Cruel : Stepbrother Billionaire Romance

Cruel

Stepbrother Billionaire Romance

K Carter Payne

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He was in the center of the noise at the big lunch table with a couple of his sketchy buddies. As always, a whole cloud of girls bobbed, chattered, pointed, squabbled and giggled all around him. His strawberry blond curls bobbed above the throng like a Michelangelo rising out of a scene in some twisted horror version of
Glee
.

Chairs scraped and rattled, and he looked over to the corner where I sat, peeling the saran wrap from the little sandwiches that Mom made for me.

“Hey, Sis!” As I looked up, I felt the eyes of everyone in the whole lunchroom turn on me.

It was status, a thing of pride, if kids from the higher grades even deigned to acknowledge your existence. It just wasn’t that common. Didn’t even matter if they were relatives. And he wasn’t. Not really.

“In a minute,” I called back to him. It was part of our ritual.

The fact that it was him calling me should have made it extra cool for me. Everybody went crazy around him. The boys all looked up to him, and all the girls, well, most of them, elbowed each other out of the way to fall under his wheels at one time or another.

“C’mere, Sis,” he called, “Come look at this skank for me.”

I knew that they were all looking at me like they always did, thinking, ‘how can he have that frump for a sister?’ Except they’d say something a whole lot worse than ‘frump.’

I always wanted to be at the center of
his
attention though, so I kept him waiting while I finished my sandwich, as our ritual required. Then I padded over to the edge of the cluster around the table.

All the girls, all older than me with their on-trend hair and makeup, they all squinted down their noses and took an extra second or two to get out of the way. Making a point. The point being, ‘I wouldn’t make way for this dumpy brat, I’m only doing it to show respect to
you
.’

They were pathetic, and they made me sick.

When I got near enough to the table to see, he stood behind Alix Mayburn, one of the fashion-plate cheerleaders. Teased and pampered peroxide-blonde hair and butterscotch skin, she had way more jewelry and makeup than the rules allowed.

A thin golden rope chain rose and fell on the tops of her breasts. Her shirt was open to the bottom of her cleavage.

“See those thick red lips?” he said, “I thought I might fuck her, Sis.” He never called me by my name when anyone could hear, just like he didn’t want me using his real name ‘in public,’ as he called it.

He took hold of the girl’s chin and turned it side to side. “She’s got good enough tits, look…” his hand slid down along her throat, then into her shirt and she sighed. Her face and body folded as he squeezed her breast, “and her ass is suh-weet,” he took his hand up her skirt and her mouth drooped.

Her eyes pleaded up at him. He wasn’t looking, because his focus was still on me. “Only, I want her to suck my cock first, and I need her to get it right down her throat. She says she can do it, but look at those lips.” He lifted an eyebrow, “You think she can do it?” My panties were soaked so bad by this point, I’d have given anything just to get them off.

“Hey, I think your sis might want in on the action, too.” Gutbucket raised his nose to make a show of sniffing the air. Then he craned his neck down to sniff at me.

He pulled a face and grinned as he said, “Eeew, gross!” and they all laughed. Gutbucket said, “I’ll fuck her for you. Just to do you the solid, y’know?”

All the fun drained out of his face, and his eyes popped as my stepbrother’s arm whipped out and his hand clamped on Gutbucket’s throat.

“You don’t so much as look at her,” he hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You don’t get within breathing distance of her, get me?”

I had seen his eyes blaze like that before, the tremble of rage in his voice. He spoke in a low snarl through his clenched teeth. My throat was tight and my heart thumped.

I heard one of the cheerleaders mutter, “Well, who’d want to?” and they all doubled over in giggles.

First time I saw him, I knew that what I felt was wrong, even though I probably wasn’t old enough to know why. Was it wrong then, if I didn’t know? I never really got why it was all supposed to be so dreadfully wrong anyway. It was all way too complicated for me.

I’d heard about him from Mom and his daddy told me how I was going to like him
so
much. How he and I were going to be the very best of friends. We would be the closest brother and sister ever.
 

I was sitting on the top of the stairs in our old house. He was at the bottom. He looked so much older than me, I was kind of scared. I knew that everyone called him ‘Baz,’ except for the Asshat, his dad. He called him ‘Balt,’ which sounded completely stupid. Nobody called him by his name.

His name was from the Bible. It was the name of one of the three kings, the wise men. The Magi, some people called them. I liked the sound of that, ‘Magi.’ It was like ‘magic.’

Standing in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs with his shaggy, curly blond hair, he looked somewhat angelic. At least, he had, until he turned to look up at me and I saw his eyes and twisty smile. I felt like my insides melted and splashed out of me, and cascaded down the steps.

It was then that I realized he could see straight up my skirt. I knew that I should move, to close my legs or pull my skirt tighter. It was kinda hard not to. But it gave me a dark sensation, a thrill that I never forgot. It was so very wrong. And I wanted it, again and again.
 

The Asshat was in the kitchen. I overheard him telling my Mom, “His mother was cruel and callous to give him that ridiculous name.” His eyes darkened as he overheard his father.
 

His blond curls bobbed as he came slowly up the stairs. An electric tingle ran from my stomach down into my panties as he came nearer. That tingle I had only felt a couple of times before. Times when something good somehow felt really bad, or when something bad felt really, really good.

He muttered in that whisper of his, said what was cruel was for his Mom to die so soon and in the way that she did. As it slipped out under his breath, I got the idea that he blamed his daddy for her dying. I didn’t really know why I thought that.

So nobody used his name and he certainly never threw it around. He was always introduced as ‘Baz,’ and that was that.

That first night they stayed over in our house, he shared my room. There wasn’t another room spare, although he could have slept on the couch in the living room. The Asshat slept in Mom’s room, of course.
 

In the darkness he whispered to me, and told me, “She gave me the name and I keep it special.” He shone a flashlight in my face. “You heard him diss it, so he never gets to use it.” In the darkness, the anger glowed in his eyes. “Ne.Ver.”

“I want you to call me by my real name,” he said, “But only when we’re alone. Never when there’s anyone else, anyone at all who might hear it, you understand?”

“Even Mom and your Daddy?”

His voice was hard, “Especially them.”

And that was when he told me what it was. The word crackled through me, like the tingle on the stairs and with the same charge.

Balthazar.

When Mom told me that we had to move in with Balthazar’s daddy, she said that their ‘big apartment’ was much better than our little house. I didn’t see why. It was way high in an apartment block downtown. A house seemed much better than that.

You had your own door on to the street and you didn’t have to wait for an elevator to go out or to come back in. You could open all the windows and we had a yard out back with grass and some flowers.

Balthazar’s Daddy’s apartment had what Mom said was a view of the river. That meant that you could see a couple of cranes and a big bridge, way off in the distance and through the smog. To call that a view of the river was just not right because you couldn’t see any of the water at all.
 

So, the next four years Balthazar and I both went to Lincoln High. As soon as he could, he upped and left, and we lost touch. Well, I lost touch with him, I guess. I don’t suppose he gave a thought to keeping in touch with me.

A bright patch in those days was the Sundays in summer when the Asshat took all of us up to the public beaches in the Hamptons.

Balthazar just had to walk on the beach and there would be half a dozen kids around him in minutes. Most of them were girls. They touched his arm or his chest. When he talked to them they tilted their heads. Touched the sides of their necks or played with their hair.

Seeing the easy way he made friends, with girls especially, always it lit a glow inside of me. A glow that carried some of the mysterious tingle. Every time I felt it from then on, it was always around him. Until he left. Since then whenever I felt it a thought of him would be in the back of my mind.

One morning Mom and the Asshat had both left early, so I had to get myself up. Never one of my special skills. Between trying to figure out coffee and something for breakfast, still bleary and in my jammies, I barged into the bathroom. Steam billowed out as soon as I opened the door and I knew this wasn’t right.

Still, nothing was right that morning, so I fumbled through the mist for the mug with my toothbrush. The shower cabinet door was open. Balthazar was crouched. Naked and glistening, his huge cock was in his hand.

His hair was wet, stuck to his face. His eyebrows creased in a steeple. He started to say my name, but his voice was hoarse.
 

I dropped the toothbrush and ran. My whole body tingled so much I thought I was going to implode. As I shut the door to my room and leaned with my back against it, straight away half of me twisted in agony, wishing I hadn’t blundered in on him.

The other half of me wanted to turn and bust back in there.

“All those dumb girls.” We sat on the floor by his bed one slow summer Saturday and played Riddick on his X-Box. “All they want is to tell their friends they’ve been with me. Show off a mark and say, ‘Baz gave me that’.” he winced as he did a cruel impression of our stereotypical ‘popular girl.’ “They don’t care about me, they don’t know anything about me. I’m just a goddamned trophy.”
 

His face twisted as he wrenched the controller. Flames burst to fill the screen.
 

The Asshat shouted from the hallway, “Balt! Deirdre’s here.” Deirdre Macon was the oldest cheerleader, and she was the sexiest. This was the girl that all of the jocks and the whole football team howled at and slavered over.

“I never invited her,” he scowled. “If they throw themselves at me, what am I supposed to do, but really,” he looked at me, “Do these girls have no pride at all?”

Balthazar pushed me and told me to get into his closet and hide. I said I could just slip back to my room, but in an urgent whisper he said, “No, she’ll see you,” as he shoved me into the closet.
 

The closet had two sides. One side had a mirror over the door, and the other door was slatted. He pushed me into the side with the slats, and I thought he must have made a mistake, because if you looked hard enough you could see inside the closet.

Deirdre wasn’t looking at the slats, so it didn’t matter.

She leaned against him, “It’s so great to see you, Baz,” and he winced at her breathy Valley-girl meets gangsta bitch voice. Well, I assumed that was what made him wince as she wrapped herself around him. Whatever it was, his wince didn’t slow the flapping of her eyelashes.

Balthazar held her face, pulled her roughly to him by the waist. “Oh, yes, Baz,” her voice was extra-dreamy. “Do it, Baz. Do what you want with me.”

She nuzzled him and put her lips on his neck as his hands slid all over her body. She had on a crisp white shirt and a short pleated plaid skirt over black tights. She cooed into his neck.

“I know you might want to be rough, Baz. I don’t mind. Really I don’t.”
 

He had her kneel on the floor, facing the closet. Looking at the mirror, I guess. He knelt behind her, putting his hands over her body. Slid over her shirt and squeezed her breasts. Then he lifted her skirt and ran his hands all over her thighs. He bit her neck and her eyes rolled.

Then he undid the first few buttons on her shirt. Her big breasts heaved, looking like they’d bust out of her black lacy push-up bra. Her breath fluttered, and she moaned as he slipped his fingers into the bra. One by one, he scooped her tits out.

My breath caught as he pulled the shirt down over her shoulders. It was still done up at the bottom, so it was like she was tied up with it. Her neck craned towards him. She planted big, wet kisses wherever she could reach his face or his neck, but he pulled away from her each time.

I tingled all over as he pulled her skirt right up, enough that I could see her white cotton panties. Her stomach rolled under her sheer black tights. I was finding it hard to keep still. The tops of my thighs were hot and wet.