Stepbrother With Benefits 4 Read online

  "Now you're just teasing me, Princess," he says, grinning.

  "I know," I say. "What do you think?"

  "Your nipples look cold," he says. "Here, let me help you with that."

  Help me with...?

  He darts inside and grabs me by the waist, pinning me to the wall. Then he ducks low and wraps his lips around one of my nipples, sucking it into his mouth. Cool chill meets wet warmth. My nipple softens from the lack of cold air surrounding it, then hardens again from the sudden sensation. I gasp and forget to keep a hold on my towel. It drops to the floor just as my hands reach for the back of Ethan's head.

  He keeps sucking on my nipple for a few more seconds, but it seems like an eternity. Oh, a wonderful eternity, though. When he pulls away, my fingers are still twined tight in his hair and I try to pull him back. He manages to sneak himself away from me, though.

  "There," he says. "I warmed one of them up. Not sure if it helped, though."

  "I think it helped," I say, dazed. "What about the other one?"

  "Wow, you're greedy, huh?" he asks with a smirk.

  "No!" I say, sticking my tongue out at him. "It just makes sense to do both!"

  "Go put some clothes on, you greedy tease," he says.

  I make a funny face at him, but he just laughs.

  "Fine," I say, indignant, stomping one foot. "You too, though."

  "Yeah, I probably should. Don't want my cock getting cold, do I? It might need some warming up."

  I roll my eyes at him. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  "You're damn right I would."

  I huff at him, but I smile, too. I really am cold now, and shivering, so I spin around to run up the stairs to get my clothes, but Ethan stops me with a hand around my stomach. He pulls me back, then slaps my butt hard. The smack echoes through the room, and I jolt and jump in surprise. It didn't hurt, but...

  Well, it didn't hurt, and it kind of felt nice? I wouldn't mind him doing it again...

  "Towel!" he says. "You just going to leave it laying on the floor or what?"

  I spin back to him, glaring. "You just wanted an excuse to spank me, didn't you?"

  "Yeah, actually, I did," he says. "Not that I need one."

  "Maybe I didn't like it!" I tell him.

  "What rule was it that there's no lying?" he asks.

  "Seven," I say, muttering.

  "I'm invoking rule number seven. You liked when I smacked your ass, didn't you?"

  "Maybe."

  "Good," he says. "Because, yeah, you've got the most smackable ass I've ever seen, Princess. I just want to fucking—" And he turns me around and spanks me again!

  Wow. Really? Yes, really. Wow?

  Ethan pulls me back to him and hugs me tight. He's warm, or we're warm together, and it's nice. He kisses me on the cheek, then whispers in my ear. "I'm just playing with you. You know that, right, Ashley? If you want me to cut it out, just say it."

  "Princess!" I hiss at him.

  "Whoa, holy fuck, what, do you not even have a name now?"

  "Princess Ashley?" I ask.

  "I think you're getting a little carried away with yourself here."

  "Please?"

  He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Princess Ashley. You good?"

  "Mhm," I say, slipping in to kiss him quick. On the lips. Just once.

  "You better go upstairs and get dressed before I forget you're sore," he growls.

  "I was going," I say, "but someone just had to stop me and smack my smackable ass."

  "Damn right!" he says.

  I bend down to grab my towel and he spanks me again. Afterwards, Ethan swaggers off, towel draped over his shoulder, his erection bouncing proud in front of him, and he heads upstairs.

  Well, good. Good! I do need clothes. I'm getting cold. A little. I kind of wonder what it would be like to warm up beneath his blankets, though. With him on top of me. And inside me. Kissing me. Holding me.

  Later! Tomorrow. Tonight? I don't know. Soon.

  I wonder if aspirin helps get rid of sex soreness? I should find out.

  *** Ethan

  We make our food, then eat it while cuddling on the couch and watching some TV show. Did I ever tell you how cuddly this girl is? Cuddly as fuck, that's what she is. It's cute, though. She starts to shiver a little since she's wearing these short shorts, so I grab a blanket from the back of the couch and cover us in it.

  "Next time wear pants," I tell her.

  She pouts at me and wrinkles her nose. "No. I don't want to."

  "Wow, fine. Suit yourself. I was just looking out for you."

  "Keep me warm," she says.

  Whoa, demanding much? I stare at her, and she tries to match me, stare for stare. Oh shit, a competition? Yeah, I don't back down, Princess. Eventually she blinks. I probably blinked too. Oh well. What can you do?

  I pull her close and wrap the blankets tight around us while we eat. It's good. Everything is good. All of this is really fucking good. Not the TV show. I don't even know what the fuck is happening with that. It's just white noise in the background, something to do.

  "What do you want to do after this?" she asks.

  I shrug. "Didn't have any plans."

  "What would you have done if we weren't hanging out?"

  Huh. What would I have done? Takes me a second, but then I remember.

  "Probably lifted weights. I don't want to get lazy this summer. Need to keep in shape, you know?"

  "Alright," she says.

  "Alright what?"

  "You can go lift weights."

  "And you'll..." I'm not following where she's going with this.

  "Can I watch?" she asks. "We can talk or something?"

  This isn't exactly the first time I've had girls want to watch me working out, but I feel like she's asking for a different reason. I'm pretty sure she just wants to hang out and talk, not watch my rippling biceps and tight abs. To be fair, if I'm lifting alone, she probably won't see all that much of that, anyways. Need a spotter to do any real heavy lifting, so I'll just be doing average stuff. Doesn't matter to me. It's just to keep in the habit.

  "Yeah," I say. "I guess?"

  "Do you not want me to watch?" she asks.

  "Might be boring," I say.

  "I think it will be fun," she says.

  I shrug. "Alright."

  When we finish up eating, we head to the weight room. It's nothing too crazy here, not like a regular gym, but it's got everything I need. Bench press, some dumbbells, a pull up station, Roman chair, ab station, the whole nine yards. Oh, and a treadmill. Can't forget cardio, now can we?

  I set up my stuff while she sits on a spare bench, watching me.

  *** Ashley

  I've always known Ethan worked out. I knew it in high school, and I knew it when our parents got married, but I've never actually seen him do it. He gets this intense look on his face as he works his muscles. It's a deep concentration, never faltering, completely focused. I watch him move through each motion, step by step. His muscles ripple and strain, but I like the look on his face the most.

  It's almost zen-like, as if this is his way of meditating. I can't even imagine Ethan meditating, though. I couldn't have before now, but now I can. It's interesting and different.

  "Why did you quit?" he asks me.

  "What?"

  "Cheerleading. Why'd you quit?"

  "I was never on the cheerleading squad," I say, but I don't think that's the answer he wants.

  "When we were freshman in high school, I saw you trying out. You went to the first day of practice, but then you never came back. Why not?"

  "I don't know," I say. I do know, but I'd forgotten all about that until now. I'd forgotten the reason I wanted to be a cheerleader in the first place.

  "You sure?" he asks.

  He could tell me we're following the rules if he wants. Rule number seven. He could, but he doesn't.

  "I was embarrassed," I say.

  "What? Why?"

  "I..." I hesitate fo
r a second, but then I decide to tell him. I want to tell him. "I was the only girl with glasses," I say. "I don't know if they were telling the truth. Now that I know better, I don't think they were. The head cheerleader and her second told me that girls with glasses are ugly, though. I could still try out for the team, but I couldn't wear my glasses, not even during practice."

  "That's bullshit," Ethan says. He finishes his current lift, benchpressing, and slams the bar back into its holder. "They seriously told you that? There was a girl with glasses once, though."

  "Yeah," I say. "Later, but not when I tried out. I thought they were telling the truth."

  I thought they were telling the truth about everything. That I couldn't be a cheerleader with glasses and that girls with glasses were ugly...

  "Is that why the... LASIK?" Ethan asks.

  "Your dad didn't have to do that," I say. "I wasn't even going to ask. I didn't. My mom asked him about it later."

  "I liked your glasses. I like you without glasses, too. Whatever works for you."

  That's... my heart swells. No one's ever said something like that to me before. None of the boys I've dated knew me before when I had glasses. I always wondered if they'd still want to go out with me if I still had them, too. It was a weird secret to keep, and I know I shouldn't be ashamed about it. Plenty of people have glasses, right? I was, though. I was embarrassed and scared, and...

  "Do you like girls with glasses?" I ask him.

  He gives me a funny look. "Huh?"

  "Um... I mean, do you think girls with glasses can be attractive? I've always wondered about that."

  "You've always wondered if I think girls with glasses can be attractive?" Ethan asks, dubious.

  "Not you!" Well, no, that's not entirely true, now is it...? "Just boys in general, I mean."

  "Yeah," he says. "Depends on the girl, but yeah. You looked nice in them."

  "Thanks," I say, looking away, trying to hide my blush. I don't know why I'm blushing around him so much lately. It's weird.

  Ethan gets up and heads to the pull up station. It's some giant monstrosity of metal and different levels of bars, for all different types of pull ups, chin ups, and more. I'm not entirely sure what's what with it. It's the first time I've ever seen someone use it.

  "How did you remember me trying out to be a cheerleader?" I ask him. "I didn't think you would have noticed."

  His shoulders stiffen. Maybe. He shrugs. Were they stiff because of him shrugging? I don't think so, but it's hard to tell.

  "I remember lots of shit," he says.

  Oh, really? Well, I remember wanting to try out for the cheerleader squad because I knew he was going to play football. It was stupid, though. He never would have noticed me. That's what I thought. He did notice me, though. Not in the way I thought he might. I don't even know what I was thinking, because Ethan Colton's always been a troublemaker and a bad boy, and I was being more than stupid.

  I had some dreamy vision of what might happen, though. Maybe his team won the game. I don't even know how football works. There's a ball and sides and throwing and running. Ethan was the quarterback. He's still the quarterback in college; I asked my mom about it once and she told me, but I told her not to tell him I asked.

  In my dream, his team won, and when we were celebrating victory, in the spur of the moment he came over and kissed me. Since I was a cheerleader then, in my dream, I was a lot more athletic, and I jumped in his arms or something and... I don't remember. It involved a lot of kissing and athleticism and maybe more.

  I did like the idea of more. I kind of still like the idea of more. We're doing more right now, aren't we?

  For a week, at least. That's it.

  "I liked cheerleading," I tell him. "I know I didn't really do it a lot. Just that one day. I liked it, though. I was just scared after. I know it's stupid. My mom almost called the school to complain, but I begged her not to."

  "You should have told me," he says. "I would have set the record straight with this prissy stuck up bitches."

  I laugh and roll my eyes at him. "You weren't even my stepbrother then, Ethan."

  "So?" he says, like it's a challenge and he dares me to doubt him.

  "You wouldn't have even cared," I say, trying to act nonchalant.

  "Fuck you, I cared," he says.

  Maybe he did. He noticed me trying out for the squad, didn't he? It's too late now, though.

  He finishes his pull ups and hops down to the ground, then turns and smiles at me. "I should probably go easy today. Don't want to get too worked up."

  "Huh?" I ask. "What's that mean?"

  "It's—" He stops himself and furrows his brow, biting his cheek. "You want to know?"

  "Sure?" I don't get it.

  "After a real intense workout, testosterone and shit kind of screws with your mind. Makes you horny as hell and ready to fuck."

  "What? No way! Is that real?" I... I don't know if I believe him, but I can't figure out what his angle is if he's lying to me.

  "Hey, I don't lie about this shit, Princess. All I know is the harder I work out, the more I want to fuck after. You're sore, so that shit's not going to work."

  "Oh," I say.

  "Yeah, that's right."

  "Well, if you're gentle..."

  He pauses. He was about to go grab some dumbbells, but he stops and turns back towards me.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I'm still sore, but if you go gentle, I think it would be alright?"

  "Gentle?" he asks. "Gentle is alright?"

  "I mean really gentle, Ethan."

  "Hey," he says. "What about the hot tub?"

  "Um... what?"

  "Look, I can do gentle, Princess. I'm just saying that what if we go in the hot tub, too? Help relax with some water and heat. It'll keep everything slippery and smooth, too. Gentle and relaxing as fuck."

  "In the hot tub?" I ask. "Sex?"

  "Listen, you're the one that brought it up. Should I start lifting hard or what?"

  Oh. Huh. Um.

  "Well, you can if you want to..." My cheeks are red. I know this, but I don't look away this time. I try not to. I find myself looking down at his chin, but then I make myself look him in the eyes.

  "If you change your mind, I can just take care of myself. You let me know, alright?"

  "If you do that, can I watch?" I ask.

  "Holy fuck, you're freaky as hell, aren't you?" Ethan asks, grinning.

  "No! I just... I was just asking!"

  "Yeah, you can watch, Princess. Whatever you want."

  "Alright," I say. "Then, yes. I would like if you lifted more."

  "You know by saying that you're basically telling me you want me to get hard?"

  "You're going to be hard anyways," I counter.

  "Whoa, tough girl now, huh? Little Miss Perfect learns how to give a blowjob and now she thinks she's all that?"

  I cross my hands over my chest, just under my breasts, and huff at him. "I'm just stating the obvious."

  "Yeah, you keep it up, Smarty Pants. Let's see how that goes."

  I think I will! I want to see how it goes...

  *** Ethan

  This isn't how I planned to spend my night. I'm not even sure what we're doing, but it's kind of fun in a fucked up sort of way. Here, let me lay it out for you quick.

  Hot tub.

  Me.

  Ashley.

  We're naked.

  Sexy shit is about to go down.

  That's all you really have to know. You want more? Well, fuck, aren't you greedy?

  "Alright, go slow," she says.

  "I'm not even in yet," I tell her. "We haven't started. How can I go slow?"

  "Go slow when you start!" she says, laughing.

  "What the fuck, are you sassing me?" I ask, smirking at her.

  "No," she says. "Yes."

  "Make up your mind, Princess. Which is it?"

  "No-yes."

  "Real fucking cute," I say. "Alright, uh... lean back? I'll be
gentle."

  Gentle? Yeah, that's what I said. I'm going to be gentle with her. It's cool. I can handle it. Delicate fucking Princess Ashley. Nah, for real, though, she's sore and I don't want to be a dick about that. It happens. Usually I wouldn't be doing this, and I'd just give her a break for the day, but she's the one that started it. This isn't my fault, it's hers.

  Yeah, I made her sore in the first place, but she's the one that told me I could lift hard and get worked up, and now she's dealing with the consequences. You can't do that to someone. It's just rude.

  "Like this?" she asks.

  Holy fuck. Yeah... just like that...

  She leans backwards, the middle of her back pressed against the edge of the hot tub. With her body arched like that, her breasts look massive against her petite frame, and her taut stomach is gorgeous as fuck. I run my hand from her hips, up her stomach, to her breasts, admiring the view and groping her.

  Gently, of course. No fucking idea why I'm being gentle with her breasts, because it's her pussy that's overworked, but whatever. There needs to be comparable interaction. I think that's some physics rule. Newton’s third law? A body set in motion stays in motion? I don't fucking know. I'll put her in motion alright, that's for sure.

  "Ethan, what are you—"

  "Playing with your breasts," I say, interrupting her. I interrupt her even more with my lips pressed against hers, kissing her. "Quiet, Princess. Let's do this."

  "I like the water," she says. "You were right. It's warm and relaxing. I do feel a little better."

  "You ready, then?" I ask.

  Even though I asked her, I reach between her legs and check for myself, too. I lean closer to her, my body pressed tight to hers, my hard abs to her soft stomach. I stroke two fingers up and down her slit, then slowly, gentle as fuck, push inside of her. She bucks her hips up to meet me, then hisses.

  "Please, slow, slow slow slow."

  "Shit, it's just my fingers," I say. "Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to. We can go... go fucking cuddle or something?"

  Cuddle? Did I seriously just suggest we go cuddle instead of having sex? Who the fuck am I and what have I done with Ethan? I'm having an identity crisis or an existential crisis or some kind of crisis. Probably more than one. What's the plural of crisis? Crises?