around me to unzip my dress. His erection rubbed against my soaked pussy, separated by just a few layers of cloth, and my stomach tied itself in knots. I was in a frenzy, desperate to touch him, be touched by him, lose myself in the pleasure I'd been denying for way too long. I knew I should stop him until we had figured everything out, but I couldn't hear myself think over my instincts howling:
just let him do whatever he wants to you.
His steady heartbeat thudded through our clothes; maybe he acted cooler about it, but he was being driven just as wild as I was.

The front of my dress sagged forward. He pulled it down, folding it over onto itself so that the heavy fabric sheathed my bound arms. My nipples pebbled in the cool night air. For a moment, he gazed hungrily at my freed breasts. Then he went down on one knee to lick and suck at the soft, tender flesh. I opened my mouth, but only a whimper came out.

He pulled his head back to look at me. “Have you thought about your safe word?”

My growl of frustration came out as a moan. I was going to cry. And then maybe kill him. “I don't … I don't know … ” I stammered.

“Then I guess it's my pick. Based on the beautiful color of your nipples … ” He rolled both of them between finger and thumb as he spoke, almost idly. “How does 'pink' sound?”

All I could do was nod, speechless, trembling with need.

“I need more than a nod, pet. I need the word.” Her big blue eyes stared up at me, and I forced myself to focus on the important stuff first. It didn’t matter how good her tight pink little nipples felt rolling between my fingers or how fuckable those perfect red lips looked, I needed to lay the foundation first.

“Wha—what?” she breathed.

“Your safe word, Emma. Say it.”

Her lips formed the word, and it came out as a whisper.

“Louder.”

The haze of lust in her eyes was shot through with sparks of defiance. I liked spirit in my subs, and Emma certainly had it in spades.

“Pink, goddammit. Now can we move this along?”

“I think your first lesson needs to be patience, pet—and the best way to teach you that is to tease you until you’re begging to come. It’ll be your reminder that I’m the one calling the shots here—not you. You take what I give you, and trust me when I say that I’ll make sure you fucking
love
it.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me gag you, Emma. Because I will,” I warned. I lowered my mouth to her ear and spoke directly into it. “Unless you’re hoping to attract an audience.”

She didn’t respond. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if she breathed.

I opened my mouth, about to ask if she was with me, but she replied, “Okay.”

Her lips skimmed my jaw as she said the word. I don’t know if the contact was intentional, but fuck. If my cock wasn’t already rock hard,
that
would’ve done it. What was it about this woman that took so little to set me off?

Needing to assert control over the situation, I released her nipples and skimmed my palms along her chest, up her neck, and buried my fingers in her hair. Tugging backward, I bent and crushed my mouth to hers again. The taste of champagne and Emma sharpened my hunger to an almost primal ache.

Her hands, even bound, ran up and down my chest, as though she were desperate for contact. They fumbled with the button of my dress pants and tugged at my zipper.

I should’ve stopped her, but I wanted her hands on me, and her eagerness made this crazy stunt seem like the best idea I’d ever had. I lifted my lips away from hers to urge her on.

“That’s it, pet. Get my cock out. I want to feel your hands wrapped around me.”

 She inhaled sharply, and I loved knowing that my commands shocked her.

“Does that make you wet, Emma? When I tell you I want my cock in your hands? Would it make you wet if I told you I wanted my cock between those perfect red lips, too?”

She fumbled with the zipper, whether due to my words or to the restraints, I wasn’t sure.

“Answer me, pet. When I ask a question, I expect you to answer me.”

The zipper slid down and her hands enclosed my dick as she whispered, “Yes. So wet.”

Jesus.
I held back a groan. She squeezed me tighter and I thrust into her palms.

“Good girl.”  

I let her grip me and stroke me for only a few moments before I knew I had to stop. Any longer, and I might not deserve to call myself a man—let alone a Dom. I needed to take back the reins, get myself under control, and
Emma
needed to be the one gasping beneath my touch, ready to shatter.

“Enough,” I said, untangling my fingers from her hair.

She froze, her big blue eyes staring up at me. “What did I do?”

I shook my head and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “No, pet. It’s my turn to play.”

She uncurled her hands from around my cock, and I silenced the groan that threatened to rise up at losing her touch. My hands dropped to the skirt of her dress and slid down the silky fabric until I reached the hem. Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for anyone who might see what I was about to do.

“Eyes on me, pet. Only me.”

“But—”

“You only need to worry about what I want, and I’ll worry about everything else. That’s the beauty of this. You get to let go, put yourself in my hands, and you have my word that I won’t betray that trust.”

She blinked twice. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this. The whole trust thing. I barely know you.”

I stilled. “You said you wanted this.”

“I do. I just … it’s just so …
real
when you put it like that.”

“It is real. As real as you want it to be. You’ve got your safe word, and all you have to do is say it, and everything stops.” I slid my hands under the hem of her dress and up her thighs. “For example, if you don’t want me to find out how tight your pussy is, you should say it right the fuck now, because otherwise my fingers are going to be buried inside you.”

I could feel a full-body tremor work through her. I slowed my movements, giving her time to protest. She didn’t. Dragging a thumb along the front of her panties, I could already tell she was soaked. My dick, which was barely tucked inside my dress slacks, stiffened to almost to the point of pain. Her blue eyes glazed over with lust—an expression I’d seen so many times before, but one that looked even better on Emma. My thumb slid lower, teasing the edges of her panties.

“I want these off you,” I said, and used my other hand to shove the front of her dress up to her waist and pull them down her legs. She shimmied her hips, helping me remove her panties, and I fought the urge to tear them off. Once the final barrier was gone, my fingers found her again, wasting no time slipping between her legs and teasing the slick heat.

“Jesus, sweetheart. You’re so fucking wet. Like a goddamn dream.”

She pressed into my touch as I teased her entrance. Fuck. I didn’t know who I was teasing more—Emma or myself. Enough with that shit. I slid a finger inside her and failed to hold back a curse.

Slipping a second finger inside to join the first, I fucked her slowly. Achingly slow. Her whimpers and moans urged me on, and her bound hands reached up and around my neck, dragging my head down. My lips found hers and our kiss was savage: all lips and teeth and tongue. Somehow my free hand found its way back into her hair and I tilted her head to the side to get deeper.

Deeper
.

Even the thought of the word had my dick pulsing with impatience.

I pulled back, but I could still feel her breath on my lips. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

“Yes. Yes. Now.”

I released her and dropped my hands to her ass, boosting her up. “Wrap your legs around me.”             

She complied with my order, and my cock fit against her pussy. The head dragged through her slick heat as I lifted and lowered her, teasing us both. On the next downstroke, I slowed and lined my cock up to slide home. My hips pulled back to thrust—a thrust I knew would take me straight to fucking heaven.

But then I froze.

The reason it fucking felt so good? I didn’t have a fucking condom on.

“Fuck. Condom.”

“What?”

“Condom. I forgot a fucking condom.”

The realization was a bucket of ice water.

Mother. Fucker. My hands were still gripping Emma’s ass, but she was already struggling to get down. I let her.

“Shit.” She breathed, shoving her dress down. I followed suit and zipped myself back into my pants. “I can’t believe… what was I thinking?”

What was she thinking? What was
I
thinking?
 Jesus. I’d never forgotten a condom in my life.
Never
. And I’d never let a submissive derail a scene so completely either. I didn’t know what the fuck Emma was doing to me. I needed to back off and get my head together.

“We should get back to the reception.” The words came out harsh and low, but I didn’t do anything to soften them. My gaze snagged on the black silk at my feet. Her fucking panties. I snatched them up and held them out. “You need to put these back on.”

She accepted the wadded-up underwear, but looked down at them questioningly. “I think I’ll pass on putting those back on … considering they were just on the ground.”

It seemed as soon as the binding had come off, her headstrong nature rose to the forefront. I wanted to see her bend to me—even in something this simple.

“Emma, your panties are going back on.”

“
Ford
,” she said, her chin tilting up. “They’re really not necessary. Just shove them in your pocket or something.”

I stepped closer, crowding her against the wall of the gazebo. My voice was low, and my tone brooked no argument. “I don’t think you understand, pet. You’re not fucking leaving this gazebo without those panties covering that tight little pussy. I cannot be held accountable for my actions if I know that you’re out there, not wearing anything under that dress, and dancing with other men.”

Her mouth dropped open, which just made me want to push her against the wall and start all over again.

I backed away. When she made no move to put her underwear back on, I snapped, “Now, Emma. Or I’ll put you over my knee and you won’t sit for the rest of the night because your ass is red.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she stepped one foot and then the other into her panties and pulled them up her legs. Her expression turned mulish. “There. Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if I were buried balls deep inside you. Now let’s go.”

I was tempted to grab her hand and drag her back to the reception behind me, but I didn’t want to raise any suspicion about where we’d been. Not that anyone would guess what we’d been doing, but I wasn’t looking to tempt fate. Instead, I made a beeline for the bar.

“Maker’s. Three fingers. Neat.”

My gaze darted to my left at the giggle that erupted. Emma’s blue eyes were shining, and she’d bitten her bottom lip.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

She shook her head and looked to the bartender. “Nothing. I’ll have the same.”

The bartender served up both our drinks and we took them to an empty table. I sat and tossed back a healthy swallow. Surprisingly, Emma sank into the seat beside me. She still had that grin on her face.

“What?” I asked, taking another swig.

She bit her lip again. “Guess this is my only chance of getting three fingers tonight, huh?”

I spat my whiskey all over the fucking floor.

This woman is going to be the death of me.