Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

Well, until it did.

“Ever been properly kissed?”

She darts her eyes to the floor, her cheeks going this flushed red color. “Of course I have.”

“Naw, sweetheart, I mean real proper kissed.”

She wrinkles her nose, “What, like frenching?”

I have to grin. “If it’s 1985, sure.”

But whatever, she’s here, even if it’s apparently only for a few months until she goes back to school.
“Taking a break”
I think is how my dad phrased it. Yeah, right; heard that one before.

She was a pain in the ass back then, and I can’t imagine that’s done more than grow in the five years since. 

She was also temptation on a fuckin’ stick.

I’m suddenly wondering if that’s grown too. Four months might not be long, but it’s going to be an eternity if we’re anything like we were back then. I barely survived four
days
of that girl before.

Four months? Yikes.

But whatever, I wouldn't have time for this shit even if she
wasn’t
going to be my stepsister. I’m
way
too busy with the restaurant. Fuckin’ ‘ell, I’ve been “chef” for three weeks and it already feels like forever. Three fuckin’ weeks since dad fired Martin and stuck me in his place. Martin of the two stars, and now me with zero of them.

Hey, no pressure.

Every day a fucking battle to make sure they respect that in there. A kitchen is a war zone; it’s a military regiment that needs the discipline of a damn army to run efficiently. I’m not talking a burger joint kitchen here either.
Jolie
is the fucking
big leagues
. This is 200 quid a head dinners, and that price
demands
the type of discipline from a kitchen that you rarely find outside of the Queen’s guard. And if you’re the type of utter idiot like me who wants to be at the top of
that?
Congratulations, you’re the general. Now, act like the toughest motherfucker in a room full of guys who willingly spend the majority of their waking hours in an insanely stressful environment involving sharp knives, open flame, and close quarters for a living.

And I have to
run that
with an iron fist.

So like I said, I’m a
tad
busy, and a
touch
high-strung at the moment, and hanging around Heathrow waiting for the girl I don’t want here
anyways
is pushing all my buttons. 

But whatever, at least I’ll be so busy with
Jolie
the next few months that I’ll probably never see her anyways.

“Dad,” I glance at my watch, “I’m seriously pushing it on time. I’ve gotta get back. Look I’ll just take my own taxi or the Piccadilly train or something.”

“Oy, cool it boy-o, they’ll be fine at the kitchen. We’re closed Mondays anyways.”

“No, they won’t be, and I’ve
still
got shit to do, you know.”

“Ah!” He says cheerily, completely ignoring me. He points to the gate flashing their plane’s call numbers. “Looks like they’re here!”

Wonderful.

He turns to me, “Besides, you ought to wait for Chloe anyways before you go back.”

I groan, checking my watch and wondering how fast I can bribe a taxi driver to go on the M4 today; “Why?”

The gate opens, and suddenly, there they are. I can see Mrs. Caulfield -
Laura
- beaming as she sees my dad. And he’s grinning too as he starts to move towards her.

God, ‘Mrs.
Caulfield’
? Fuck, do I have to call her step-mum now?

The throng of travelers and loved ones milling around the exit ramp begins to part, and then there
she
is. 

And she’s staring right at me. 

Our eyes meet across the crowd of people reuniting. All around people are hugging and kissing and shaking hands and generally glad to see each other. Which puts us
distinctly
out of place, because one look at each other and it’s clear neither of us is glad to see the other.

But fuckin’ hell, any hope I had of her losing her hair or putting on eight-hundred pounds or something since the last time I saw goes fluttering away the second my eyes land on her. 

Shit.

She’s wearing jeans, a long-sleeve t-shirt, and rain-boots, but she might as well be in a fuckin’ red-carpet
gown
. Or fuck,
lingerie
or something.

Because, fuck me sideways, she’s even hotter than I remember. Those searing blue eyes like cold rain, that dark brown hair like a wave of silk down over her shoulder, that defiant way she’s holding her head up high and her shoulders back.

That
perfect
rack and an ass that gets my cock hard
right there
standing in the middle of Heathrow Airport.

This
is going to be bloody problem.

Whatever,
I tell myself.
You’ll barely see her. She can deal with this whole situation however she wants to.
 

But suddenly, the last thing my dad said to me pings and resonates inside my head.

 “Dad,” I grab his coat before he takes another step through the crowd; “What do you mean I should ‘wait for her’.” 

I narrow my eyes at him as he turns back and throws me a quick questioning look. “Oh, bugger, didn’t I tell you?” He’s smiling away, as if none of this is at all blowing apart my whole world.

“Tell me
what
?”

They’re getting closer now as they push their way through the crowd; the smiling bride-to-be and her scowling, sexy as fuckin’ sin daughter. My dad shakes his head, “Must’ve slipped my mind with all this happening so fast. She’s a baker you know.”

“So?”

Oh, fuck.

And instantly, I’m seeing where this is going, and I’m slowly shaking my head even before my dad can open his mouth. 

“I hired her. She’s your new pastry cook.”

And then they’re right in front of us, and my dad and Mrs. Caulfield are laughing and hugging, and I’m just standing there, staring at Chloe with our eyes locked.

Yeah, this is going to be a right bloody fuckin’ problem.

I moan, feeling the shudder of new feelings - dangerous new feelings - roar through my inexperienced body as the boy kisses me. He presses me against the back wall of the garage in my backyard, his hands sliding up to my waist and slipping beneath the hem of my t-shirt.

It’s then that I freeze, stopping his hands and pulling back from his perfect, wonderful lips to look worriedly up into his eyes. “I- I’m not sure that we should be doing this.”

He grins at me, those dark eyes sparkling with the promise of passion and wickedness all mixed together; the promise of sweet, deliciously bad decisions.

“Are you scared?” I nod, and he kisses my cheek; “You don’t have to be, I’ll go slow.”

I blush and bite my bottom lip and he grins.

“Oy, you keep doing that you’re gonna make a habit of it.”

I giggle but then my eyes flash seriously at him. “I’m just- I’m not sure we should.”

He nods. “I mean, we’re both eighteen, luv.” He grins at me, “You’re going away to college in a few months; you really want to show up with that V-card?”

I blush bright red, almost regretting that I’ve told him that. I mean, of course I HAD to, the night before when things got- well, when things went further than I’VE at least ever been.

Much further.

Far enough that even now I can remember the night previous, where we slipped into the very garage I’m pressed against right now and found ourselves in the backseat of my mother’s Toyota. I can remember feeling both scared and hotter than I’ve ever felt before, the feelings of apprehension and excitement as I took my shirt off in front of him, blushing at the way his eyes drank me in.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” He says quietly; reverently. 

I can remember whispering his name again and again into his lips as his fingers find me wet and ready for him, stroking in and out of me with my pants on the floor of the car and my panties tangled at my knees. 

And then here we are, back at the garage; the whispered promises of “tomorrow” in the aftermath of the previous night’s release, weighing heavily on me.

Oliver sees the hesitation in my eyes, or reads it in my voice, because suddenly, he’s stepping back. “Okay, no.” He shakes his head, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. “You’re right, we shouldn’t do this.”

Well, shit.

And it’s a line like that that has me grabbing him and kissing him fiercely. It’s those words that have me dragging him through the backdoor of the garage again, and climbing into the backseat of the Toyota all over again. We’re grinning, and giggling, and once we’ve stripped each other’s clothes off and I’m kissing him again, I know this is everything I want it to be. 

Except just when I think I’m ready to throw all the caution in the world to the wind and go for it, that feeling of boundless bravado comes screeching to a halt. We’re naked, and he’s RIGHT there, and I know he wants it, but-

“We’re not doing this, luv,” he says quietly.

I bite my lip, dropping my eyes to the side so he doesn’t see them wavering, “I’m sorry, I really thought-”

“Hey,” He puts his hand on my cheek and turns my face so that his eyes meet mine, “Don’t you ever apologize to anyone for sticking to what feels right, yeah?”

I wrinkle my brow; “You’re not mad?”

“I’d be a serious fucking prick if I was, Chloe.”

He slides onto the backseat next to me, and I ease my head down onto his chest; “So…” I drag a finger over his chest, feeling my pulse race. “So maybe we can’t do THAT, but that doesn’t mean…” I trail off as he turns his head and grins at me, “That doesn’t mean you can’t show me some other stuff?”

I almost jump out of my skin at the first touch of his mouth to me there, and then I’m biting my hand to keep from screaming as he licks me there, filling me with feelings I’ve never had. There’s a wild pressure building hotter and higher inside of me, until it bursts with a white light as I buck and moan under his tongue and his fingers. And later, he shows me what feels good for him. I’m nervous that I’m going to be awful at it, but he’s sweet with his encouragement, and then gasping for air as I move my mouth faster and faster up and down on his size that I’m honestly not sure I could have actually taken inside of me anyways. He warns me, but I don’t want to stop, and I want the full experience. And when he fills my shocked and sputtering mouth, he’s moaning my name as I swallow as much as I can.

The backseat is cramped, and I’m jumping at every creak of the wind, thinking it’s my mother, but it’s absolutely and without question PERFECTION.

And afterwards, we lie there in the dim glow of the dashboard light listening to Led Zeppelin coming through the tinny speakers of the backseat while Oliver tells me about the new job he just got at a kitchen, and how excited he is to learn how to cook “everything”, as he puts it.