FIERCED 2: A stepbrother Romance Read Online Free
Author: Stephanie Brother
his eyes fixed on my high breasts bouncing.
Then I glance back and in the storm of sand, I see the revolting bear that attacked me riding in phalanx behind us, the leader bike. His huge gnarly body unmistakable. And my own storm of hatred rises in me again. What's he doing here? Rocco had been so furious at the potential of him hurting me. He even threatened to kill him as soon as he got up off the ground. Now he's on our tail and I can imagine him waiting eager to make me his captive again at the first opportunity.
“How's about you and me finish where you left off, cutie pop?”
I shudder at the vile recall of his words and find myself curling up for safety, pressing against Rocco's forceful back, wrapping my arms around him tight. He feels my hug and playfully undulates the length of his body back into me, stirring up a torment of longing and loathing.
How dare he assume that I'm into him? I tear myself away and clasp the seat beneath my ass to maintain some kind of stability. My breasts are no longer pushing hard into the rocky broad back. But his butt still slides back into my pussy and the longing to feel him closer, buried deep inside is unstoppable. The sense of landscape is lost in the endless sand and I have no awareness that we have climbed a dune until Rocco revs the bike off the peak like a speedboat off a wave.
I squeal and for what seems like an hour, we fly through the air and I lunge automatically for the security of his huge chest. Wrapping my arms tight around him, okay, honestly, clinging for dear life and trying not to scream, we land firmly back on the less than solid ground. I continue hanging on to him with all my strength and can feel his smugness spreading through my skin like a rash. He did that on purpose to terrorize me.
When will I ever get my chance for payback? It's all I can think of.
The village first appears as a mirage, nothing more than a black speck on the bottomless yellow horizon. Hours later we pull into hell. It's not remotely a village in the usual sense. No buildings, no streets, no organization of any kind. Where there had been unremitting sand, now there are never-ending waves of black tents, spreading out hodge-podge in an ocean of hardship.
Once Rocco pulls up the bike and waits for me to shakily dismount before he's free to do so himself, I see most aren't even real tents. As far as is visible in every direction, the homes are made of a tarp shelter held up by a stick that the first gust of wind would whip away to roll like tumbleweed across the empty desert.
My eyes meet the leery stare of the pig that attacked me and I take a step closer to the safe harbor of his leader. The next second I'm bowled over by a rush of energy around my legs. A pack of children has appeared from nowhere and hurled themselves at Rocco. The first arrivals clutch to his powerful legs like flood survivors to a tree. Others hang on to his the ends of his arms, one finger per pair of small sandy hands as they dance around him like he's that magician from the fairy tale.
I've never seen such a group of delighted children. Even though their clothes are shabby and torn in places, their smiles are radiant with joy at the piper's appearance. I watch, amazed at this transformation in the arrogant bastard then surreptitiously reach into the bike's saddlebags and pull out my camera. The kids climb all over him and he twirls them around, giving each one their few minutes of fame.
Once their glee is slightly abated, he sits down right where he is in the sand and they gather round close, hanging on to whatever part of him they can reach and listen to his story. The unwanted thought creeps into my mind. This guy would make the most amazing father. He's got attention to give to a hundred kids and is completely unruffled by their constant interruptions.
As soon as the tale is finished, Rocco lets himself be dragged by a hundred tiny hands to what passes for a road to kick around a squashed ball. I snap my
Then I glance back and in the storm of sand, I see the revolting bear that attacked me riding in phalanx behind us, the leader bike. His huge gnarly body unmistakable. And my own storm of hatred rises in me again. What's he doing here? Rocco had been so furious at the potential of him hurting me. He even threatened to kill him as soon as he got up off the ground. Now he's on our tail and I can imagine him waiting eager to make me his captive again at the first opportunity.
“How's about you and me finish where you left off, cutie pop?”
I shudder at the vile recall of his words and find myself curling up for safety, pressing against Rocco's forceful back, wrapping my arms around him tight. He feels my hug and playfully undulates the length of his body back into me, stirring up a torment of longing and loathing.
How dare he assume that I'm into him? I tear myself away and clasp the seat beneath my ass to maintain some kind of stability. My breasts are no longer pushing hard into the rocky broad back. But his butt still slides back into my pussy and the longing to feel him closer, buried deep inside is unstoppable. The sense of landscape is lost in the endless sand and I have no awareness that we have climbed a dune until Rocco revs the bike off the peak like a speedboat off a wave.
I squeal and for what seems like an hour, we fly through the air and I lunge automatically for the security of his huge chest. Wrapping my arms tight around him, okay, honestly, clinging for dear life and trying not to scream, we land firmly back on the less than solid ground. I continue hanging on to him with all my strength and can feel his smugness spreading through my skin like a rash. He did that on purpose to terrorize me.
When will I ever get my chance for payback? It's all I can think of.
The village first appears as a mirage, nothing more than a black speck on the bottomless yellow horizon. Hours later we pull into hell. It's not remotely a village in the usual sense. No buildings, no streets, no organization of any kind. Where there had been unremitting sand, now there are never-ending waves of black tents, spreading out hodge-podge in an ocean of hardship.
Once Rocco pulls up the bike and waits for me to shakily dismount before he's free to do so himself, I see most aren't even real tents. As far as is visible in every direction, the homes are made of a tarp shelter held up by a stick that the first gust of wind would whip away to roll like tumbleweed across the empty desert.
My eyes meet the leery stare of the pig that attacked me and I take a step closer to the safe harbor of his leader. The next second I'm bowled over by a rush of energy around my legs. A pack of children has appeared from nowhere and hurled themselves at Rocco. The first arrivals clutch to his powerful legs like flood survivors to a tree. Others hang on to his the ends of his arms, one finger per pair of small sandy hands as they dance around him like he's that magician from the fairy tale.
I've never seen such a group of delighted children. Even though their clothes are shabby and torn in places, their smiles are radiant with joy at the piper's appearance. I watch, amazed at this transformation in the arrogant bastard then surreptitiously reach into the bike's saddlebags and pull out my camera. The kids climb all over him and he twirls them around, giving each one their few minutes of fame.
Once their glee is slightly abated, he sits down right where he is in the sand and they gather round close, hanging on to whatever part of him they can reach and listen to his story. The unwanted thought creeps into my mind. This guy would make the most amazing father. He's got attention to give to a hundred kids and is completely unruffled by their constant interruptions.
As soon as the tale is finished, Rocco lets himself be dragged by a hundred tiny hands to what passes for a road to kick around a squashed ball. I snap my
Readers choose
Wisława Szymborska
Eliza Gordon
Kay Hooper
Robert Onopa
Terry Pratchett
Lauri Robinson
Stewart Stafford
Amanda Eyre Ward
R N Skye