Stepbrother Studs: Tristan
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Authors: Selena Kitt
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MOXIE
By Selena Kitt
High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it. But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an x-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more trouble than she bargained for!
When Lyla’s sexy, brilliant stepbrother, Tristan, suits up and strides into a courtroom, everyone takes notice. He’s an animal, tearing up witnesses, convincing juries of his clients’ innocence with one cock of his sexy eyebrow, and making the D.A. shake in his loafers when Tristan’s on the case.
No one knows her stepbrother’s raw, instinctual prowess better than Lyla, who has been made junior partner in his firm and now serves as his right-hand… everything. They’ve both worked very hard to get where they are, and she’s not about to let him give up before he’s on top.
So when Lyla suggests she give her stepbrother a different sort of hand before he goes to trial, just to take the edge off, a surprised but grateful Tristan takes her up on her offer.
But Lyla has to admit, she has an ulterior motive. She doesn’t just want to tame the savage beast in her fierce, tenacious stepbrother. She wants him to unleash it—with her.
By Selena Kitt
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MORE STEPBROTHER STUDS:
FIRST TIME WITH MY STEPBROTHER SERIES:
Stepbrother First Times: Baby Kisses
Stepbrother First Times: Baby Love
Stepbrother First Times: Baby’s Big Night
Stepbrother First Times: This Time, Baby
Stepbrother First Times: Welcome Home, Baby
Exiting the elevator in the federal court building, I couldn’t help straightening my shoulders and walking a little taller. Even a year after joining Tristan’s firm as a junior partner, I stood in awe of how far we’d both come.
Poor kids raised by a dockworker and a waitress—we’d earned everything we had. Not like so many of our colleagues whose fancy educations had been given to them by wealthy parents. We’d gotten through law school on our wits—and fully funded scholarships.
Sure, the opportunity to join Tristan’s firm had been a gift, but he wouldn’t have considered it if I wasn’t qualified. And over the past year, I’d more than earned my spot.
Today, Tristan was defending a client against a wrongful death charge. The stakes were high because the client was well-heeled and influential. The fact he’d had too much booze in his system when he’d plowed into the Summers’ car, killing the mother, was discomforting, but I reiterated the mantra I’d learned during law school—everyone deserved the best defense possible. It was up to the jury to render judgment.
As a junior partner, I was still shadowing Tristan’s moves and assisting him to the best of my abilities. During trials, I sat at his table along with the defendant, absorbing as much as I could about the way Tristan built his cases and then sold them to the jury.
Over the past year, Tristan had come to rely on me, not only because the briefs and research materials I put together were the most complete he’d ever had, but also because I was his cheerleader of sorts. Something he needed. I’d realized that right from the start.
When he faced a hostile jury and even more hostile DA, he needed every bit of confidence he could muster. He had to exude the stuff, so that his belief in his clients’ innocence caused little niggles of doubt in jurors’ minds that he could exploit. And Tristan was very good at seducing jurors’ into seeing things his way.
I approached the meeting room Tristan had reserved and entered quietly. He was rehearsing, and gave me a wink as he continued to list the points he wanted to make that day. He couldn’t stumble. He had to be strong and clear.
When he paused, I plunked the thick stack of folders I’d prepared, each aimed at a particular witness to pick apart their testimony and shadow them with doubt. “It’s complete, along with notes about which jurors to focus on when you bring up a particular point.”
As I reviewed each folder with him, his eyes and features sharpened. I knew he was already creating the script for what he’d say to the jurors.
“Seriously, Mavis Barnes belongs to MADD?”
“Yes, her son was crippled when he drove the family car into a tree.”
“So her objectivity as a witness is compromised. That’s good. You’re sure about the angle of her view from her apartment window?”
“Yes, there’s no way she saw the lights at the intersection. She couldn’t have known which vehicle ran the red light. And be sure to focus on Anton Grieves when you question her. His brother was a passenger in his cousin’s car when he bit it. Anton is still close to the cousin. Visits him in prison every other Saturday.”
My particular expertise was reading the jurors. I sat through every interview, approving everyone based on questions I scribbled and slid across the table to Tristan. Anton would be sympathetic to their client because he’d already seen the devastation his cousin’s incarceration had leveled on his aunt.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. You always go above and beyond. Everything is amazing—your research, your investigative skill—even how you organize the notes. I couldn’t do this without you.”
I snorted. “You did fine before I came. But we do make a good team.”
He glanced at his watch and stood, sipping his coffee and narrowing his glance on me.
And I recognized my cue. Knew exactly what he needed from me next. I walked to the door and turned the lock. Then I strode back to my stepbrother and knelt in front of him. His erection was massive and tenting his trousers.
“I’ll take care of this for you, too,” I said, keeping my tone brusque.
Ever since the first time I’d noted how tense he was before entering court and had offered him this unconventional solution, we’d kept this quick and businesslike, allowing us both to release a little tension so we could focus on the case.
I unbuckled his belt, thumbed open the button at his waistband, then slid the zipper down. Finding the slit of his boxers to feed his dick through was always like a delightful treasure hunt for me.
When his full, thick cock was sprung from his pants, I slicked my palms, gripped his shaft, and began stroking him. Then I relaxed and began the patter he needed to pump himself up for the battle to come. “Tris, your cock is so big and hard—the best this courthouse has ever seen.” His hips flexed, driving through my fists. “You’ll demolish the DA’s case. How can he ever compete? You’re better prepared, more eloquent. Everyone will see your big dick and be so fucking impressed. Your arguments will be more potent—you’ll give it to him hard and fast, and never let up. Not until he surrenders.”
I moved forward and wet the tip of his cock, then swirled my tongue over the head, licking up a drop of his pre-cum and letting go a very satisfied moan. His cock was definitely big and hard, and his hips were powering toward me. My own breath became labored, and I almost forgot myself in the pleasure of his musky scent while I stroked.
His fingers gripped my shoulder and bit into my tender flesh. “Your fucking mouth,” he whispered. “Tell me more.”
“You’re a star, a legal stud,” I murmured, rubbing my cheek against his length as I gazed up, letting him see my adoration. For me, none of this was feigned. I gave him the words he needed to hear because I believed them. Believed in him.
“You’re a good man, Tristan Becker. The best fucking brother. A super star lawyer. You didn’t graduate at the top of your class because your daddy bought some professor’s grade. You did it because you’re tough and smart.”
I ran my mouth up one side of shaft and down the other, feathering his tightly stretched skin with licks of my tongue. “You have stamina, a sharp mind, and your
prowess
,” I said, gently biting his cap, “makes other men cower. They might as well put their dicks away and zip them up tight, because they’ll never be you.”
I sank over him, taking him deep, and began sucking, my cheeks growing hollow as I pulled and then released, going down then up, my mouth rubbing the sides of his shaft as he stuffed me with his cock.
His breaths were coming faster, but not nearly fast enough. We were on a schedule, and I knew I needed to hurry this up—no matter how pleasurable going down on him was to us both.
I came off him and quickly unbuttoned my blouse, unclipped my bra, and pushed the edges of my shirt to either side of my breasts to give him an unimpeded view. The last time I’d done this he’d come like a rocket.
I pulled his cock to bring him closer and came up a little higher. I pressed my breasts together to trap his shaft. “Show me what you’re going to do that DA, Tris. Show me who’s got the bigger dick.”
Tristan groaned and rutted between my breasts, dipping his knees and rising to fuck my cleavage.
“Tris, I know you. I watch you all the time. Just like I know how your breaths shorten, how your balls draw up tight right before you come, I know you’re going to give everything you have to win this case. You can do it. You can come hard and show me how good you are, what a fucking stud you are. I wouldn’t be on my knees, sucking you off and fucking you with my tits if I didn’t know how good you are. So, come all over my tits, Tris. Own them like you’re going to own that courtroom.”
He thrust twice more, and then gave a muffled grunt. I quickly gripped his cock again, just beneath the head, and pressed it against my skin to keep him from striping my face. I rubbed it over my tits, squeezing the last drops from his cock to paint my nipples.
When he’d given me everything he had, he drew away and went to his briefcase. He pulled out wet wipes and handed them down to me. I cleaned him lovingly, cooing still about how good he’d been, how lovely his dick was, and what a large wad he’d shot. Then I tucked his cock inside his pants and zipped him up.
A moment later he surprised me when he knelt in front of me and wiped my chest. If he seemed to take a little longer scrubbing my sprung nipples, well that was probably my own mind going into slow motion, savoring his touch.
He tossed the wipe into the trash can next to the door, then quickly closed my bra, stuffing my breasts into the cups with slides of his large palms, then buttoning my blouse.
“I think I’m ready,” he said, his voice deepening.
Hunger curled inside me, but I didn’t let him see the effect that husky tenor had on me. I gave him a quick smile. “Go get ’em, tiger. I’ll be right behind you.”
We bumped fists, and then he left me, still kneeling and trying to regain my composure. My breath was ragged. My clit throbbing. These little “pep talks” were beginning to take a toll on me.
The first time I’d offered, he’d given me a hard glare. “What the fuck are you thinking, Lyla?”
But I’d shrugged and launched into my argument. He was a man. Men thought about sex constantly. He needed no distractions when he was in the courtroom. I could offer this service as part of the preparation I provided. He’d be better prepared mentally and physically than his opponent.
I’d kept my tone even. My logic had been irrefutable—or so he’d said.
Now our nasty habit was beginning to consume my thoughts. I looked forward to these little sessions with the keen desire a drug addict had for his next fix.
But I knew how to temper it—just enough to be able to sit beside him and provide the kind of support he needed from me in the courtroom. There was still time while the jury shuffled in and the judge took his seat.
I pushed up from the floor and headed straight to the ladies restroom.
* * * *
I sat on top of the toilet lid, my skirt hiked up to my waist, my panties twisted around one ankle. I’d chosen the stall farthest down the line because I needed privacy. With fingers forked to spread my folds, I frigged my clit, trying to get off quickly.
But I couldn’t get the sight out of my mind of Tristan rubbing the wipe over my nipples. He’d never touched me intimately before. Always, I was the one who provided a service. And only before he entered court, because he needed the release to stay relaxed.
My fingers rasped my clit, the slick sounds bouncing off the tiled walls. I was alone. I knew because I’d checked every stall as I’d hurried down the line.
I needed something more. A release of my own that went beyond the physical. For the first time, I put to words my desires—all the nasty thoughts I’d kept hidden—from myself, but especially from him.
“Fuck,” I whispered, imagining him there with me. “See how hot I am? How hard my clit is? You did this. When you walk into court, every woman will smell the sex on you, know you’ve just had someone. They’ll be licking their lips and imagining they were me, my mouth stuffed with your cock.”
I raised my hand and licked my fingertips to moisten them, then swirled faster on my hard bud. “They’ll be lurking in the hall afterward, trying to get your attention, slipping their business cards into your pocket. And I’ll want to claw their faces, because I want you, Tris. Fuck, I want you so much.” I sank fingers into my pussy, twisting them in the moisture, thrusting them as deep as I could reach.
“You’ll give me a smile, but you won’t look at me after that. But I want you to fight for me like you’ll fight for the scummy dirt bag. I want all your focus on me and my pussy. I want you to take me. Claim me.” My breaths grew jagged, and I let my head fall back, thinking about this impossible love I felt for my brother.
I’d wanted him since the first day I’d met him—when my father had brought me to his mother’s apartment and we’d shared an awkward meal while both our parents had shared smiles and blushes, and Tristan had stared at me as though it was my fault things were changing.
Even at seventeen, he’d been handsome. I was only fourteen, but for the first time in my life, I’d felt the itch of arousal growing inside me. He’d never noticed. Hadn’t had a clue how I’d felt. No wonder he’d been so shocked when I’d first offered to go down on him.
“You don’t even know,” I whispered. “How much I want you. How hot you make me.” I toggled my clit, and at last felt the tension in my belly tighten a notch. I could do this. I could come. Almost, almost...
The door to my stall rattled.
I froze. God, who was out there? Had they heard me?
“Lyla, open the fucking door. Now.”
“Tris?” A flush swept over my cheeks, fast as a wildfire. How long had he been out there? “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“I need you. The DA asked for a short delay. Charles Tannerman will be their lead attorney.”
I could scarcely get my head around the fact Tristan was right outside the stall, and now he was telling me Tannerman was his opponent?
“Open the fucking door.”
With my hands shaking, I pushed at my skirt and reached for my panties. “Just a minute. I’m not finished.” I grimaced and quickly pulled down the toilet handle.
“You aren’t taking a piss. Open the door now.”
And because he was using that stern voice, the one that he used on cops who fucked up interrogations or witnesses who lied, I stood and opened the door, dying inside because I was naked from the waist down and he’d heard everything. His taut expression said so.
