Read Online His Dark Secret – A Stepbrother Romance by Vanessa Wilde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vanessa Wilde
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word or two if I asked him something specific, now he would just walk right past me as if he hadn't heard me, even though we were the only people in the hallway, and I had said it three times!
Or like how he'd walk into a room and ask if anyone had seen the iPad, and when he saw that I had it in my hand, he'd just turn around and leave without so much as a “nevermind”!
Or like how he'd jump back, as if tasered, whenever I so much as brushed against him. And I'm not talking anything crazy, like rubbing a knee against his cock – I mean, literally just brushing fingers when handing something over. It was like “c'mon, there's no way I disgust you that much...”
I know it sounds stupid, but trust me, it was incredibly frustrating. There I was, thrust into a pretty crazy situation for a 16-year-old to go through, and yet I was at least trying to get through it amicably. You know, reaching out to the other person I knew had been handed the same shitty hand by our parents and their decades-delayed babylove.
But noooo . Our Jonathan was too good for that. Our Jonathan just came in, made his protein shake, and disappeared to do God-knows-what in his room, as if you hadn't just asked him to maybe help you out on your math homework, like normal siblings do...
Ugh.
Anyway.
The thing is, this surlier-than-thou BS totally crossed over into his relationships with the countless girls who fawned over him, too.
As soon as he opened the clingfilm seal on that first pack of discount condoms, he started to go through the girls in his life the same way he did with the condoms – using them, and tossing them into the trashcan straight afterward, never to talk to them again.
Which I guess makes sense with the condoms. Who talks to used condoms the morning after...?
Upsettingly, this ended up becoming pretty much the way I made friends: girls would come up to me on a Thursday, I'd introduce them to him on the Friday, and then console them after he dumped them on the Monday.
I tried confronting him over this a couple of times – I think the first time was over Clarissa, who deserved it even less than all the other ones. Though, now that I think of it, maybe it was Jenna...
At any rate, you can probably guess what happened. He walked in when his dad was still at work and my mom had stepped out to buy some things for dinner, and I let him have it: at first with some perfectly friendly opening questions; then, when he didn't respond, with some more pointed questions; and finishing (a little embarrassingly, in retrospect) with me shouting abuse at his disconcertingly broad back as he totally ignored me and made his way up the stairs to his room, not having so much as made eye contact with me the entire time.
\\\\\\//////
That's pretty much how things remained until well into our senior year.
By this point, the physical changes which had started that first autumn we knew each other had well and truly set in.
He was huge. Usually girls will say that some guy is “one head taller than me”, or “a head and a half”... but if I were to count exactly how many of them he had on me, you'd leave with the impression that I'm some kind of midget. I'm not. He's just some kind of giant.
And he was just ridiculously ripped. Like some All-American colossus.
He dressed in pretty baggy sweaters while at home, and he must have been trying (and succeeding) to avoid me at at school... but every now and again (I remember very clearly), I'd see him changing his t-shirt.
Even back then – way before any of the stuff I'm writing this to tell you about had even remotely started happening – it took my breath away. When he raised his arms and wriggled them about like that, into and out of sleeves, his back and his thick, thick arms would just ripple with layers of muscles I didn't know humans even had. It was like he had anacondas under his skin. I remember
Or like how he'd walk into a room and ask if anyone had seen the iPad, and when he saw that I had it in my hand, he'd just turn around and leave without so much as a “nevermind”!
Or like how he'd jump back, as if tasered, whenever I so much as brushed against him. And I'm not talking anything crazy, like rubbing a knee against his cock – I mean, literally just brushing fingers when handing something over. It was like “c'mon, there's no way I disgust you that much...”
I know it sounds stupid, but trust me, it was incredibly frustrating. There I was, thrust into a pretty crazy situation for a 16-year-old to go through, and yet I was at least trying to get through it amicably. You know, reaching out to the other person I knew had been handed the same shitty hand by our parents and their decades-delayed babylove.
But noooo . Our Jonathan was too good for that. Our Jonathan just came in, made his protein shake, and disappeared to do God-knows-what in his room, as if you hadn't just asked him to maybe help you out on your math homework, like normal siblings do...
Ugh.
Anyway.
The thing is, this surlier-than-thou BS totally crossed over into his relationships with the countless girls who fawned over him, too.
As soon as he opened the clingfilm seal on that first pack of discount condoms, he started to go through the girls in his life the same way he did with the condoms – using them, and tossing them into the trashcan straight afterward, never to talk to them again.
Which I guess makes sense with the condoms. Who talks to used condoms the morning after...?
Upsettingly, this ended up becoming pretty much the way I made friends: girls would come up to me on a Thursday, I'd introduce them to him on the Friday, and then console them after he dumped them on the Monday.
I tried confronting him over this a couple of times – I think the first time was over Clarissa, who deserved it even less than all the other ones. Though, now that I think of it, maybe it was Jenna...
At any rate, you can probably guess what happened. He walked in when his dad was still at work and my mom had stepped out to buy some things for dinner, and I let him have it: at first with some perfectly friendly opening questions; then, when he didn't respond, with some more pointed questions; and finishing (a little embarrassingly, in retrospect) with me shouting abuse at his disconcertingly broad back as he totally ignored me and made his way up the stairs to his room, not having so much as made eye contact with me the entire time.
\\\\\\//////
That's pretty much how things remained until well into our senior year.
By this point, the physical changes which had started that first autumn we knew each other had well and truly set in.
He was huge. Usually girls will say that some guy is “one head taller than me”, or “a head and a half”... but if I were to count exactly how many of them he had on me, you'd leave with the impression that I'm some kind of midget. I'm not. He's just some kind of giant.
And he was just ridiculously ripped. Like some All-American colossus.
He dressed in pretty baggy sweaters while at home, and he must have been trying (and succeeding) to avoid me at at school... but every now and again (I remember very clearly), I'd see him changing his t-shirt.
Even back then – way before any of the stuff I'm writing this to tell you about had even remotely started happening – it took my breath away. When he raised his arms and wriggled them about like that, into and out of sleeves, his back and his thick, thick arms would just ripple with layers of muscles I didn't know humans even had. It was like he had anacondas under his skin. I remember
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