Page 27 of Step Brother Bear

He’s silent, the absence of his annoying voice shocking. Still hunched over in the opening of the machine, I look over my shoulder. He’s staring at me. Well, staring at my ass. He licks his lips, eyes wide and fidgets with his hands as if he’s about to pounce. My face heats, and I stand, but he moves quickly, pressing against me and ramming me into the opening. He pulls up my skirt, exposing my white, stretchy underwear.

Finished this book already?

There is always something else to read at Lokepub.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell through a whisper, but still, I don’t fight much, just allow him to press his length between my almost bare asscheeks as he bucks against me slightly.

“Oh, come on. First, you lie to Lewis to stay home with me. Then you wear this slutty little skirt, and now you’re presenting your ass to me, practically begging for it.” He thrusts harder, sending a subtle echo against the metal box.

I glare at him over my shoulder, holding my top half up on the washing machine. “Shh! They’ll hear you.”

He swipes his fingers under my undies and through my already pooling heat. I shudder, biting my lip to silence myself. He runs a hand up my spine, pushing me so I’m pressed against the cool metal. “Be a good girl, shut up, and let me fuck and knot you until you forget I’m your stepbrother.” He drives a finger inside of me, thrusting with each pointed word.

My eyes roll to the back of my head, and a garbled moan escapes my lips. I’m angry at myself for yet again allowing him to turn my mind into a mushy stew. It hasn’t even been 24 hours for God-sake.

He snakes his arm around my leg so he’s able to plunge inside of me while circling my clit. It’s so good—so quickly, how it always is with him. We haven’t even locked the door. Our parents could walk in at any moment. I’m so close to losing control, to screaming out from the overwhelming euphoria taking over. “Hurry up!”

He grunts, removing his hand, and I hate my angry words. He rummages behind me for just a moment before pulling my panties to the side, nearly ripping them, and pressing his searing heat at my entrance. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he growls before ramming into me, rough and without reserve. I squeal, biting my hand as my heart pounds, nervous that I've alerted our parents.

To Derek’s credit, he’s quieter than me as he drives into me, going as quickly as I requested. I assume that he’ll finish inside of me and that will be the end of it, but I’m surprised and ecstatic when he leans over, reaching around and applying rhythmic pressure to my sensitive bud. I’m spiraling in a matter of minutes, my mind melting, every nerve in my body a blinding heat.

I barely registered the gurgled groans escaping me until Derek slaps his hand against my mouth. “Shut up,” he seethes into my ear with accentuated thrusts, except instead of the prickle of his scruff, there’s soft fur. Warmness coats my insides as he sputters inside. Fangs tickle the lobe of my ear as he whispers, “Fuck, Isabella. So fucking good.” His knot expands, pain shifting to pleasure.

Ditto, but I don’t utter the word out loud. I don’t want him to know how good he makes me feel. No reason to make him any cockier.

My breath evens and the fog around me settles. Shit. This is bad. Again. Except now we’re at risk of getting caught, and we’re stuck together for God knows how long. Why does this keep happening?

“Okay, pull out.” I whisper.

“I can’t. I have to deflate.”

I turn to see remnants of his bear self, hair sucking back into his pores, revealing his tattooed and muscular arms. “Okay well hurry up.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” He scowls.

“How am I supposed to know how your bear self works?”

“Ask.”

There’s a lot I should ask him about, especially why the fuck he’s a bear and if it has anything to do with his healing wound, but I’m too annoyed and anxious to get away. I attempt to wiggle out from underneath him, but he comes along with me in my maneuver. “Ow, fucking stop.”

“Hurry up!”

He grunts, followed by a pop and a splash of liquid. I dart from underneath, fixing my clothing, but not bothering to clean myself. I shoot Derek one last look before disappearing down the hall, catching his wounded expression as he watches me go. My heart melts a little at the sight, but I shut the door and run to my room, feeling even worse than I did before attempting to do my laundry.

I hide in my room for the rest of the day, trying to sleep so I don’t need to detangle my thoughts. When I emerge several hours later, unable to hold my pee any longer, I nearly trip over the laundry basket in front of my door. Inside sits a neat pile of my clothes. Mom could have washed, dried, and folded these for me, but I know that’s not the case. Guilt riddles me senselessly, making me realize maybe Derek isn’t the brute I make him out to be, and perhaps I’m the true monster roaming these halls.

Chapter 13

If I have to hear about how pale I am one more time, I might actually go insane. Mom has even gotten to the point where she’s slipping spray tan flyers under my door like a stealthy pizza company at a crappy hotel. Of course, my skin does look better with a healthy glow, and I’ve been spending most of my time in my room, obsessively applying to jobs and avoiding Derek, so even though I’m naturally tan, I’m losing my shine. It’s obvious that she’s so adamant about the fact because she wants me to impress Lewis. I should want the same, but the thought that I must improve myself to win him back drives me mad.

I have nothing better to do, and it’s a sunny day, so a tanning session in the backyard while reading some smutty romance book I found in my closet sounds like a perfect idea. At least it did, until I actually got out here, set up my lawn chair, and made myself comfortable, all before the neighbor's teenage kid decided it was time for his backyard rock band session. I have half a mind to climb over the fence and tell him to give up his drummer dreams, until a large shadow blocks my sun, causing a chill, and I pull my sunglasses down to catch the culprit.

Derek stands over me, arms crossed over a gray t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, accentuating his muscular works of art. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Fighting the possession of a sleep paralysis demon.”