Read Shame: A Stepbrother Romance Online
Authors: Emma Soule
Shame: A Stepbrother Romance
Shame
Emma Soule
Copyright © 2016 Emma Soule
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
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CHAPTER ONE
“I want to get into some real trouble tonight,” Ashleigh says with a wink as we storm into the lingerie shop. She is literally dragging me inside.
The shop wasn’t in my plan at all. I have the whole day planned out perfectly and we don’t have time for diversions. It’s her bachelorette party tonight and as her best friend and her maid of honor, I’ve done my research well enough to allow for
some
trouble. Penis-shaped glasses, penis-shaped napkins, penis-shaped cupcakes, that sort of thing. It’s what people do for their best friends’ bachelorette parties, right?
“Don’t worry, I’ll be getting you into plenty of trouble,” I say, panting, while trying to catch up with her. She’s already rushed through the decent everyday underwear section and is heading down a short flight of stairs to a different section. One that is full of lace and frills and hooks and leather. White or cotton don’t seem to be on the menu here.
“Come on, Ash,” I urge her, “We don’t have time for this. We’ll miss the appointment.”
She pauses for a moment from rummaging through a rack of obscene crotchless panties and looks back at me with puppy eyes. She is pouting now.
“It’s my day, Jo!” she whines and she knows it’s the one thing I can’t really argue. “For once I want to do something… Well, something
bad
.”
I walk over to her, though this whole place makes me feel uncomfortable. The mannequins around us are all dressed in corsets, garters and impossibly high heels. It’s as far from
our scene
as a place can get. Right next to Ashleigh stands a tall, plastic woman with her butt turned to us, wearing some sort of open-back panties that leave nothing to the imagination. Her long acrylic hair is cascading down her back and her wrists are bound in leather cuffs, joined by a thin silver chain. She’s creeping me out and I can’t believe a real flesh-and-blood woman could be buying, not to mention wearing, this type of thing.
“And you think you’ll be wearing
this
, while doing your ‘something bad’?” I wave a random piece of crotchless underwear I grab from the rack in Ashleigh’s face. It has two overlapping lace flaps on the bottom. She reaches over and pulls them apart to reveal a substantial hole. We both burst into laughter. Who came up with these things?
“Okay, this one may be a bit much,” Ashleigh admits and keeps walking. I was hoping I had dissuaded her and we could finally leave, but I sigh and follow her anyway. She is right. It’s her day. Plus, I know she doesn’t have the guts to buy anything from here. Neither of us has, so what’s the harm in letting her pick through the trashy underwear? It could be written off as ‘something fun and outrageous we’ve done together’ for her bachelorette party. We could even, if we are brave enough, snap a picture of ourselves with handcuffs or some funny wigs or eye masks and post those on Facebook in case our pictures from later in the day don’t show anything close to wildness.
We seem to be just in the right section for that. Satin gloves, sexy sailor hats, leg straps and fluffy leg warmers, collars and latex jumpsuits are displayed all around us. I feel like I’m doing something forbidden, something embarrassing, just from being around these objects. While Ashleigh seems fascinated with a pair of rhinestone tassel nipple pasties (No, I don’t know that term automatically, she reads it out loud to me), I check the price tag on a pocket-sized flogger.
Fifty-seven dollars!
I immediately imagine someone counting out the cash for the convenience of always carrying a flogger in their pocket. This place belongs to a different world and I don’t know a single person who lives in it.
“Let’s go,” I say, exasperated, “You are not seriously buying anything from here, are you?”
“Oh, Jo, don’t be such a prude!” she scolds, “What if I wanted to get something? Something small. Like this.” She pulls on a pair of mesh lace up gloves. “They’re cute, aren’t they?”
I’m annoyed now. I don’t know if it’s because she called me a prude or because we’re already five minutes late for our massage appointment.
Yes, I might be a little bit of a prude, but so is she! There is no need to pretend we are who we aren’t just because there’s the pressure of having fun for the bachelorette party. We know each other from a book club for God’s sake! We don’t walk around in fishnet stockings or pierce our eyebrows and belly buttons.
“Don’t be like this,” Ashleigh says when she sees my expression. She knows I’m not enjoying myself here and she knows I hate being late or straying from my plans. She takes off the gloves and cups my elbow in her hand. “It’s just, I think it’s not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“Well, I know that the guys will be taking Sean to a strip club and I don’t think it’s fair he gets to do
that
, while I sit around crocheting.”
I can’t stop myself. I burst into laughter.
“I swear there will be no crocheting, or talk of crocheting for that matter, at the party tonight. You’ll see, we’ll have fun, too.”
“Yeah,” she says, not convinced, “Only, I keep picturing Sean with his face buried in a huge pair of tits and I just want to die.”
I cringe at the mentioning of ‘tits.’ It’s not what I’d refer to my breasts by, or to any other woman’s.
“So, you want a stripper, too?” I ask timidly. I mentally keep my fingers crossed that she’d say no. I simply can’t picture the mortification of going through the process of booking one.
“No, no, of course not,” she says and I breathe out in relief. “You know it’s not the same. I won’t get the same thrill from watching a man in a thong, wiggling his butt in my face.”
I giggle. Is that what male strippers do? I’m sure she has no idea either, but the image is far from appealing. I know what she means though. It’s humiliating to think of your fiance even looking at another woman, sexually I mean, just a week before your wedding. And we can’t know what the other guys will put Sean up to.
He is generally a good guy and he loves Ashleigh, but peer pressure can be overwhelming with men. They’d probably call him a pussy (I cringe again) or gay, if he doesn’t want to do anything slightly forbidden.
“Alright, no strippers for you then,” I say, “So, what do you have in mind? What’s the trouble you want to be getting yourself into?”
“I don’t know,” she says distractedly, “Maybe flirt a bit. Have guys flirt with me one last time before I turn into a complete nun.”
“Ha, is that how you picture marriage?”
“No. Yes. You know what I mean. I’m technically single for one more week. I want to at least get someone to buy me a drink. Maybe make out.”
“Ash!”
Okay, I admit it. I am a prude. It’s not like I’m a virgin or completely delusional about men and sex, but I haven’t had that much experience with boyfriends or getting anyone to buy me a drink. I’ve also got most of my ideas about men and relationships from books. In my mind, if you are going to marry the love of your life, you don’t go around making out with other people. You don’t even think about it!
Suddenly the innocent party I’ve planned for my best friend doesn’t seem like such a good idea. I picture the ‘fun’ activities I’ve prepared and Ashleigh, rolling her eyes in boredom through most of them. I need to think of something fast. Why couldn’t she have mentioned all this last week, when I’d have still had the time to talk someone into buying her a drink?
I quickly make up my mind. I can’t be judgmental now. My best friend having the time of her life at her bachelorette party seems far more important right now than whether I approve of her flirting with other men a week before the wedding. I still have half a day till tonight. I’ll have to think of something.
“Fine, fine,” I say finally, “I promise, there will be plenty of drink buying and flirting tonight.”
“Really?” Ashleigh squeals like a child I’ve promised a day at Disneyland to. Then, a shadow suddenly crosses over her face.
“What’s the matter? You changed your mind?”
“No,” she says, “Jo, I have nothing to wear. All my clothes are… Well, let’s say they are presentable for a book club meeting.”
I think about my own wardrobe, made up primarily of jeans, sneakers, T-shirts and unpretentious sweaters. Can I go to a fancy club dressed in those? Sure I can, if I get past face control. Can I expect anyone to buy me a drink? More like ask me directions to the nearest library. I’d have to lose the glasses and maybe let my hair down for once.
I’m already starting to panic. I can’t even remember the last time I went out to a club.
“Alright, we are ditching the massage,” I declare before I have time to change my mind. I’m determined to give Ashleigh her dream day, even if I have to change all the plans I’ve already made. “We have some shopping to do.”
“I think we should start here,” she says with a wink.
“No!” I say and grab her wrist, pulling her out of this ridiculous place. Then, halfway up the stairs, I soften a bit. “At least not on that nasty floor. Maybe we can find something decent upstairs.”
Buying new lingerie for a night out in a club is still a long way out of my comfort zone, but at this point I feel like I can stomach anything that has its crotch on. Even if it has a strap or two or even a set of garters.
It’s only one night and if it will make her happy, I’ll be Ashleigh’s partner in crime.
CHAPTER TWO
I fumble with my key chain, while I try to balance all the shopping bags and my purse in one hand. I finally zero in on the right key and push through the bookstore’s front door. I know I promised myself I won’t open it today, but it’s the best place for thinking and making plans. Plus, the Internet is not very reliable in my tiny apartment and I have some serious planning to do.
I drop the bags behind the counter and hurry to close and lock the door before the odd customer has wondered in. Not that I get that much traffic in the bookstore. It’s more of a small, cozy bookshop, complete with a fireplace and a dark-leather vintage sofa set. It’s where I host my book club meetings. I also have a tiny kitchen just off the storage room in the back of the shop and I serve hot drinks to my regulars, who enjoy reading my latest additions or the morning paper by the crackling fire. All I’m missing is a cat. Or ten of them.
Normally, I’d want nothing more than to brew myself a fresh pot of tea and curl up on one of the sofas with a good mystery, listening for the small bell above the front door. Especially on a day like today, when the wind has carried in the first smell of winter and the leaves keep raining in colorful waterfalls off the trees, a cup of tea and a book sound like a dream. I don’t have time though. I have a raunchy party to plan.
