Vulture (a Stepbrother Romance) -(11)

“H-how?” she gulped. Breaking away from my hold, she stared up at me as if I had the answers.

But I couldn’t bring myself to deliver the cold hard truth I was thinking. That she was fucked—a widow past her prime… Granted, she wasn’t much younger than I, but in this day and age, she might as well take up knitting right there and then and be done with it.

“Don’t worry about it, Sara. Everything’s going to be fine,” I repeated, knowing full well that tomorrow could bring another shit storm to her door. Shit had a way of pilling up in threes.

Taking my word for it, she fell back against my chest, and I manoeuvred my body to sit beside her on the couch. Her fingers were taut, coiled into small fists around my shirt.

I stayed like that, holding onto her until she fell into a deep sleep, my arms curled firmly around her soft body. Her curves lined up against my straight lines, filling the gaps. I was not a cuddler; I didn’t let the women I slept with stick around long enough to get any false ideas, but having Sara nestled into my body, well, she felt so fucking good in my arms. It felt right, as if I’d been missing something, and she was the puzzle piece that magically slotted into place. I dismissed the thought as soon as it had come. Somehow, I was subconsciously aware that I was entering dangerous territory.

I craned my neck and saw that she was sleeping peacefully. Her chest rose and fell in steady increments.

I gradually slid from under her, not wanting to disturb her or accidentally wake her up and bring her attention to the growing bulge in my pants. I cursed myself.

Fuck knows what was wrong with me. I shouldn’t be excited over a grieving widow, let along my stepsister. It wasn’t as if I was experiencing a sex drought; I’d had my fill that evening. And yet there I was with Sara’s warm body pressed up against me—a sick puppy, horny as fuck.

I stood watching Sara sleep. She was blissfully unaware of the inappropriate thoughts running through my head… ones that I was allowing to run wild. I should be cursed and damned for wanting to see how she looked naked. But she’s not your type! I roared inwardly, trying to make myself see sense.

I closed my eyes and willed the images away. She’d just lost her husband, and here I was, my cock twitching, desperate to pick off the bones. I was disgusting. Yet I could count on one hand all the times I’d ever denied my impulses… Maybe it’d make her feel better?

Planting both of my feet on the carpeted floor, I bowed down and reached for her. With my arms ready, muscles contracting, I gently gripped the back of her knees and cupped her upper body, taking her weight in my arms. Dreamily, her arms reached up and tangled around the back of my neck, holding on tightly.

“Where you taking me?” she mumbled, her eyes remaining closed.

“Bed.”

She tucked her head into my neck as I climbed the stairs and found the master bedroom. Bracing my legs, I dipped forward to lay her down in the centre of the mattress.

“You’re strong,” she said in a whisper, sleep taking hold of her almost immediately.

It amused me how different this night could turn out if we were in an alternate universe, if she weren’t my stepsister and she hadn’t just witnessed her husband’s cold corpse hours before. Normally whenever I entered a woman’s bedroom, I didn’t leave till I was satisfied and she was a quivering wreck. But I kept the predator in me in check; I wasn't about to do anything stupid, even though my dick pleaded otherwise.

“Shh, go to sleep.”

I leaned down and pushed a lock of dark blonde hair from her face. She pulled away from my touch and turned to wrap her arms tight around the pillow, her body curled to her side, presenting me with her full ass in the shape of a heart, begging to be touched. I gathered up the side of the duvet and laid it upon her, hiding her body from my hungry eyes. I smoothed it down around her form to trap as much heat in as possible, trying to fend off the chilliness that lurked inside the room.

A quiet yet strangled noise came from her lips; they pressed into a thin line as she muttered a name I recognised clearly.

“Eric,” she sighed.

I told myself that I should leave, that she’d be OK on her own, but I was already bending at the waist and taking my shoes off, unable to persuade myself to leave. I flopped down on the chair beside her bed and like a sentry, I watched over her as the blackness of the night graduated to the safe colours of morning.





4





Sara





The sound of birds singing managed to penetrate the double-glazing and woke me. Joyful cries sounded as the sun rose in the sky. They chirped as if everything was normal with the world, when it was anything but.