Stepbrother Obsessed Read online

  He grimaces, biting his lower lip. “Skye…”

  I stroke his shaft again and again, establishing a rhythm. His whole body melts like jelly. The only hard part of him remaining is the hot rod in my hand. He arches his body and his head tips back. With my free hand, I grab the waist of his jeans and pull him toward me. He falls against me, pressing his raging hardness against my body. His big chest crushes me against the wall. His arms trap me, planted against the stucco on either side of my head. He leans his head forward until we are cheek to cheek. He hisses in my ear with animalistic pleasure.

  I whisper, “Fuck me, Dante.”

  He growls with restrained frustration. “I can’t.”

  “Fuck me,” I tease. “You know you want to…” I’ve never been the vixen, but Dante brings it out in me. In fact, I never knew I had it in me. And it’s something I’m discovering I really like. Something unbridled, something daring and courageous and a little bit dangerous. At this moment, I’m not the well behaved teenager who studies all the SAT prep books and takes endless practice tests while worrying about her GPA. I’m Skye, the Goddess of Flight. Or something like that.

  He groans and pushes away from the wall, releasing me. He wastes no time pulling up his jeans and buttoning them.

  I give him a pouty look.

  “We can’t. Not without protection.” He buckles his belt and slides the leather tongue into the belt loop of his jeans.

  A plain old leather belt has never looked so much like a chastity belt as it does now. I sigh, “You’re right. We should get a condom. There’s a Ralph’s a few blocks from here.”

  “Ralph’s?”

  “It’s a grocery store.”

  “Oh.”

  I hold out my hands, wanting him to take them. “Shall we?”

  He reaches out and pulls me into him. I smack into his chest and we’re kissing like we never stopped. He’s still hot and hard.

  And I’m all wet and soft. I need him to fuck me. “Let’s get some condoms.”

  “Then where do we go?”

  “Back to my house?” I’ve never had sex in my house. It was always elsewhere, like at Luke’s house, where his parents were never a problem. Sex in my house is a dangerous proposition. And it feels wrong. “Or here? We could come back here.” Even as I say it, I’m not so sure how I feel about it. This isn’t the most romantic place. We’re standing on hard packed dirt, surrounded by a random scatter of pine needles and a litter of cigarette butts.

  “No, Skye.”

  It hurts to hear him say it, but he’s right. “I’m missing fifth period anyway. I should probably go. I’ll make some excuse about having cramps and being stuck in the bathroom.”

  He nods but says nothing.

  I jam my fingers in the pockets of my short shorts. “Hey, um, are you coming back to the house? Your mom misses you big time.” I miss him big time, and I miss the coming—you know what I mean—but I’m not saying either. I don’t want to scare him off. You never know with guys.

  “Yeah.”

  Yeah, he’s coming back to the house? Or is he simply agreeing his mom misses him? Wow, how did I go from wild abandon to worried so quickly? Maybe because I can feel Dante walling himself off from me. Did I push things too far? Was I too slutty just now? Does he think I’m trashy for being so bold? Damn it! What did I do? Did I ruin things just when Dante decided to show up again?

  “I should go,” he mumbles.

  Shit! Panic sweeps through me. Now I’m desperate. I can’t think of a roundabout way to ask him to stay, so I just go straight to the point. “Am I going to see you again?”

  He just looks at me, his face devoid of all feeling.

  I’m suddenly freaked out he’s going to leave town forever. Every crazy thought I’ve had over the last week that involved him jumping on a plane to who knows where, or disappearing into the wilderness on his dusty motorcycle, comes crashing back. From what I know, Dante really is capable of leaving and never coming back. Grasping at straws, I say, “Should I tell your mom I saw you today?”

  He blinks and lowers his eyes, shaking his head. “No.”

  “What? You can’t leave without saying goodbye to your mom.” I’m panicking hard.

  “I’ll tell her myself.”

  Does he mean he is leaving, but he’ll say goodbye to his mom first? This is driving me nuts. “Why don’t you come over for dinner?” I blurt.

  He smirks at me. “I don’t want to deal with your dad again.”

  Damn my dad! He’s the cause of all of this. Things were going great before Dad destroyed them like a bull in a china shop. The kind of china shop that only sells cute romantic curios of childhood sweethearts and kissing kittens and lovebirds perching together. My dad wrecked my romance once. He’s not doing it again. “I’ll make sure Dad is on his best behavior,” I plead. “Catarina will make sure he’s on his best behavior! We’ll put a muzzle on him! We’ll chain him to his chair! I promise, he won’t do anything to ruin the evening!” I pause, nearly breathless. “But you have to come over.” I’ve never sounded so desperate in my entire life. I don’t care. I literally hold my breath, waiting for an answer. Please say yes, please, please, pleasepleaseplease…

  After an endless moment, Dante grins at me, “The muzzle should be enough. I don’t think you’ll need the chains.”

  “Does that mean you’re coming?” I gasp.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay! I’ll make sure everyone is ready to sit down to eat at seven. Don’t be late!”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “I think Dante is late,” I say to Catarina as we set the table.

  “It’s only 7:03,” Dad says, glancing at his watch. “If he’s not here by 7:15, we’ll file a missing person’s report,” he says sarcastically.

  I don’t think Dad is too keen on Dante coming over for dinner. Screw him. He was the one who drove Dante away in the first place by being so uptight.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here,” Catarina says hopefully. When I called to tell her Dante was coming over, she left work early and bought a bunch of food at Vons. She’s quite the cook when she has time for it. I think she wants to impress Dante with a home cooked meal he’ll never forget. Or maybe one that reminds him of when he was little. The kitchen is an explosion of ingredients and saucepans simmering on the stove.

  I’ve been helping her get the food ready since she brought everything home. She prepped the veal for the Osso Bucco and stuck it in the oven two hours ago. I made tomato bruschetta with sun-dried tomatoes and plenty of olive oil. I also wrapped slices of prosciutto around steamed asparagus spears. The skillet with the half-cooked Lamb Fritata is ready to add eggs and go in the oven. The broccoli salad with chopped avocado and citrusy basil dressing is ready to serve. I tasted it. Yum. I’m not a huge broccoli fan, but Catarina knows how to make anything taste delish.

  Earlier, when the bulk of the cooking was done, I went upstairs and changed around 6:30. I put on a loose fitting lace panel tee and floral print jeggings. Just a bit of makeup. Not so much that dad will notice and say something annoying, but enough so that my face isn’t plain. I look nice. After my unfinished make out session with Dante behind the church, “nice” isn’t what I want to project. “Bad” would better suit my mood. But with Dad here, I have to be on my best behavior. I don’t want to give him any ideas to support his suspicions about Dante. Tonight will be a careful balancing act of flirtation with Dante and setting Dad at ease. I know I can do it.

  “If it gets any later, the Osso Bucco is going to dry out,” Catarina says absently, watching the clock. Her voice is strained. She cracks the door on the oven and turns off the heat.

  “When do you put the Lamb Frittata in?” I ask.

  “That should wait until Dante arrives. It only needs a few minutes in the oven.”

  I’m sure she’s as worried as I am that Dante won’t actually show up. It would suck if all our hard work went to waste.

  “Does anybody want wine?” Dad asks,
holding up a bottle of Merlot.

  “Sure,” Catarina says nervously.

  Dad pulls the corkscrew out of the drawer and pops the cork. “Do you want a glass, Cat?” He’s acting on his best behavior, but it sounds forced. I’m sure Catarina lectured him about not being a jerk tonight. It was probably the first time they’ve talked since Dante left, but at least they’re talking again.

  “Please,” she smiles.

  Dad pulls two wine glasses out of the cupboard and sets them on the counter. He pours one for her and a much bigger one for himself. Dad doesn’t usually get drunk. He drinks now and then, but I’m not sure what he’s like if he gets loaded. I’m afraid to find out.

  Catarina looks at his overly full wine glass. “You should let it breathe for a bit before you drink it.” It sounds like a warning more than a suggestion.

  Dad is swirling the glass under his nose like a wine snob. “Right.” He sets his glass down on the counter and walks away from it, like he might be tempted to hammer it. He plants his hands on his hips and looks back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room. “How long do we wait for him?”

  Catarina glares at Dad.

  “He’ll be here soon, Dad,” I sigh.

  Dad drums his fingers on his slacks. He took his tie off earlier, which is about as relaxed as he ever gets. He stares at his wine glass on the counter. “Does it need more air?”

  Catarina says, “Drink your wine. It might help you relax.”

  Dad grabs it and takes a huge swallow.

  DING dong DING DANG dang Dong!!—

  We have one of those really long doorbells. Dad loves it. I hate it. “That must be him!” I run to the front door, all smiles.

  —Ding DING TING-A-LING Dang dong Ding DONG!!

  Catarina strides after me, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

  “Finally,” Dad moans, dragging his feet.

  I grab the doorknob, trying to calm down and not act like a giddy teenager (which I am). Excitement sweeps over me. I open the door.

  Dante.

  And some floozy redhead holding his elbow.

  WTF?

  My smile collapses into a frown. Who’s she?

  “Hey,” Dante says.

  “Hi,” the floozy smiles. She’s stunning. Tall, long limbed, flowing red hair that looks completely natural. Her off the shoulder black bodycon dress hugs curves that would make a straight line in any man’s pants. The long sleeves are studded at the wrists. She’s wearing knee length buckled black leather biker boots. Knee length. She looks totally trashy. Bitch! She is hot as hell compared to me in my “nice” girl outfit. With Dante wearing his customary leather jacket and jeans, they look perfect together.

  Damn her!

  My stomach sours and I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Who’s this?” Dad asks.

  My sentiments exactly.

  “This is Phoebe,” Dante says. “Phoebe Saxon.”

  Saxon? Like Sexon? As in, ‘the SEX is ON’? Because that’s the vibe she’s projecting like a 90 foot tall IMAX movie in her slut couture. Where the hell did he find this vamp tramp? Hollywood Boulevard where all the hookers hang out? I wonder if she charges by the hour or the evening?

  “Phoebe, this is my mom, Catarina.”

  “Hi,” Phoebe extends her hand.

  Catarina shakes it, “Pleased to meet you, Phoebe.” She doesn’t seem annoyed, just confused. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting another person. I’ll need to set another plate.”

  “I’m sorry,” Phoebe says. “Dante…” she twinkles her nose, “…didn’t you tell your mom I was coming?”

  Does she know him? She’s sure acting like it.

  “Sorry. I forgot,” he says like it’s no big deal.

  WTF? Did he also forget that I basically begged him to have sex after lunch? Oh my god, who’s the trash gash now? I am such a slut! What the hell was I thinking? I was ready to have unprotected sex with Dante?! Who knows where his dick has been?! I am so stupid!!

  “Is this your dad?” Phoebe asks Dante.

  “Gordon Albright,” Dad says, reaching past me to shake her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Gordon,” she smiles.

  Don’t shake her hand, Dad! She’s the enemy!! You’ll probably catch hand STDs!!! I want to yell it at the top of my lungs, but I just swallow my anger.

  “This is my daughter Skye.” Dad rests his hands on my shoulders.

  Is he holding me back? Because I’m about to lunge at Phoebe and slice her neck open with my nails.

  Phoebe offers her hand, “Nice to meet you, Skye.”

  I will look like a total bitch if I don’t shake her hand. I’m okay with that.

  “Shake her hand,” Dad encourages.

  Dad never says the right thing when it counts.

  I shake her hand, but look away, avoiding her evil eyes.

  “I love your outfit,” Phoebe says.

  Sure she does.

  “It’s very cute.”

  Cute? Like Hello Kitty cute or Dora the Explorer Cute? Is she trying to make me sound like a child? Like I buy my clothes from the kids’ department at Target? “Thanks,” I groan. I drill Dante with rusty eye daggers. I hate him right now.

  He’s not even looking at me. Does he even remember I exist?

  “Good to see you again, Gordon,” Dante says. “Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot the other day.” Dante holds out his hand.

  Traitor!

  Dad shakes it like a normal person and says, “Don’t worry about it.” He has a huge smile on his face.

  Do NOT take Dante’s side!

  “I’ll set a place for Phoebe,” Catarina says.

  “I hope you made enough food,” Phoebe says thoughtfully. “I’m so sorry to surprise you like this.”

  “It’s no bother,” Catarina waves her hands. “I made plenty.”

  You too? Don’t take her side!

  “Come sit in the dining room,” Dad beams. “We can’t leave you two standing in the foyer all night.”

  Now everyone is against me!

  This is awful!!!!

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “This is wonderful, Catarina,” Phoebe beams after daintily blotting her lips with her napkin. She is so damn polite it’s sickening. “What is it again?”

  “Pumpkin risotto. Dante always loved risotto as a boy,” she smiles and winks at her son. “Isn’t that right, Dante.”

  “Yeah,” he grins, chewing on a mouthful of risotto, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Not the cute kind of chipmunk. The conniving kind. Bastard.

  Phoebe leans against his shoulder for a moment, smiling that conniving smile of hers. Yeah, it’s cute. But conniving and cute go hand in hand, as we just learned.

  Quit leaning on him, you skanky bitch!

  I would kick her shins under the table, but I don’t think it would go over well with everybody else. For those of you wondering what you missed so far, let me make a list:

  1. Everybody loves Phoebe except me. I hate her.

  2. Phoebe is very nice and has a great sense of humor that I don’t find funny at all.

  3. Phoebe owns her own clothing boutique and made her dress herself.

  4. Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe. Dinner has been all about Phoebe.

  5. I tried slitting my wrists under the table with my butter knife, but it didn’t work.

  6. I can’t wait until dinner is over.

  “I love your earrings,” Catarina says to Phoebe. “Did you make those too?”

  “No,” she grins. “I have a jewelry designer who makes everything I sell at my shop. She made them. But these are my own design.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Catarina marvels. “I love the diamond in the center of the star. A nice touch.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe smiles demurely.

  They continue to blather on about how awesome Phoebe is.

  I lean over and whisper to Dad, “May I be excused?”

  “We haven’t finished dinner,” Da
d mutters. “Don’t you want to wait until after dessert? Those cannolis Catarina brought home look delicious.”

  “I have homework. And SAT stuff. I don’t want to get behind on math.” That should do the trick. Dad never hesitates when it comes to me studying more math.

  “Can it wait until after dessert?”

  What the what? Who body snatched Dad? I gape at him.

  “We don’t get to have a family dinner like this every day,” he smiles. “Do it for Catarina.”

  I scowl and stare at my plate, pushing my Osso Bucco bone around absently. This. Sucks. I noticed that Dad stopped drinking wine a while ago. He was having too much fun talking to Phoebe. And even Dante. No arguing about the economy or hexayurts. Just yucking it up about Phoebe this and Phoebe that. I would’ve preferred a drunken fist fight over the way he’s kissed ass all night.

  “So, Skye,” Phoebe says. “Dante tells me you’re quite the honor student.”

  I’m the opposite of whatever she says about me. And what is Dante doing telling her about my personal life? What else did he tell her?

  “Yes she is,” Dad chimes in. “I’m so proud of her.”

  Why don’t you lift up Phoebe’s dress so you can kiss her ass right on her brown star while you’re at it, Dad? I bet she has a diamond there too, just like her stupid earrings!! You know you want to because she’s protecting me from Dante better than you ever could. Not that I’m bitter about it.

  “She wants to go to San Diego University,” Catarina says supportively.

  Is she ganging up on me too?

  “I hear SDU has a great business program,” Phoebe smiles.

  She’s probably just saying that because she knows I’ll be far away from Dante and she can have him all to herself.

  “It does,” Dad agrees. “Skye has been talking about going to SDU for years. With her grades, she’s bound to get in. Isn’t that right, Skye?”

  Still nudging the bone around on my plate. Do I have to say anything? Can’t I just sulk? This is ridiculous. I roll my eyes at myself. This is stupid. I’m acting like a baby.

  From here on out, I’m going to act like the young woman I am. I know better. I should’ve cut off everything with Dante from day one. Not pine for him like I have. Him going out with Phoebe is good news. This way, Rox can’t have him either, so I don’t have to worry about her being jealous of me or me being jealous of her. What a disaster that would’ve been, right? Way too complicated. I’ve got more important things, like getting a good SAT score this fall to lock in my admission at SDU. It’s not a guarantee until they send me the acceptance letter. “Yeah,” I say. “I just have to make sure I don’t blow the math portion when I retake the SAT in October. Which is why I should probably go hit the books. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.” I stand up from my chair. “Dad, may I be excused?”