Read Online Hard: A Step-Brother Romance by Sosie Frost - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sosie Frost
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H-a-r-d.
The
mansion had a lot of perks. The gym. The pool. I even got myself a king-sized bed.
But
a bed like this wasn’t for sleeping. I could think of much better things to do
on it.
But the
one woman I wanted in the bed was the one who wanted nothing to do with
me while horizontal.
Good
thing I was just as proficient when vertical.
I
kicked my duffle bag into the closet. This wasn’t a room that deserved a mess
on the floor. The bed had eight fucking pillows. Who the hell used that many pillows?
Or a quilt that looked like someone stretched and ruined a scarf then tossed it
over a corner. They painted the ceiling with cherubs, and mismatched marble and
granite in the fireplace.
It was
all my mother’s doing, as was most of the décor in the house. If Shay noticed
the mansion transitioned from eighteenth century France to nineteenth century
Venice, she said nothing. My mother transformed the estate into journey through
history. We were lucky she hadn’t require powdered wigs and cummerbunds to
enjoy it.
I couldn’t
fault her style, even if the bleach in her hair scrambled what she thought
looked classy. At least Mom and Darnell had been happy before the end. She
wanted a guy with a bottomless wallet to take care of her, and he liked them
blonde and pumped full of silicon. Match made in Heaven.
I
wished them well and then headed overseas. It wasn’t my place to judge and,
hell, I didn’t have time for family. But life had a funny way of trapping you
in an ambush and splitting your flesh with two pounds of explosive shrapnel.
Fate spoke to me, saying slow down or bleed out . I woke from
surgery with my mother talking about diamonds, tulle veils, and destination
weddings. Took her two days and one seizure before she asked which of my organs
didn’t make it back from Iraq.
Par
for the fucking course.
My
head pounded. The bed looked good, but so did the stack of weights in the
basement gym and the salt-water pool. I needed to do both.
I
kicked the pillows off the bed instead.
I
didn’t need this luxury. I got used to lying in two inches of standing water
and sucking mud in the middle of monsoons. I once laid motionless for twenty-two
straight hours in the stinging desert waiting for a target to slip from the hut
where the fucker traded children for God-knows-what. And that night was comfortable compared to other assignments.
And
now I owned a king-sized bed with a remote that controlled the television,
lights, stereo, climate settings, and security systems.
I even
had a panic room.
A SEAL.
In a panic room.
Unless
an intruder planned on locking me inside of it, the fucker messing with me was
in more danger—even while I blinked away headaches.
A
headache that was getting worse.
“Fuck
it.”
I
yanked my shirt over my head and kicked off my boots. Pretty sure there was a
hamper somewhere in my room, but damn if I cared.
I
collapsed on the bed, feet kicked over the side. Close enough. The migraine
came on strong. I clenched my eyes shut, but that didn’t do shit. I flopped
over into the remaining pillows and buried my head. That was better. Darker at
least. Comfortable.
Except
for my namesake.
Christ.
I
shifted. My cock didn’t. Hard didn’t begin to describe it.
I
spent entirely too much time thinking about Shay, and I wasted even more
concocting a crazy excuse for a chance to see her again.
Christ
she was pretty when she got mad.
Shay
was the kind of beautiful you hallucinated after a blow to the head. And she was
the one girl who’d make me swallow my tongue before I thought of something
clever to say.
Like… I
probably should have told you I was your step-brother before I fucked you .
That might have helped. Keeping it secret rubbed her the wrong way…which was ironic
since our problems started when I rubbed her the right way.
I couldn’t
get her out of my head or the blood out of my cock. I hoped my headache would
temper my reaction, but if
The
mansion had a lot of perks. The gym. The pool. I even got myself a king-sized bed.
But
a bed like this wasn’t for sleeping. I could think of much better things to do
on it.
But the
one woman I wanted in the bed was the one who wanted nothing to do with
me while horizontal.
Good
thing I was just as proficient when vertical.
I
kicked my duffle bag into the closet. This wasn’t a room that deserved a mess
on the floor. The bed had eight fucking pillows. Who the hell used that many pillows?
Or a quilt that looked like someone stretched and ruined a scarf then tossed it
over a corner. They painted the ceiling with cherubs, and mismatched marble and
granite in the fireplace.
It was
all my mother’s doing, as was most of the décor in the house. If Shay noticed
the mansion transitioned from eighteenth century France to nineteenth century
Venice, she said nothing. My mother transformed the estate into journey through
history. We were lucky she hadn’t require powdered wigs and cummerbunds to
enjoy it.
I couldn’t
fault her style, even if the bleach in her hair scrambled what she thought
looked classy. At least Mom and Darnell had been happy before the end. She
wanted a guy with a bottomless wallet to take care of her, and he liked them
blonde and pumped full of silicon. Match made in Heaven.
I
wished them well and then headed overseas. It wasn’t my place to judge and,
hell, I didn’t have time for family. But life had a funny way of trapping you
in an ambush and splitting your flesh with two pounds of explosive shrapnel.
Fate spoke to me, saying slow down or bleed out . I woke from
surgery with my mother talking about diamonds, tulle veils, and destination
weddings. Took her two days and one seizure before she asked which of my organs
didn’t make it back from Iraq.
Par
for the fucking course.
My
head pounded. The bed looked good, but so did the stack of weights in the
basement gym and the salt-water pool. I needed to do both.
I
kicked the pillows off the bed instead.
I
didn’t need this luxury. I got used to lying in two inches of standing water
and sucking mud in the middle of monsoons. I once laid motionless for twenty-two
straight hours in the stinging desert waiting for a target to slip from the hut
where the fucker traded children for God-knows-what. And that night was comfortable compared to other assignments.
And
now I owned a king-sized bed with a remote that controlled the television,
lights, stereo, climate settings, and security systems.
I even
had a panic room.
A SEAL.
In a panic room.
Unless
an intruder planned on locking me inside of it, the fucker messing with me was
in more danger—even while I blinked away headaches.
A
headache that was getting worse.
“Fuck
it.”
I
yanked my shirt over my head and kicked off my boots. Pretty sure there was a
hamper somewhere in my room, but damn if I cared.
I
collapsed on the bed, feet kicked over the side. Close enough. The migraine
came on strong. I clenched my eyes shut, but that didn’t do shit. I flopped
over into the remaining pillows and buried my head. That was better. Darker at
least. Comfortable.
Except
for my namesake.
Christ.
I
shifted. My cock didn’t. Hard didn’t begin to describe it.
I
spent entirely too much time thinking about Shay, and I wasted even more
concocting a crazy excuse for a chance to see her again.
Christ
she was pretty when she got mad.
Shay
was the kind of beautiful you hallucinated after a blow to the head. And she was
the one girl who’d make me swallow my tongue before I thought of something
clever to say.
Like… I
probably should have told you I was your step-brother before I fucked you .
That might have helped. Keeping it secret rubbed her the wrong way…which was ironic
since our problems started when I rubbed her the right way.
I couldn’t
get her out of my head or the blood out of my cock. I hoped my headache would
temper my reaction, but if
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