Little Brats: Taboo A-Z Volume 1: (Forbidden Taboo Erotica) (Little Brats Boxed Sets) (15 page)

“You haven’t met a single person who is nice to you?”  he asked, rubbing her arm with his palm, up and down. 

“Just you.”  She leaned against him more, resting her head on his chest.  “I only wish I were as invisible to them as I am to my mother.  They look at me like I shouldn’t be there.” 

She felt his arms tighten and just that sweet gesture made tears threaten, stinging her eyes as she blinked them back.  She didn’t want him to see, to hear, but a small, errant sob escaped her chest.  That simple sound was all it took for her stepfather to fold her into his arms completely, pulling her into his lap as hot tears spilled over onto her cheeks, soaking his shirt.  She clung to him as Daniel held and rocked her, soothing, smoothing her hair away from where it had fallen over her face.  One hand rubbed up and down on her arm, his calloused skin making her soft skin tingle. 

“Sweet girl,”  he murmured as her tears soaked his shirt.  “I wish you were happy.  Do you want to go back so badly?” 

Eva shook her head.  That wasn’t it, not exactly. 

“I just wish she didn’t
force
me to come here,”  she sobbed, letting the resentment that lodged in her tight chest go, scorch her throat with the force of her words.  “Maybe if it had been
my
choice,
my
decision…” 

“I understand.”  He stroked her hair.  “You have every right to feel that way, kisa…” 

“Ugh.  I made a mess of your shirt.”  Eva sniffed, rubbing at the moisture on his shirt as if she could wipe it away or dry it with just her touch, her hands moving over the hills and valleys of his chest.  Her fingers reached the solid six-pack of his abs, a startling discovery, and she brought her hands to her lap as if she’d been burned.  Her own stomach clenched at her body’s reaction and she saw Daniel’s gaze drop to her lap, looking at her manicured fingernails.  She’d borrowed a shade of red her mother hadn’t used since they’d arrived in the states, but Eva had gotten yelled at for taking it anyway. 

When she finally dared to look up again, their eyes locked, breath mingling, mere inches separating their mouths.  She bit at her full bottom lip, the taste of strawberry gloss on her tongue, as he raked a hand down over the rugged stubble on his chin.  Her nipples pebbled in a need to feel those calloused hands rub over her tender flesh, and the thought made her flush with both embarrassment and lust.  As if he’d read her thoughts, he wiped away her tears.  His fingers lingered at the edges of her mouth a second before his visibly trembling thumb traced along her lip, pulling the bottom one free of her teeth. 

Pulling back and righting herself to look at him fully, she found his eyes glassy.  Her stomach tightened at the depth of his concern for her.  For lack of anything better to do with her hands, she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, adjusted it around her waist.  A glance down showed how each deep breath they took in sync with each other brought their chests so close to touching.  Just the thought of all his hardness pressing against her softness made her wet.  The imagined sensation of his lips on hers made her pussy pulse with a need to have his thumb, now just grazing her lip, to be pressed hard against her clit. 

And he looked like her as if he could read her mind.  As if they were speaking some language only the two of them could know.  As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, where she wanted him to touch her.  She wondered if wishing it could make it so, seeing his hands hovering, so close to touching her, she could feel the heat of him, but then he dropped them to the bed, gripping the bedspread in his fists. 

“I want to make you happy, kisa.”  His voice was strained, gritty.  “I want that more than anything in the world.”

“So do I,”  she breathed. 

Somewhere, a phone rang.  They both glanced up and Eva knew the sound of her father’s cell phone ringtone, a clip of Johnny Cash’s Walk the Line. 

“I’m sorry.”  He sighed, sliding her off his lap into the bed.  Eva nodded, chest falling, shoulders slumped as he stood above her.  “I wish I could do more.” 

“Me too.”  She swallowed as she looked up at him, seeing his gaze rake her body as she rolled her shoulders back to push her ample chest forward.  She saw the hunger in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered at the apex of her thighs as she leaned back on her elbows, knees slightly parted, flashing the color of her panties.  Red, like her nails.  Like the blood pumping through their veins. 

“Maybe I will.”  Their eyes met and Eva couldn’t breathe.  But Johnny Cash kept insisting on walking that line, so Daniel stepped back, turning and leaving her with only one pained, lingering look backward. 

Then he was gone.

As the sun set, ending her stepfather’s workday, she faked studying as she listened for him to come home.  Shakespeare was beautiful in any language, but she couldn’t concentrate on stories written in Old English, let alone regular English, as she awaited the return of the one person who cared about her, the only warm spot in her day.  Her heart raced, hearing his heavy footfalls on the staircase.  Her mother intercepted him in the hall, leaving her to wonder which room he would have gone to first—hers or his. 

“Daniel?”  Her mother sounded happier to see him than usual at the end of the day.  “What do you have there?”

Ah, so that was it.  She thought Daniel had brought her a gift.  And maybe he had.  He often gifted them both with trinkets, little things.  Daniel loved to see them smile. 

“Oh.  I… uh… ” He stammered.

“Gimme!”  her mother insisted and she could tell from his protest, she’d snatched it from his hands, whatever it was. 

“What the hell is this? A book of Russian poetry? Why would you get me this?”  Eva’s mother snorted in disgust.  “For God’s sake, Daniel, what were you thinking? You know my rule.  No Russian in this house!” 

“I just thought—”

“No you didn’t,”  she insisted.  “You wasted your damned time learning it because I never want to hear it again.  This is America, Daniel.  We speak English in America.” 

Eva heard her mother’s heels clicking on the wood floor, down the hallways, stopping only when she’d reached the carpet of her bedroom.  Even all the way down the hall, Eva heard the clang of the book being thrown into the small metal trash can by her mother’s dressing table.  She could picture it there, sitting in the ornate, ostentatious gold trash can, as if even her mother’s tissues had to have a fine, rich place to land. 

Daniel said nothing, but she heard him follow her mother.  She crept to the bathroom—one room closer to their bedroom—leaving the door cracked and straining to hear their conversation.

“Honestly, Daniel,”  her mother continued to berate him.  “I don’t know what you’re thinking half the time.  You brought me here to be your wife.  And I live the part well—charity events, parties—but you, you do not do your part.  I’m off once again tonight to a charity event,
alone
, as you couldn’t pull yourself away from those horses in time to get ready to take me!” 

“Tatyana, I’m sorry.  Just give me fifteen minutes, I can shower and—”

“No!”  Eva’s mother snapped.  “We’ll talk tonight when I get home.  Be awake.”

With that, her mother stomped, as only a woman in heels could, down the hall and the stairs.  Eva heard her calling for the help with her coat and the car.  The woman simply couldn’t do a thing for herself.  Michael heard Tatyana’s demands and responded.  Eva heard the deep rumble of the man’s voice.  Their “butler”—Eva’s mother insisted on calling him that—was kind and tolerant but Eva knew Tatyana tested his patience.  Mary, the woman who cooked and cleaned for them, couldn’t stand Tatyana.  She had told Eva so directly, but Mary treated Eva far better than her mother ever had—when the poor over-worked woman had two seconds to breathe, working for a tyrant like Tatyana.  Eva knew Daniel often slipped the middle-aged woman extra money with his apologies for her mother’s behavior. 

Eva listened, waiting for her mother to leave.  Once she heard the door, the car revving, and then the blessed absence of her mother’s demanding voice and sharp tongue, Eva crept back down the hall, heading toward her room.  The sound of the shower starting, the rush of water through the pipes hissing out of the large showerhead in their private bathroom, accelerated her heartbeat again. 

She knew it was wrong, but she hesitated in the hallway, imagining her stepfather naked in the shower.  Even if she knew she shouldn’t, she’d done so a million times before.  Her mother’s or not, the man was irresistible in a way the Russian guys she’d dated hadn’t been, his age only increasing the odds in his favor, as far as she was concerned.  While just as tough and rugged, he had an all-American guy look about him, one not as fierce as the angular jaws and chiseled looks of the men she’d been with back in her own country.  Her stepfather, truly, remained the best thing she’d discovered so far in America. 

Creeping to his room, she went to rescue the book she would have bet money he’d bought for his daughter and not his wife.  She quietly cracked open the door and slipped in.  Catching Daniel’s frame in the light of the bathroom, she ducked to hide herself beside the bed.  She slide to her stomach at the foot of the bed, craning her neck to get a good look at him before he stepped into the shower. 

She caught him, one hand on the edge of the sink, the other wrapped tightly around his erection.  Whatever he’d used for lubrication made his hard cock a shiny red even at this distance.  The sight of him far surpassed her expectations—even her hopes.  He was beautiful from head to toe, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his cock.  It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.  Watching him—jaw clenched tight, eyes closed as he tugged violently on himself—made her mouth water. 

She’d been with boys before—Russian boys, not American ones—but never with a man like Daniel.  She licked her lips wanting to lick his skin, to taste him.  As she watched, he slid a hand down to cup his balls.  The firm sacs hung amid sandy-brown curls that matched the hair on his head.  Her hand ached, curling into a tight fist with the need to hold his girth.  Her pussy, already wet, pulsed, then tightened, begging for him to force himself inside her.

Over the sound of the water, she heard the CD player.  Instead of music, a deep voice read something in Russian.  Her eyebrows furrowed a second before her eyes grew wide.  It was the flamboyant, lyrical prose—in Russian—of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita.  She knew the story, had read it in one of her classes, a controversial tale of a stepfather who became sexually active with his young stepdaughter.  Daniel’s skin flushed with heat—from both the steam and his illicit act of masturbation—as he continued to shuttle up and down his cock.

“Eva,”  he moaned aloud, making her startle and glance around, as if he might have seen her crouching in the darkness.  But no.  He was calling for her? Perhaps… thinking about her? Was Daniel fantasizing about fucking his stepdaughter, as she’d imagined it, again and again in the dark heat of her own bed? “Oh little kisa! Eva, I want you.  I have to have you.” 

Eva couldn’t breathe.  Her sex throbbed and she slipped a hand down to cup it under her skirt.  Her panties were sticky with wetness.  “Ahhhh Eva! I’m so sorry, my kisa, ya zhenilsya na tvoyey materi, potomu chto posle vsego odnogo vzglyada , ya khotel tebya.”

He slipped into Russian so easily, as if his confession had to be in her native tongue.  His words made her eyes mist as her fingers pulled the crotch of her wet panties aside.  Not only did he want her, but as he’d said in her language, he’d only married her mother because, after one look at Eva, he’d wanted her.  He wanted
her
.  From the looks of things, he obsessed about having her as she did for him.