The Stepbrother I Crave

Sophia Cole adjusted the strap of her silk gown as the chauffeured Rolls-Royce glided through the wrought-iron gates of the family estate in Paris. Snow-dusted pines framed the sprawling mansion like a winter postcard, but the knot in her stomach had nothing to do with the cold.

She was twenty-one, a junior at Stanford majoring in sustainable finance, and the only heiress to a fortune built on renewable energy patents and half the skyscrapers in Dubai. Yet today she felt like a child again,small, wary, and bracing for the next fracture in the only family she had left.

Five years earlier, her world had split open on a humid July night in the Hamptons.

She’d come home early from boarding school and found her mother tangled in the sheets with her father’s best friend and COO, Marcus Trump.

The shouting, the lawyers, the tabloid helicopters—Sophia still remembered the click of cameras outside the courthouse like teeth snapping shut.

Richard Cole, her father had emerged from the divorce colder, richer, and utterly alone. Sophia had chosen him without hesitation. Blood was blood, even when it bled.

Now he is marrying again.

The ceremony was set to happen in days to come. Sophia arrived just as the string quartet began tuning. She hugged her father tightly; he smelled of cedar and the same cologne he’d worn since she was small.

“You look beautiful, Soph,” he murmured against her hair. “Maya’s been asking about you all week.”

Maya Moreau was everything the tabloids promised: poised, silver-blonde, with the kind of bone structure that made photographers weep. Widowed at thirty-eight when her husband’s private plane went down over the Alps, she had raised her son alone while quietly growing her late husband’s boutique investment firm into a quiet powerhouse. She greeted Sophia with a warm, genuine embrace.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Maya said, her French accent soft as cashmere. “This house needs laughter again.”

Then the side door opened, and the world tilted.

He stepped in from the terrace, shaking snow from his dark hair, black tuxedo jacket slung over one shoulder like he’d just stepped off a runway in Milan. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of jawline that belonged in Renaissance paintings and eyes the color of storm clouds over the Mediterranean. Julian Moreau—Maya’s son, twenty-six, newly returned from two years running the London office of Moreau Capital.

Their gazes locked across the atrium.

Something electric snapped between them, so sudden and visceral that Sophia actually caught her breath. Julian’s lips parted, as if he’d felt it too. For one suspended second the rest of the room, the flowers, the guests, her father, faded to watercolor.

Then reality crashed back.

He was about to become her stepbrother.

Leaning against the balcony railing, Sophia took a sip of her coffee, its bittersweet flavour providing a much-needed respite from the stress that threatened to consume her. By conveniently feigning a headache, she had managed to escape the formalities of greeting the arriving guests one by one, effectively dodging any encounter with Julian.

Damn, that man seemed to defy logic with his ever-growing handsomeness.

But amidst this sea of attractive individuals, her eyes only craved stolen glances at Julian.

Unlike the others, Julian maintained a certain air of casual elegance, leaving only a few buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of the gold chain around his neck.

Every now and then, she caught a tantalising peek at his tattoo—a masterpiece that seemed to originate from the left side of his chest and undoubtedly extended down his arm.

What was God thinking while creating this masterpiece? He was too good to be true.

She tore her gaze away from him and looked at the sky.

That was it. Sophia had to do something about her flaming cunt, or she would explode right where she stood.

There was no way she could hold on any longer.

She rushed into the restroom, closing the door behind her. She looked into the mirror, panting heavily. And she flushed even hotter seeing her nipples on full display.

She could only hope people around had not seen that.

She rolled one nipple between her fingers. “Fuck!” she gasped, electricity lashing through her body.

Her pussy slicked wet at the thought of the human who had put her in this situation in the first place, innocently having the time of his life while she dealt with him.

With the image of Julian in her head, she quickly discarded her top, exposing her luscious breasts and flat tummy dotted by a navel piercing.

Her throat went dry as she imagined it was Julian’s warm tongue on her nipple. She shut her eyes, groaning softly when she pinched the rosy buds hard. Her boobs were one of her body’s most attractive features, and it didn’t help that they were sensitive as hell.

Her pussy dripped at the action. She pressed her legs together, aiming at some friction.

She instantly popped the button of her shorts and let them fall, exposing her pulsing cunt. Sitting on the furry toilet seat, she ran a finger up her slit. She let out a satisfied sigh as her fingers grazed her clit.

Her eyes closed shut, and her head fell back at the burst of sensations she felt.

“Ah...shit!” Her fingers rubbed vigorously on her sensitive clit. “Fuck! Julian!” She envisioned Julian here with her, his tongue on her juicy pussy, lapping all her cum as she neared a climax. “Oh my god!” Her fingers rocked harder, faster even.

Her intense moans filled the enclosed space, but she did not care.

She rocked her hips in careless abandon, riding her palm like her life depended on it.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she screamed. Her mind conjured up the perfect image of what Julian would look like underneath those clothes, and she imagined it was those solid and firm hands pushing into her like they wanted to take her to the heavens.

“Yes, Julian. Fuck me harder. Fuck me, daddy. Just like that, please,” she whimpered, feeling close to the edge.

She pinched her nipple and clit simultaneously as she came furiously, a loud moan escaping her throat.

This had to be the best self-given orgasm she had given herself in a long time.

Shit! She rubbed down her torso leisurely as her body rode out her orgasm. She smiled to herself and worked on pacing her breathing.

Her eyes flew open at the creaking sound of the restroom door. She yelped in surprise, pressing her legs together and hiding her breasts behind her folded arms.

A cold shiver ran up her spine. Shit. Had she forgotten to lock the door?

Julian stood before her, the door shut behind him and locked this time. How long had he been here? Did he hear everything? Darn, her fucking libido.

“W...what are you doing here?” Sophia stuttered, avoiding his gaze. She had never shied away from her sexual wants or pleasures. But at this moment, curled up naked in front of this man that she had just used to orgasm after less than an hour of meeting him, she felt shame flood through her.

He took one step closer, his eyes finally locking with hers—a predator's gleam in the blue depths. Sophia could feel the heat radiating off him, overwhelming the small, stale room.

"I saw you rushing back here," he murmured, his gaze dropping slowly to her chest.

"I thought you might need a hand with... whatever it is you were doing. Tell me, Sophia," he whispered, a smile playing on his lips, "did I come too late, or just in time?"