Little Brats: Fiona: Forbidden Taboo Erotica Read Free Page A

air rushed over her tank top in the sudden absence of his warmth and she shivered, feeling her already hard nipples turning to beads of glass.
    “No,” he breathed, shaking his head. Then he said it again, more firmly this time. “No. No, this can’t happen.”
    He let her go, hands now out in front of him, warning her to stay away.
    “Your cock has other ideas.” She nodded at the hard mass tenting his silky workout shorts.
    She moved toward him again, grabbing his hands and lowering them to her waist, pushing up against him. Lifting to her toes, her body slid up his, arms snaking around his neck, until she could kiss him, rough, the way she knew he wanted it. And that did it. He began to respond to her touch, the way her hips began to grind against him, her mouth slanting across his.
    His hands moved up to her round, perky breasts, and he squeezed, a low moan escaping his throat. For one breath-stealing minute, began to really kiss her back. His tongue probed, his leg lifting to tuck between hers, forcing her to ride the length of his thigh, making the seam of her shorts part her swollen pussy lips. The heat of her sex left a trail of fire as his thumbs grazed her nipples and she gasped, arching against him, showing him with every molecule of her being that she wanted him. She was more than willing to give him what he wanted—what he needed and craved. She needed it too.
    “Fuck,” he swore as they parted, shaking his head as he moved away. “No. Fiona, no. No!”
    “You want me,” she panted, trying to get at him again, but he held her at arm's length, his fingers digging into her upper arms. “I know you do! I’ll give you what you want. Rough, just like you want it!”
    “No.” He said the word flatly, with no emotion, taking another step back and letting her go. “Go, Fiona. Get out of here.”
    “But…” She tried one more time, taking a step in his direction.
    “Go!” He pointed at the door, but wouldn’t look at her.
    She finally gave up and ran from the room.

    The next morning as she dressed, she heard a knock on her door. She knew the sound of her stepfather’s heavy footfalls. She pulled down the tight material of her workout bra before she told him to come in. As he entered and saw her in her wearing just shorts and her bra, stomach showing, he averted his eyes, looking at the floor.
    “Get dressed. We need to talk,” he said to the floor, the command of his voice unmistakable.
    He clearly meant business. She pulled a tank top quickly over her head, feeling the seams protest as she pulled it hard and tight to her waist.
    “Dressed,” she stated, turning her back to him as she packed up her book bag for her classes today, shoving in the damned art history paper, luckily protected in a folder from all her tossing and cramming.
    “Fiona, please, we need to talk about yesterday, about what happened between us downstairs.”
    Her tears came, stinging her eyes at the memory, heat blotching up her face. She lost the battle to stop them in seconds. The first silent sob shook her, making her shoulders rise and fall. She dropped the last book in her hand and it hit the edge of the table before falling to the floor. She kicked the book, feeling her tears coming harder, realizing it belonged to her mother. She hadn’t needed to put it in her book bag anyway, she’d just been packing things in, unseeing.
    “Fiona, please don’t cry.” His voice was gentle as he placed his hands on her shoulders.
    Not giving him time to even consider gathering her into his arms as he’d done before to comfort her, as her mother never had, she whirled on him. With two frantic swipes over her cheeks, she said the words through gritted teeth, “Just go.”
    “Fiona, no. We need to talk about this,” he continued, undeterred by her tears or anger. “I know things have been stressful around here lately. We’ve all had a lot of changes—you starting college, your mom working on a new wing at the museum, me