Little Brats: Fiona: Forbidden Taboo Erotica (2 page)

“It’s not her fault.” Bryan’s eyes widened only slightly before he shrugged in response. “I pursued her pretty hard. I knew she was out of my league, but… well, I wanted her.”

Fiona listened, trying to understand. She couldn’t fathom anyone wanting her mother.

“I knew we were different, but I didn’t realize how much I was going to hold her back from the life she really wants.” He sighed, his big arms tightening around her. “Your mother wants refinement, finesse. She wants a man she can take to dinners, parties, charity events.”

“She wants a Ken doll.” Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Maybe…” Bryan snorted a laugh. “But I was the one who let her down. I wasn’t the fixer-upper she thought I’d be. I retired from the Marine Corps, like she wanted me to, but then I started the gyms. She thought it was a good idea. She supported me at first. But I think she figured, I’d get them started and then someone else could do the hard work while we just raked in the money. But I can’t do that. I need to work for a living, not walk around tossing my money at people who feel obligated to call me sir.”

“I don’t think you need fixing up.” Her brows furrowed as she listened to him take all the blame for her mother’s horrible behavior. He took so much on himself. Feeling his body against hers made her lightheaded, pushing her nerves into overdrive. She had the urge to slither and slide her body against his and fought it.

“Sweetheart, you’re young. You just don’t understand. Aside from our obvious differences, I have a lot of energy, and a…” He cleared his throat, looking at her like he just realized she was in his arms. “A… voracious appetite for sex. Sorry. I know I probably shouldn’t have said that, but it makes my point.”

“That you’re a horn-dog?” she teased, grinning. Damn, the man was as thick as a tree and just as hard beneath her. She was all too aware of him.

“Your mother, she wants the finer things in life, which includes a gentle lover,” Bryan explained himself the best he could, but Fiona thought the ruddiness in his cheeks might actually be the flush of embarrassment. “What she got was some rough marine who never stops moving, wanting, and doesn’t understand the concept of gentle.”

Fiona shook her head, her nose wrinkling and brow furrowing at his words.

“She’s champagne and I’m beer,” he said. “She’s the beauty and I’m the beast. She’s frilly, expensive dresses worn to hobnob with the rich and famous, while I’m gym shorts in a concrete building filled with sweaty men.”

When he put it that way, she could see his point. Although she preferred the latter to the former, to be honest.

“Your mother… she gives in to my needs from time to time. But she’s grown to resent me for it. She tried to change me, I tried to change her. I thought, maybe we could meet in the middle. But… well, I failed for the first time in my life. I suck at wearing a suit and tie as much as I do sitting through a four course dinner.”

“But, you’re not satisfied either!” Fiona cried. How could he not see? Was he so blind? “She has no right to treat you the way she does!”

“You just don’t get it.” He sighed, shaking his head, moving to get up, but she clung to him, not letting go.

“Oh, I get it,” she replied, giving in to her feeling as she slid her hand to wrap it around his cock, satisfied to find him already half-hard. Maybe having his stepdaughter in his arms was more exciting than he let on? “I get that you’re being cheated out of what you need by a selfish, heartless woman.”

His breath caught and he froze beneath her as she rubbed her hand up over his hardening cock. She was all too aware that he’d been in here working off his sexual frustrations after what had happened in her mother’s study, and she took advantage of his need to prove her point. She kept her hand on the man’s throbbing erection as the fingers of her other hand traced the ridges of his abs, his stomach bare and sheened with sweat. She followed the hills and valleys chiseled in his flesh, flicking her fingernail over his nipple, hearing his sharp intake of breath, feeling the resultant throb of his cock in her fist.

“Fiona,” he murmured, place his rough hand, so big, over hers.

His touch tossed her over the edge. She wanted his hands. She wanted them roaming over her own curves, squeezing into her flesh. She moved her mouth to his, pressing her lips hard into his, using her flickering pink tongue along the seam of his mouth, seeking entrance. He groaned and turned his head, attempting to refuse her.

“I want you,” she whispered, making her intentions plain, if they weren’t clear enough already. “I would never dismiss you or treat you the way she does. You deserve someone who understands you, who gets you, who wants and loves you.”

Her mouth found his again, and she felt him giving in. She felt the shift of his hips as she rubbed her hand up and down his cock through his thin shorts. She felt the way his mouth began to open, felt him responding, surrendering to the feeling. Oh, she wanted this man. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. She wanted to show him how sexy he really was, give him everything he wanted, wanted to match him thrust for thrust, climax for climax.

“Oh God, Fiona,” he groaned, gathering her wrists in his hands. She liked that, liked feeling restrained by him. Their gaze locked and she knew her heart was in her eyes. He gave a low, pained sound, deep in his throat, but then instead of drawing her near, he pushed her away. In one strong movement, he brought them both to their feet before she even registered they were standing again. Cool air rushed over her tank top in the sudden absence of his warmth and she shivered, feeling her already hard nipples turning to beads of glass.

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head. Then he said it again, more firmly this time. “No. No, this can’t happen.”

He let her go, hands now out in front of him, warning her to stay away.

“Your cock has other ideas.” She nodded at the hard mass tenting his silky workout shorts.

She moved toward him again, grabbing his hands and lowering them to her waist, pushing up against him. Lifting to her toes, her body slid up his, arms snaking around his neck, until she could kiss him, rough, the way she knew he wanted it. And that did it. He began to respond to her touch, the way her hips began to grind against him, her mouth slanting across his.

His hands moved up to her round, perky breasts, and he squeezed, a low moan escaping his throat. For one breath-stealing minute, began to really kiss her back. His tongue probed, his leg lifting to tuck between hers, forcing her to ride the length of his thigh, making the seam of her shorts part her swollen pussy lips. The heat of her sex left a trail of fire as his thumbs grazed her nipples and she gasped, arching against him, showing him with every molecule of her being that she wanted him. She was more than willing to give him what he wanted—what he needed and craved. She needed it too.

“Fuck,” he swore as they parted, shaking his head as he moved away. “No. Fiona, no. No!”

“You want me,” she panted, trying to get at him again, but he held her at arm's length, his fingers digging into her upper arms. “I know you do! I’ll give you what you want. Rough, just like you want it!”

“No.” He said the word flatly, with no emotion, taking another step back and letting her go. “Go, Fiona. Get out of here.”

“But…” She tried one more time, taking a step in his direction.

“Go!” He pointed at the door, but wouldn’t look at her.

She finally gave up and ran from the room.

The next morning as she dressed, she heard a knock on her door. She knew the sound of her stepfather’s heavy footfalls. She pulled down the tight material of her workout bra before she told him to come in. As he entered and saw her in her wearing just shorts and her bra, stomach showing, he averted his eyes, looking at the floor.

“Get dressed. We need to talk,” he said to the floor, the command of his voice unmistakable.

He clearly meant business. She pulled a tank top quickly over her head, feeling the seams protest as she pulled it hard and tight to her waist.

“Dressed,” she stated, turning her back to him as she packed up her book bag for her classes today, shoving in the damned art history paper, luckily protected in a folder from all her tossing and cramming.

“Fiona, please, we need to talk about yesterday, about what happened between us downstairs.”

Her tears came, stinging her eyes at the memory, heat blotching up her face. She lost the battle to stop them in seconds. The first silent sob shook her, making her shoulders rise and fall. She dropped the last book in her hand and it hit the edge of the table before falling to the floor. She kicked the book, feeling her tears coming harder, realizing it belonged to her mother. She hadn’t needed to put it in her book bag anyway, she’d just been packing things in, unseeing.

“Fiona, please don’t cry.” His voice was gentle as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

Not giving him time to even consider gathering her into his arms as he’d done before to comfort her, as her mother never had, she whirled on him. With two frantic swipes over her cheeks, she said the words through gritted teeth, “Just go.”

“Fiona, no. We need to talk about this,” he continued, undeterred by her tears or anger. “I know things have been stressful around here lately. We’ve all had a lot of changes—you starting college, your mom working on a new wing at the museum, me expanding the franchise of the gym and marketing my training system. But, that doesn’t mean we can let our emotions get the best of us, and let something happen that will hurt all of our lives.”

She just glared at him, biting her tongue.

“Our close sexual encounter…” He attempted a half-smile. “It was a mistake, sweetheart. It can’t… it won’t happen again.”

Fiona, looking everywhere but at him, zipped up her bag and threw it over her arm, only snatching up her jacket as she brushed by him.

“I’m going to be late for class.” She fled, not wanting to face him, or what she was feeling. Not now, not ever.

Fiona lugged her suitcase to the garage to throw it in the SUV. Bryan stood at the hatch, rearranging skies and poles and other gear for their family trip to Lake Tahoe. He smiled as he approached. Funny, how things had gone back to normal so fast. It had been months since that day in the gym. Neither of them had talked about it again and she told herself she was glad. It had been a mistake, like he’d said.

“So, where’re mom’s ten bags?” Fiona joked as he reached to relieve her of her burden.

“Your mother’ll be flying out to meet us, hopefully sometime tomorrow.” He tossed her bag into the SUV. “She got a call from the museum, some fire she needs to put out before the next show. They can’t do anything without her, you know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that fact. She tells me all the time.” Fiona laughed and rolled her eyes. “So, maybe we can do one of those back country runs we always talk about, but somehow my mother guilts us out of?”

“Sounds like a solid plan.” Bryan smiled at her.

They were still workout buddies, if nothing else. Fiona hadn’t been looking forward to the long drive alone with him, afraid forbidden topics might come up, but they didn’t have time to talk. The snow grew worse the further they got. Bryan was a good drive, but his knuckles were white by the time they pulled into their resort at Lake Tahoe.

“This is really bad,” Fiona let out her pent-up breath as he parked. She hadn’t been sure they were going to make it at all, as the roads grew increasingly harder and harder to navigate due to all the snow.

“Well, at least we know they’ve got snow.” Bryan opened and closed his fists like they ached from holding the steering wheel so hard.

“Let’s go skiing then.” Fiona hopped out of the car.

They got in a short run before they closed down the slopes. Who ever heard of too much snow to go skiing? But they were having blizzard conditions by late afternoon and there was nothing to do but sit in the room and stare at the fuzzy static of the satellite television. Her stepfather looked out the window, but everything was white.

“I still can’t get any reception.” He sighed, pocketing his phone. “Your mother left me a message. Her flight’s been delayed. Weather Channel is predicting a good twenty-four hours or more before the airports can open back up.”

“Some vacation.” Fiona sighed, punching buttons on the remote, hoping to find something, anything, that wasn’t static.

“Why don’t you start dinner while I go grab some wood?” he suggested, shrugging his coat on.

“Okay,” she agreed, grateful they’d stopped on the way in to grab some food at the local grocery. “The steaks we brought okay?”

“Sounds fantastic,” he said as he opened the door, the world a flurry of white.

Bryan came back, red faced and sweaty, carrying a huge stack of wood that would have buckled the knees of most men. She smiled as she continued to chop vegetables in the kitchen. Their room had a nice, open feel. From the granite counter where she worked, she could see the wide expanse of the living room, all white with a plump couch and plush carpet, looking even more pure and clean given the wood around the fireplace, the same rough cut that made up the rest of the furniture. It had an elegant, rustic feel, a nice compromise between her mother and stepfather.

He deposited the wood, throwing a few logs onto the already roaring fire, and told her he’d only be a minute as he went into his bedroom to try Fiona’s mother again. She finished putting together the salad, thinking about their drive. It had been tense and nerve-wracking. Her neck was still tense and she shrugged her shoulders, rolling her head, trying to work out the kinks. But that wasn’t the only reason she felt so tightly strung. It was being alone with Bryan. They hadn’t been—ever again—not since that day. They still worked out together, but Bryan took her with him to the crowded gym with him. If he found her working out in their home gym, he’d just wave and say he was going for a run—alone—if she invited him in.