Page 16 of Step Brother Bear

“Fuck you!” I groan.

He smiles against my neck, “Too busy fucking you.” He speeds up, as if unable to hold back. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but he’s much bigger than any man I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never felt so close to the edge from just penetration, especially after releasing so recently. It infuriates me that I’m about to give him the satisfaction of another orgasm. I cling to him, surprisingly desperate for more, for something I can’t name.

“I’m close. This is going to hurt at first.”

“What’s going to hurt?” He catches my gaze at the last second, his eyes wide in panic. But it’s too late. His mouth curves around his pleasure as he releases inside of me, changing before my eyes. Hair spreads across his skin. His nose elongates. Ears pop from the crown of his head. His entire frame grows, caging me in. As he sputters inside of me, something stretches my entrance. I scream—not of pleasure, but at the giant fucking bear in the place of my stepbrother.

My stepbrother has turned into a bear.

I should push him away, should fight for my life even in my last moments, but as he expands further inside of me, the pain quickly changes into overwhelming pleasure. Euphoria clouds my reason as my second orgasm washes over me. I’ve never experienced anything as glorious. If I survive this, I fear I’ll become addicted. My screams of terror quickly turn into ones of sheer pleasure. I can’t look away from the bear looming over me. This can’t be real. I must have lost my mind, but as his pumps cease, my head clears once again, and the bear before me slowly melts away—returning to the human Derek—I realize the truth. I just fucked my stepbrother. My stepbrother, who also happens to be a literal animal.

Chapter 8

Sleep wars against my consciousness. I’m unbelievably comfortable. Warmth surrounds me. Strong arms pull me close. A soft breath grazes my neck, matching the tempo of a hard chest breathing in and out. A noise persists, worming into my awareness and dragging me to reality. Someone is pulling into the driveway. I sit up, the illusion of comfort melting away.

“Shit!” I jump to my feet, startling the sleeping Derek, who moments before held me in his arms on the couch.

“What?” he asks, eyes bloodshot as he sits up and assesses the living room around him.

“I think they’re home! You need to get out of here.”

He rubs his face in his hands and chuckles. “Isabella, I live here too. I can be in the living room with you.”

I look around. It’s so apparent to me what happened here the night before—the smells, the empty bottles, the peanut butter jar on the counter, the disarray of throw blankets over the couch—but it could all be in my mind. Last night, after I fucked a bear, there was a lot of explaining and understanding that needed to follow. Derek was stuck. His knot engorged, trapping his semen inside of me. I guess that’s why he debated whether my birth control would prevent a pregnancy. I had no fucking idea of the fortitude of the tiny pill I popped every day. It sure as hell better work because I’m not having bear-children with my fucking stepbrother.

Perhaps it was my one-beer buzz or the fact that I was still delirious from being fucked senseless, even the knot felt out of this world amazing after the pain passed, but I kind of just…accepted that Derek was a bear. Well, only sometimes. Like when he came. I wonder if that’s the only time it happens. I didn’t care to ask last night. Just let him apologize as he nuzzled into the crook of my neck, cleaned me up, and carried me to the couch to cuddle. Now with morning breathing down my neck, my mind races with everything I should have asked yesterday. But there’s no time, because my parents fidget with their keys on the other side of the front door.

I right my pajamas and comb my fingers through my undoubtedly unruly hair. “Just go in the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! It looks less obvious!” I push him off the couch and work on straightening up the cushions.

“Jesus Christ, you need a fucking Xanax.”

“Shut up! Hurry!”

Derek makes it to the kitchen island just as the front door swings open. My mom enters, eyes wide as she takes in the room before her. “Oh, honey. You’re up.”

“Yeah,” I say a little too eagerly.

She spots Derek. “Oh, and you're up too.”

“Yup.” Derek says as he works on filling up the coffee pot.

My stepdad enters, huffing as he drags two large rolling suitcases behind him. “Oh, good morning.” He eyes Derek skeptically.

“Coffee?” Derek offers.

My parents stare at him, not responding. I’m internally screaming, sure they can tell what happened between us. My mother breaks the silence, stepping into the kitchen and places her purse on the counter. “I don’t think I’ve seen both of you up this early since you were in middle school on Christmas Day.”

Derek motions a full coffee cup to me. “Blame this one. She loves to make noise, and apparently, our walls are super thin.”

Not a lie. Even if he is an asshole. I hope my parents don’t catch the obvious innuendo. Something about his confession calms my nerves, though, as if my parents are human lie-detector tests and saying somewhat the truth clears our name, even though they’re definitely not.

Darrell continues searching Derek suspiciously, joining my mom in the kitchen and resting the suitcases against the counter. “How was everything while we were gone?”

“Oh, fine,” I say too eagerly again.