Read Online Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance by Callie Harper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Callie Harper
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I’d
come out west to escape it all so I could focus on nothing but
training and fighting with the best MMA club in the country.
But then she showed up.
Little Miss Perfect with her wide eyes and fuckable lips, standing
there with her creamy legs that went on for miles and that tumble of
red hair. What. The. Fuck. She was the last person I’d expected to
see.
I guess I shouldn’t
have been so surprised. She was my stepsister after all. Most people
wouldn’t be too surprised to have a family member walking into
their kitchen. But I wasn’t most people and our family wasn’t
exactly typical. Step-sis took it up a notch, too, avoiding me and my
dad like it was her job. Hell, I don’t even think she let my father
pay a cent of her tuition. And from the look of her beater car, she
wasn’t taking any handouts on her ride, either.
She pissed me off, but
I had to hand it to her. She was independent. I didn’t know her
well, but I already knew I’d been wrong to assume she was just like
her mother. The girl was a hard worker, all business all the time. I
respected that, even if it did rub me the wrong way. She held a
mirror up, reminding me how much I relied on my father’s hand-outs.
Not for long, though.
That was what this summer was all about. Laser-focused, eyes on the
prize, nothing distracting me or standing in my way from becoming the
best fighter I could be.
I had to prove it to
myself, first. I knew I had what it took. Then I could prove it to
the MMA world. I’d been studying Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu since I was
ten, wrestling since I was twelve, and now I had an amateur
heavyweight win-loss-draw record of 8-1-1. It was enough that scouts
and sponsors were sniffing around me.
But I was a hack and I
knew it. The booze, the girls, the partying, I’d been half-assing
it my whole life. I had a huge brick shithouse of a body and the
drive to push myself, physically. But I’d never had the mental
discipline.
Until now. Now, I
wanted to see what I could do. I was lucky to have been accepted onto
a kick-ass, highly competitive training team and I was giving it
everything I had. This summer the club had lined up a couple
exhibition fights for me, the first one this weekend. I was going to
dominate, and I was going to do it all based on my own sweat and
blood. For once the Helmsworth name didn’t mean shit. I loved it.
What pose was she doing
out there by the pool? Was it called ‘fuck me now’? I practically
pressed my nose against the glass of the kitchen window. She had her
back arched, tits thrust up, one leg stretched out in front, one leg
back with her knee bent and her foot actually up touching her head.
So now I had that image burned into my brain. Why did I have to know
how flexible she was? All that did was give me all sorts of ideas,
all the ways I could bend and stretch her and spread her wide so I
could fuck her good and hard and long.
As if sensing the dark,
nasty train of my thoughts, she looked over at me. Of course she had
to have emerald green eyes with that red hair, eyes that narrowed as
she realized I’d been watching her. I gave her a slight nod of
acknowledgement. I wasn’t going to apologize. It was my father’s
house. I belonged here. Her mother happened to have married him, but
I didn’t give that union long. He maxed out on his partners once
they hit their expiration date right around 40 years old. I think
this one had about two more years left in her, tops.
Jewel rolled up her
yoga mat. She didn’t seem aware that she was giving me a perfect
view of her round ass as she bent over. My cock sprang to attention,
imagining bending her over just like that for a much different
purpose. She picked up her mat and walked over toward the kitchen,
head high, prissy as fuck.
She didn’t like me. I
liked that about her. As Tucker Leland Helmsworth III I’d
encountered more than my fair share of suck-ups. Not many people said
no to you when your daddy was a billionaire. It taught me early
come out west to escape it all so I could focus on nothing but
training and fighting with the best MMA club in the country.
But then she showed up.
Little Miss Perfect with her wide eyes and fuckable lips, standing
there with her creamy legs that went on for miles and that tumble of
red hair. What. The. Fuck. She was the last person I’d expected to
see.
I guess I shouldn’t
have been so surprised. She was my stepsister after all. Most people
wouldn’t be too surprised to have a family member walking into
their kitchen. But I wasn’t most people and our family wasn’t
exactly typical. Step-sis took it up a notch, too, avoiding me and my
dad like it was her job. Hell, I don’t even think she let my father
pay a cent of her tuition. And from the look of her beater car, she
wasn’t taking any handouts on her ride, either.
She pissed me off, but
I had to hand it to her. She was independent. I didn’t know her
well, but I already knew I’d been wrong to assume she was just like
her mother. The girl was a hard worker, all business all the time. I
respected that, even if it did rub me the wrong way. She held a
mirror up, reminding me how much I relied on my father’s hand-outs.
Not for long, though.
That was what this summer was all about. Laser-focused, eyes on the
prize, nothing distracting me or standing in my way from becoming the
best fighter I could be.
I had to prove it to
myself, first. I knew I had what it took. Then I could prove it to
the MMA world. I’d been studying Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu since I was
ten, wrestling since I was twelve, and now I had an amateur
heavyweight win-loss-draw record of 8-1-1. It was enough that scouts
and sponsors were sniffing around me.
But I was a hack and I
knew it. The booze, the girls, the partying, I’d been half-assing
it my whole life. I had a huge brick shithouse of a body and the
drive to push myself, physically. But I’d never had the mental
discipline.
Until now. Now, I
wanted to see what I could do. I was lucky to have been accepted onto
a kick-ass, highly competitive training team and I was giving it
everything I had. This summer the club had lined up a couple
exhibition fights for me, the first one this weekend. I was going to
dominate, and I was going to do it all based on my own sweat and
blood. For once the Helmsworth name didn’t mean shit. I loved it.
What pose was she doing
out there by the pool? Was it called ‘fuck me now’? I practically
pressed my nose against the glass of the kitchen window. She had her
back arched, tits thrust up, one leg stretched out in front, one leg
back with her knee bent and her foot actually up touching her head.
So now I had that image burned into my brain. Why did I have to know
how flexible she was? All that did was give me all sorts of ideas,
all the ways I could bend and stretch her and spread her wide so I
could fuck her good and hard and long.
As if sensing the dark,
nasty train of my thoughts, she looked over at me. Of course she had
to have emerald green eyes with that red hair, eyes that narrowed as
she realized I’d been watching her. I gave her a slight nod of
acknowledgement. I wasn’t going to apologize. It was my father’s
house. I belonged here. Her mother happened to have married him, but
I didn’t give that union long. He maxed out on his partners once
they hit their expiration date right around 40 years old. I think
this one had about two more years left in her, tops.
Jewel rolled up her
yoga mat. She didn’t seem aware that she was giving me a perfect
view of her round ass as she bent over. My cock sprang to attention,
imagining bending her over just like that for a much different
purpose. She picked up her mat and walked over toward the kitchen,
head high, prissy as fuck.
She didn’t like me. I
liked that about her. As Tucker Leland Helmsworth III I’d
encountered more than my fair share of suck-ups. Not many people said
no to you when your daddy was a billionaire. It taught me early
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