Stepbrother Obsessed(3)

By: Devon Hartford

I met this guy only a few hours ago. I shouldn’t be this into him already. But I am.

He strokes toward me through the water like a hungry shark. He smirks, “If we weren’t in a crowded wave pool, I’d be inside you right now and you know it.”

“You wish,” I laugh and splash water in his face. He’s right. He is totally right.

He surges toward me and laces his arms around my waist, pulling me into him.

I let him. Then I slide my arms around his neck. I don’t wrap my legs around him because I’m afraid of what I’ll do when I feel his cock press into me again. Oh, shiver…

Looking for a distraction, I push his longish surfer-blond hair out of his eyes. It’s thick and I love running my fingers through it. I keep using the word love a lot. I can’t help it.

More importantly, now that we’ve kissed and he made me come, I feel like I should at least know his real name. When we exchanged names earlier in the day, I said my name was Angelina and he said his was Brad. We both knew we were giving each other fake names. It was a fun joke. I sigh, “Hey, um, can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, Angelina.” He winks and grins his rakish grin. His emerald eyes flash back the sun rays that reflect off the water.

I wrinkle my nose and giggle girlishly, “Is your name really Brad?”

“What do you think, Angelina?” He winks.

“Duh.” I roll my eyes and caress the bronze skin of his cheek. “So, um, Brad, what’s your real name?”

His full lips spread over his perfect teeth. His smile glows, “Dante. My name’s Dante.”

Sudden anxiety seizes me and pops the balloon of happy contentment that was floating in my chest a second ago. It has to be a coincidence. Lots of guys are named Dante.

“What?” he asks, slightly confused.

“Um, it’s just…” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head for a second, then tilt it to the side. I frown, “What’s your last name?”

“Does it matter?” he chuckles.

“Please,” I beg, “just tell me your last name.”

He frowns, “Are you gonna tell me to put a ring on it next?” He sounds defensive.

I feel a pin prick of disappointment when he says that. We all know that men like Brad, a.k.a. Dante, do not like to be tied down. But I’m not even thinking that far ahead. “No, it’s not that. Believe me. But please, tell me your last name.”

“Lord. My name is Dante Lord.”

My heart stops, stabbed by a million pins all at once. My arms wither and slide off his neck.

He releases me. It’s symbolic, but he doesn’t realize it yet.

I drift away from him in the cold water. Now would be a good time to drown. All I have to do is let myself sink and let fate take me.

“What’s wrong?” he laughs nervously. “Do we know each other or something?”

We don’t know each other. But that’s not the problem here. I’m afraid we have a much bigger issue. Tears well in my eyes. I want to sob, but not here, not surrounded by a crowd of people playing in a gigantic wave pool.

“Have we hooked up before?” he asks guiltily.

“Ugh,” I groan, disgusted. Don’t people usually remember things like that?

His face softens. His voice becomes delicate, “Hey, I have no idea what’s going on here. Are you okay?” He clasps my hand gently under the water. The concern on his face spears my heart.

I’ve never seen a teenage boy look at me like Dante is looking at me right now. Like he actually cares. It seems like every guy I ever hooked up with always had the same look on their faces: Do we get to have sex this time? I got really tired of that look. Dante’s look is entirely different. It’s filled with compassion and caring. It’s the look of love.

But it’s the wrong kind of love.

The love on his face right now is a cruel hoax. A scam. A trick.

Part of me doesn’t want to believe it. That part is holding on to hope like a life preserver. I want to believe that Dante and I have a chance, that there are other Dante Lords in the world besides this one. I have to make sure. In a weak voice I ask, “Is your mom’s name Catarina?”

He frowns, “How do you know my mom’s name?”

“No, no, no…” I mutter. Why me? Why now? Why like this?

“Hey,” Dante says softly, “what’s wrong? You look all messed up. Tell me what’s bothering you. Please.” He sounds so earnest. So loving.

This. Is. Killing me.

I’m about to lose it and start bawling, right in the crowded wave pool at Blazing Waters. I sniffle, “I’m your stepsister, Skye Albright.”

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