My Billionaire Stepbrother (Lexi's Sexy Billionaire Romance #1) (18 page)

His phone vibrates with another text.
 

“The limo is here.”
 

We take the elevator down. It’ll go all the way to the bottom, to the limo waiting in the garage. We stop at the lobby instead. The doors part, and a stunning blonde enters with a handsome black man. Parker introduces us, and we all shake hands. By the time the doors open another floor down, Samantha has air-kissed around me, and we’re apparently old friends in the way Samantha understands the word — which, I suspect, is quite different from my definition.
 

The chauffeur is waiting with Parker’s sleek black car, holding the door open for us. We pile in and sit across from one another. Samantha and Parker are on one side, Duncan and I default to the other. Samantha puts her hand on Parker’s knee. His eyes keep flitting toward me with something like apology.
 

The ride to the restaurant is filled with small talk, and I find myself glad that Parker tried to inoculate me ahead of time with the knowledge that he’s “not that guy” because he’s definitely not the guy he was ten minutes earlier with these two around. He’s all false smiles and glad-handing. I hear him say things that sound nothing like Parker — classy, patrician statements that assume wealth and privilege. I keep reminding myself that it’s just the company. I have to remind myself that I’m almost doing the same, when I can find the poise and vocabulary. I find myself able to understand what Parker said: I don’t know that I like these people, but by observing my behavior and expressions from the outside, you’d probably think I do.

When we arrive, Samantha, closest to the door, waits for the chauffeur to open the limo. Duncan moves around her to exit first then takes her long-fingered, limp-wristed hand to help her out in an over-the-top gesture of chivalry. This is how it must always play out. Samantha surely never exits without a human handrail.
 

After a moment, I realize that Parker isn’t rising to follow Samantha. I’d assumed he’d go next and I’d go last (perhaps accepting a hand for assistance), but apparently not. I flex to rise, but before I get far, Parker gives me a look and speaks through the open door at Duncan.
 

“Duncan.”
 

“Yeah, man.”
 

“We forgot Angela’s purse.”
 

I’m about to object. First of all, I don’t need my purse because there’s no way I’m paying for my meal. And second, my purse is in Parker’s pocket. He stuck it there when I nearly tripped over my new heels getting into the penthouse elevator. It’s a tiny thing, brand new, purchased today. I can still see its small shape in his coat from where I’m sitting.

Parker gives me another look. This one, I flat-out recognize. I remember it from my youth, when this wealthy tycoon across from me was my despised delinquent stepbrother.
Keep your mouth shut.
 

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” Duncan says.
 

“Our reservations aren’t until eight. We’ll run back.”

Duncan looks at his watch. “We won’t get much time to settle in.”
 

“What time is it?”
 

“Seven,” Duncan says.

“There and back. We should be able to be back by eight, and settle in during the first course. Open the wine, okay? Let it breathe.”
 

Duncan nods. I can’t see Samantha, but for some reason I imagine her hands are fixed to her hips. I feel guilty somehow because I get this unfounded impression that Samantha just got annoyed at me and my stupid, plebeian, purse-forgetting ways.
 

“All right. We’ll be here,” Duncan says.
 

The driver closes the door, locking us in well-lit silence. Parker orders his limo back to the penthouse then touches a button to raise the privacy shield.
 

The limo pulls from the curb. Parker fixes me with his serious brown eyes.
 

“You have my purse. “It’s in your pocket.”
 

“I know.”
 

“So why … ?”
 

He puts his hand on my bare knee.
 

“Samantha is important to our business, but she’s Duncan’s contact, not mine. He paired us up because he thought I needed someone respectable. Someone a guy like me is ‘supposed to’ be with.”
 

“Oh. Okay.”
 

“But I’m not that guy, Ang.”
 

His other hand finds my other leg. It feels warm. Something stirs inside me.
 

“I know you’re not.” He isn’t right now anyway — the fake-smiling, slogan-spouting thing he was while the others were in the car notwithstanding.
 

He slides to my side of the car, his body is flush against me.

“And I don’t want to be with someone I’m supposed to be with.’”
 

“Oh.”
 

“I want to be with someone I’m
never
supposed to be with.”
 

“I — ”
 

But Parker is already kissing me.
 

My eyes sigh closed. His hand on my thigh moves higher, and I find myself transported, traveling effortlessly back in time. I’m back in my old living room — my
current
living room, back in reality, away from the splendor. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl again, before my first time, my heart twittering like a little bird’s.

“I want you, Angela,” he whispers.
 

His hand is on my breast. My nipple hardens under his palm. I feel my lips blush, wanting his lips back where they belong.
 

“I want you too.”
 

“I’ve
always
wanted you.”

“I’ve missed you, Parker. It hurt so bad when you left.”
 

“I didn’t want to go. I had to go.”
 

“I didn’t want you to go. To leave me.”

“I left
everything
, Ang. There was no other way.”
 

My hand finds his chest, my fingers sliding between the buttons of his fine shirt.
 

“I don’t care about them. I only cared about me. You left
me
.”
 

“I was taking advantage. I couldn’t control myself.”
 

I’ve thought a lot about that — about how his abandonment, in a way, probably felt to Parker like a sense of grim duty. He’d always been self-effacing; he’d always hated himself; he’d always thought I was somehow better, that I was innocent and helpful, that I needed his protection. But I’m not a little girl anymore. I’ve grown stronger. I’m more than my mother’s daughter, and he’s more than his father’s son. We are our own people, and I don’t need protection from anything. Especially from Parker Altman.
 

“Then
don’t
control yourself,” I say.

He pulls back long enough to meet my eyes. I see lust, held too long at bay. I see desire. I see his haunted, hurting past. I see how much he wants me, and maybe even how much he loves me.
 

His hand is higher on my leg. I feel my dress riding too high on the limousine’s seat. There’s a draft from below, right up against the pretty little panties I made him turn away from when I purchased them on his tab. The panties that part of me secretly kind of hoped I was buying for him in the first place.
 

“You’re sure?” he says. But if I say no, it’ll kill him. I can feel his hardness as my hand brushes his crotch. I can feel the urgency, and see the need in his eyes.
 

I prove my certainty by unfastening his pants, freeing his cock, and bending at the waist to wrap my lips around it.

Parker moans. His head tips back. And at the same time, his hand crawls higher, now up under my dress, his fingers drawing intoxicating lines across the fabric of my moistening panties. I’m practically soaking them, I’m so wet. I yearn for him to pull the panties aside and properly touch me, but for now he’s just teasing, one finger under my dress and the other palming my left breast as it hangs behind my sucking mouth.
 

 
I stop for a second to look at his dick before swallowing it again, battling an intoxicating unreality as it hits me:
I’m sucking my stepbrother’s hard cock.
My legs want to spread wider at the thought, inviting him deeper, begging him for attention.
 

Soon, Parker will have my panties off and be sliding this big, thick shaft deep inside me.
 

All those nights spent with fingers on my clit, rubbing myself into one climax after another. All those nights spent wondering if Parker wanted me as badly as I wanted him. All those days I watched him, fighting emotions I knew we both felt, feeling his eyes on me. All those years with him running and me hating, with him hiding and me pretending I’d never cared. But now we’ve finally moved on.
 

He’s the Parker I always knew. The Parker I always wanted. The Parker I always secretly loved.
 

He pulls me up and pulls my dress down to expose my breasts. I wonder what he thinks of them now. He saw them once; I touched myself time after time imagining how that day beneath the pier might have unfolded differently. They’ve grown a little larger, changed with years gone by. I was eighteen then; I’m twenty-nine now. So many years lost between us.
 

“You’re beautiful, Angela,” he whispers.
 

I slide my dress higher around my hips then slip my panties over my heels, leaving the shoes on because I don’t feel like undoing the straps. He’s seen what’s there once, too, though he barely got a finger between my moistening lips. Things have changed; now I shave bare.
 

Parker’s eyes widen. His cock, still out with my hand idly stroking the glistening head, gives a little twitch. His hand moves to my sex with a sense of wonder, his finger tracing long between the lips and coming away wet. I shiver at his touch, feeling as if I’m opening like a flower, like something needful, wanting him inside me after all these forgotten and denying years.
 

He’s between my legs. I slouch down as he touches my nipples, touches my warming pussy. His eyes are on me, and I feel my desire burning with the
need
to feel him inside me.
 

My fingers find his hard shaft, wrapping it, its surface still slick with my spit. I use it like a leash to pull him toward me, pushing my hips up, my body wanting to writhe. I touch his hot tip to my lips, and Parker does the rest, pushing his cock inside me, filling me at long last.
 

“Oh, God, Parker. I’ve wanted this forever.”
 

“I’ve wanted it, too.”
 

He leans forward as he thrusts. He kisses my lips then my neck then my tits.
 

I watch his face. While he slides into me, I reach up to unbutton his shirt, watching his bare chest and sculpted midsection. My hands run the ridges of his hard body while he fills me.
 

I feel my climax building but never want it to end.
 

I come anyway, my back arching, my newly manicured nails raking red lines across his front. My orgasm touches every part of me, curling my toes, making me arch up and breathe against him. My pussy grips him harder. Contractions tear through me.
 

I’m delirious. I can’t stop watching him, seeing him, repeating that this is Parker inside me, that this is my stepbrother. The taboo no longer scares me. It thrills me. I will no longer live by their rules. This is between us. It’s always been between us.
 

My clenching pussy causes Parker to moan. I feel our pressure increase, the head of his dick running thrills up and down my length as he fills me. He tips his head back, and I can see him approaching his peak, so I ride it with him. I push back. I grip him harder. Finally, he moans and slams into me, my hands at the small of his back, holding him tight.
 

When it’s over, he kisses me one final long, lingering time and slips out, rolling to sit on the limo’s seat beside me.
 

I look down. We’re a mess, and we still have dinner plans.
 

But we have time, and this has all been too long coming.
 

We reach the garage.
 

Parker tells the driver to head back to the restaurant, and we do it again.

PARKER

I
FEEL
GUILTY
COMING
BACK
into the restaurant and seeing Samantha sitting at the table, but only a little. I’ve been trying to break up with her for a while now, and doing so has felt like trying to tip a boulder from the top of a hill. Once I give her a hard enough shove, she’ll roll all the way down, allowing her self-serving attitude and reprehensible personality to drag her down to the bottom like snow falling down from a mountain. There’s never been much of a secret between Sam and me: I’m using her for sex, and she’s using me for personal advancement.