Stepbrother With Benefits 1 Page 5

  And just because I'm on birth control makes it fine for him to cum inside me? Um... no! Weird. Gross. Ugh. I've never done that before. I kind of liked it. At the time. Not now. Now it's disturbing. Disgusting.

  I can't help remembering it, though. I didn't even realize it at the time, but then he bent down to whisper into my ear. "I'm about to, Ashley," he said. "I'm gonna cum."

  And... I think he was going to pull out? I think? I'm not sure now. It felt like it, but maybe he was just pulling back to thrust back into me. Deep. He was definitely deep. I pulled him back. Sort of. I had my arms wrapped around him and when he started to pull out of me I clung tight to his torso and pulled him back close to me. And then...

  I can't think about this anymore. Ew. Ugh. What's wrong with me? I'm not supposed to like that.

  Ethan Colton is my stepbrother and he's also the only man to ever give me an orgasm during sex, and he's also incredible in bed. There, I said it. I admitted it. It's over now, right? Acceptance is the first step to... what? This isn't that. It's not that at all!

  I'm going to go to my room and sleep and stay there and wait until my mom and his dad come back from their vacation. Maybe I'll call her. What the heck, what am I going to say to her? Mom, I just had sex with Ethan, and it was a huge mistake, but I kind of liked it. I liked it at the time, I mean. I don't like it now.

  I can smell him cooking breakfast. I hate him. Why is he doing this to me? It smells so good. I roll and cuddle with Ethan's blankets, taking in the scent of him, his masculine warmth, along with the savory smell of eggs, cooked onions, mushrooms, sausage, and... he's making pancakes. That asshole is making pancakes. I love pancakes. With maple syrup. Mmm... and his father always gets the best kind, too. Fresh and thick, and...

  Fine. You know what? I'm going to go have breakfast. I don't care.

  I throw off the blankets and jump out of bed. Yes, I'm naked, but it doesn't matter because I'm alone. I tiptoe around Ethan's room looking for my clothes. Why is my bra under his dresser? How did that even happen? I stoop to pick it up and put it back on fast. For whatever reason, my panties are hanging out of his bedside table's drawer, too. I snatch them up and slip them on, and then, because I'm here and I'm curious, I open the drawer and look inside.

  Right there. Right there! Right on top and right there, as plain as day, is a box of condoms. The asshole could have worn a condom at least, but, no, he didn't. I can't believe this. I slam the drawer shut and go to find my pants, which are under his bed. I don't even know where my shirt is, but then I see it hanging over a lamp.

  My God, what did we do in here? This is crazy.

  I'm not going to think about it anymore, though. No, I refuse. It's not my fault, it's his. It was his idea to get drunk. And he was the one who accepted my dare. He seduced me. He's the one who thrust his thick, throbbing cock deep inside me. He's the one who didn't wear a condom. He's the one who came inside me. He's...

  He's the one who went downstairs to make me breakfast.

  What a prick.

  *** Ethan

  I was just going to make an omelet and a side of sausage, but then I remember that Ashley loves pancakes. I like them, too. My dad gets this amazing maple syrup. We used to have pancakes every Sunday as a treat after...

  After my mom died. That was before, when Dad actually stayed home for the weekend. Then he got bogged down from work, or so he said. I was alone more often than not after that. I guess it wasn't alone, considering I always had someone here with me, but that's not the same. It's not the same as spending time with your dad on the weekend making pancakes.

  I mix up a batch real quick and add it to the list of things to cook. Shouldn't take long. The stove has enough burners for everything, so it'll be quick, regardless.

  Why the fuck am I making pancakes? Shit, this confuses the fuck out of me. Can't really deny that pancakes are great, though. Who cares if Ashley loves them? I sure don't. That's not why I'm doing this. That's what I tell myself, anyways.

  While I'm fixing everything up, I get into a zone. I should record this. Send it in as an audition tape for Hell's Kitchen or something. Who the fuck is Gordon Ramsay? I'm Ethan Colton, bitch! America's Next Top Chef.

  Nah, sounds like a lot of work. Also, I doubt chefs get a lot of action, if you know what I mean. Yeah, cooking is cool and all, but it's not exactly a pussy magnet. Unless you make pancakes for a girl who loves them, I guess.

  Shit, I'm done. What the hell am I doing? I can't even begin to understand myself. This is seriously fucked up.

  While I'm out of it and cooking, Ashley comes down. She's wearing the same clothes from last night, which only stands to remind me of when I ripped them off of her, revealing her soft, begging body.

  Shit.

  I remember kissing her. Not just her kissable lips, but her neck. I remember whispering into her ear, asking her if she really wanted to do this. You can take it back, Ashley. You don't have to dare me.

  No, she said. I'm not letting you out of it that easily, Ethan Colton.

  Alright, Princess. Don't have to tell me twice.

  I should have stopped anyways. I really should have. But, you know what? Fuck. Burying my cock into her tight, slick pussy was like waking up from a goddamn dream. I never knew what I was missing before that, but now that I do...

  Shit.

  "I'm joining you for breakfast," she says, huffy and prissy, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. "Please make some for me, too."

  *** Ashley

  Ethan smirks at me, giving me a sidelong glance while he prepares food. "Yeah, already done. I knew you'd come down."

  I hate him. I just hate him. I can't believe how arrogant and cocky he is. He knew I'd come down? How? How did he know? He didn't. He's just acting like he did. And it frustrates me! It makes me mad. It's not nice. It's rude and arrogant and frustrating.

  "Stop acting like you know me, Ethan," I tell him. "Because, you don't. What happened last night was a mistake and I'm going to forget about it."

  "That bad, huh?" he asks, flipping one of the pancakes, then going to turn over the omelet he's working on.

  I don't know how to answer him. Should I lie? Yes, it was bad. Horrible. No, that's only going to bother me more later. I don't lie. I'll just... I'll...

  "Listen," I say. "Ethan, as reluctant as I am to admit it, I enjoyed what happened, but it wouldn't have happened if I wasn't drunk."

  "You trying to say it was only good because you were drunk?" he asks. "We were both drinking, Princess. We didn't even have that much."

  "Probably," I say, though I don't know if that's true or not. If I believe it enough, I think it can be true, though.

  Ethan has the audacity to laugh. He tosses both the pancakes from the pan into a plate, then pours enough batter for two more into the hot pan. Gliding to the fridge, he opens the door and pulls out the maple syrup, reaches for a fork and a knife from the drawer nearby, too, and then slips over to bring it all to me. Two pancakes on a plate, a fork and knife, and maple syrup. I'm the first to eat.

  "It's not funny," I say. "It's really not, Ethan."

  "Look, Princess, I don't mean to be the one to tell you this, but it would have been just as good if we weren't buzzed. Probably better."

  Better? My mind begins to consider the possibilities, and... I don't know if I like this. I decide to ignore him and focus on the food in front of me instead. I take a bite, chew, savoring the soft fluffiness of the pancake mixed with the thick sweetness of the syrup. Oh my God, these are good. Ethan's a good cook. A year after me and my mom moved in with him and his dad, we were all at dinner once and his dad mentioned how he and Ethan used to have pancakes every weekend after my mom brought up how much I loved them.

  And... well, one thing led to another, which led to us having pancakes every Saturday for awhile after that. Until we both went to college. It's almost the same now, but without our parents. Oh, and the fact that we woke up in bed naked with each other. That's definitely not the same a
s then.

  He's staring at me. One of the omelets is finished, and he's putting a handful of sausages on a plate with it, flipping pancakes, another omelet...

  I need to stop this. I need to.

  "We won't ever know now," I say. "It's done. It was a mistake."

  "Yeah," Ethan says. "Too bad."

  I splutter and nearly choke on my pancake. Ethan smirks at me, some mischievous bad boy grin on his face. Why is he doing that? Why does he do it? It's so... it's attractive, but he's not supposed to be attractive to me! Stop it!

  He gets a glass from one of the cabinets above the sink, then a carton of orange juice from the fridge, fills the glass, and brings it to me.

  "Don't choke, Princess," he says.

  I drink some of the juice, washing down my pancake along with my regret, then I glare at him.

  "Why?" I ask him. "Just tell me why? Why are you making fun of me? It was a mistake, alright? I shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have, either. Neither of us should have. But that's not the point. You don't have to make fun of me about it, too."

  "Huh?" he says, lifting one brow, looking at me like I'm the crazy one.

  "Too bad?" I say. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means what it means," he says. "Too bad we won't find out. Like you said, too bad we won't ever know."

  "Oh, and you want to know? You aren't at all bothered by the fact that we had sex? Your dad is married to my mom, you know?"

  "Look, I get it," he says, but I don't think he does. "It's weird. I didn't want it to happen, either, but it did. It's not like we're actually related, though."

  While he's telling me this, he finishes up with the rest of the food. He brings me my omelet and sausage, then puts his, along with his pancakes, opposite me at the breakfast bar. After pouring himself a glass of orange juice, he joins me.

  "Ethan, it doesn't matter. We can't do it again," I say.

  "Why not?" he asks.

  It's a weird question. It's not a request, or him begging me to reconsider, it's more of an act of rebellion. He's just trying to tease me, to ruffle my feathers, to...

  I don't know what he's trying to do, but I don't like it.

  "I think..." I pause to figure out how to word this. "I think I was just feeling vulnerable last night, Ethan. Alright? I know you might not understand that, because you don't have serious relationships, but I was dating Jake for a few months and then after everything that happened, it was just hard."

  He shrugs and nods. "Alright, but what's that have to do with us?"

  "What do you mean what's it have to do with us? I think it's kind of obvious, don't you?"

  "I get it, Princess," he says; but when I scowl at him he changes his mind. "Ashley, I get it. It happens. Rebound relationships, right? Whatever you want to call it. Happens to the best of us."

  I roll my eyes at him, because obviously it doesn't; it doesn't happen to him.

  "Maybe you were feeling vulnerable," he says. "I can understand that. Your douchebag boyfriend told you that he wanted to break up with you so he could have sex with other woman over the summer. It makes sense for you to get pissed about that. And, yeah, maybe because of that you were thinking that you aren't good enough in bed or something? Fuck if I know."

  It's annoying, because he's kind of right. Yes, that's what I was thinking. What's his point?

  "For what it's worth, I think you're good," Ethan says. "And, yeah, fuck it, that might be a little weird to say, but you know me, always causing trouble, so there you go."

  "Thanks, I think," I say. I'm still not sure where he's going with this. "What's this have to do with what you said before?"

  "Mom and Dad are gone for the week. We've already had sex. Yeah, it was a mistake, and yeah, it's kind of awkward now—"

  "Kind of?" I ask. "Um, it's very awkward, Ethan."

  He smirks and takes a big bite of his pancake. "Yeah, it is, huh?"

  Finally! Finally he admits it. Thank God!

  "It really is," I say.

  "I get it," he says. "But it's done. It happened. Maybe it'll help. Rebound relationships suck. I've seen it all before. I've been a part of it. You might have an opinion of me, and I can't say it's wrong, but I don't want to be that dick that makes a girl feel like shit, Ashley. I just want us both to have a good time."

  I narrow my eyes at him, because this sounds like he's trying to say something without actually saying it, but... no, then he says it.

  "If that's what you need, I'm here for you. Rebound or whatever. We can go into it without any expectations, just get it out of your system, make you feel better, and then you can move on to a boyfriend who's not a fucking asshole like whatever the fuck his name was that dumped you over some stupid shit."

  "Wait. Stop. Hold on. Let me see if I'm following you," I say; he nods, waiting for me to continue. "We had sex, and it was a mistake, and so now you're saying that we can do it again, as a rebound relationship thing, to get it out of my system, boost my confidence or something, and then just stop, act like it's all over, and I'll date someone else?"

  Because, really, that sounds like the stupidest thing I've ever heard, but I'm pretty sure that's what he's suggesting right now.

  "Yeah, kind of," he says. "Like friends with benefits. Just go into it with clear expectations so no one gets hurt, and then be done with it, easy as that."

  "That's not easy," I say.

  "We've already had sex, Princess. It's not hard. It's the exact same thing, just with less alcohol."

  "Ethan, we're not exactly friends. You're my stepbrother."

  He shrugs. "Friends with benefits, stepbrother with benefits, what the fuck's the difference?"

  "First off, when you swear like that it makes you sound like an idiot."

  He laughs and chomps down on a sausage.

  "Second, it's not that easy still."

  "A week," he says. "Mom and Dad are gone for a week. No one has to know. I won't tell anyone. Promise. You can say a lot about me, but I'm not the kiss and tell type."

  "What!" I practically shout. Because, no, that can't be true. But he just smirks at me.

  And... the more I think about it, the more it does seem to be true. Yes, I know Ethan's um... seduced? He's slept with a lot of girls, but he never really talks about it. They seem to talk about it, though. I remember hearing girls gossiping about it in high school, having to listen to them talk about him and how he brought them somewhere fancy and nice, how his dad is rich and...

  It was really awkward when my mom married his dad and I kept having to hear these same things, and even see these girls come over sometimes, seeing Ethan leave with one of them, or...

  That night, the party. Nothing too much happened, but I saw him making out with Stacy Alcott.

  And then later he was kissing me.

  "It's your choice," Ethan says. He's finished with his food already, somehow, and he takes his plates and tosses them in the sink. "Here, tell you what, I'm going upstairs to take a shower. I'll give you until I'm done to make up your mind. Come up and tell me if you want to go through with it. Just a week, just while your mom and my dad are on vacation. No one will ever know, and after that we can go back to normal."

  I glare at him, because I'm not sure if he's being serious or not.

  "If you come up, I'll take it as a yes. We live in the same house. You know where to find me," he says, winking.

  The way he says it is funny. Kind of funny. I don't want to laugh, but I accidentally crack a smile, and Ethan smiles back at me. What's that look in his eyes? It's not a good look, at any rate; definitely a dangerous look.

  "If I finish my shower and I don't see you, then that's a no," he says. "I won't bother you about it, Princess. You do you, make up your own mind. I'm here to help if you want, that's all."

  That's all? That's all? Is he being serious? I think he is, but I don't know for sure, and I can't ask him now. I don't think I could ever ask him. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't wait for me to speak. No
, he just leaves. He walks out of the kitchen and heads down the hall to the stairs, presumably to go to his bedroom and then shower.

  He has his own bathroom, just like I do, private and connected to his bedroom. If I want to answer him, if I decide to agree to his stupid plan, I have to walk through his bedroom, step past his bed, and go into his bathroom. All the while with memories of what happened between us last night fogging up my mind, being able to see the bed we were in, being able to remember the creak and groan of the box spring, of the headboard smacking against the wall, of...

  Why am I even thinking about this? Obviously I'm not going to agree to his stupid plan. I'm just going to sit here, finish up my omelet and pancakes, then my sausage, and when he finishes showering, I'll just go take a shower of my own. In my own bathroom. With my door locked, just in case. So he doesn't get any ideas, you know?

  I chew. And swallow. Hard. Again. Ethan really does make good pancakes. I hate him. I hate that he makes good pancakes. I hate that he's good at sex. Who even says that? Good at sex? I hate that he's the first person I've been with that's given me an orgasm during sex. This wouldn't be the same otherwise. If he'd just not given me an orgasm, or if I'd had orgasms during sex before, then...

  What? I don't know.

  Something kind of hits me around this time, though. Why haven't I had an orgasm during sex before? Was it the alcohol? No, unlikely. Yes, I don't know exactly, because, no, I've never had any before last night. It wasn't like I was completely drunk. More like a little tipsy, I would say. I have nothing to go off of there, as to what is what, but I've read about responses and bodily reactions, and that's what I think happened.

  But, along with that, if a person drinks too much, it's actually harder to have an orgasm. This is the body's natural biological response to inebriation. I've learned this in school, somewhat. Not in extreme detail, but we discussed it to some degree, and that's what happens.