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Dom looks me straight in the eye, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, I have my mind made up about her already," he says, winking at me before leaving with my dad.
As soon as they're gone, I grab a towel from the rack, press it against my mouth and scream as loud as I can into the thick Egyptian cotton.
My stepbrother. He's my goddamn stepbrother.
Fucking.
Hell.
Chapter two
DOM
I'm not a big fan of family meals, but today's lunch is proving to be more than interesting.
It took me a moment to recognize her on the beach. Her dad and my mother had been shoving her photos in my face for months before we met, but the pictures definitely didn't do her justice.
Unfortunately, I'd already yanked down her bikini before I realized we were stepsiblings. If I try hard, I feel some remorse, but those beautiful tits were a sight for sore eyes.
She's gorgeous, there's no denying that. But I think I prefer her on paper, because in real life, she might as well be holding up a big fucking sign that reads TROUBLE. I can already tell she's decided to make all our lives a living hell, and she's intent on making me suffer as much as possible.
Poor little princess doesn't know I've seen enough crap in my life to be able to take on anything. And a little firecracker like her is a dot on the horizon – something I can wipe off with ease.
My parents divorced when I was a little kid. All I remember from back then is a lot of shouting, plates breaking and being locked in my room while they fought.
I head to the kitchen after I get dressed, my hair still wet and dripping from the shower. Mom has got eggs and bacon on the table for us, and I settle down, pouring myself a glass of fresh OJ.
Our conversation is pleasant, but the door has my undivided attention. Little miss firecracker storms in. Her face is already flushed, her red hair a wild halo around that pretty, heart-shaped face.
I busy myself with other thoughts as she joins us at the table.
Replaying the events of the last few months in my head, I think about my life now.
I was bitter about my parents' divorce for a long time. I blamed my mom, even though she kept me when Dad up and left, not giving a damn about his seven-year-old son. I used to be so obsessed with my dad, always seeing him as some kind of superhero, when he was nothing but a villain.
I found out my scumbag of a father cheated, cut off all contact and haven't regretted it once. Last I heard, he's living with his secretary in Nebraska. Good for him, and good riddance from me.
I had a rebellious period nonetheless, and I still carry the remnants of that phase on my skin. I seemed to think that my mother would feel punished if I inked every inch of my skin. Instead, she took everything with a smile and always told me I made her proud every day.
And that hurt more – to know she had this blind trust in me. It meant I had to do something with my life, instead of wasting my time on girls and booze. I decided to try and be a better man... at least in public.
This decision might be hard to abide by if little step-sis is around me all day, all summer. Just looking at those perky tits of hers is making my cock stir, and I better not think about my hands touching her neck on the beach. Otherwise, I'll have to excuse myself from the table.
"Hi, little sister," I joke, unable to resist the temptation of making her blush. I also earn a round of smiles from my stepfather and mom, while Cassidy shoots me a murderous look. "Calmed down a little?"
"Fuck off," she snaps, and my eyes widen. I'm going to have some fun breaking this one.
"Cassidy!" Tony scolds her, but she ignores him, grabs an apple from the counter and heads out.
"Get back here," her dad calls after her, and I'm pretty sure he means business with his tone. Cassidy seems to be aware of that, too, because she strolls back into the kitchen and plops down on a chair with a dramatic sigh.
"May I be of help, Father?" she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Cassidy, don't be such a kid," he scolds her, and she sulks at his choice of words, which amuses me. She's eighteen, right at that awkward age. And despite the fact that she behaves like an insolent child, she does not like being called one.
Noted.
She sulks at the table while the rest of us enjoy our breakfast, the conversation flowing without her input. Still, it happens more than once that I catch her staring at me, and the fourth time around, I grin at her, which annoys her to no end.
