Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(4)

By: Aubrey Irons

God, ‘Mrs. Caulfield’? Fuck, do I have to call her step-mum now?

The throng of travelers and loved ones milling around the exit ramp begins to part, and then there she is.

And she’s staring right at me.

Our eyes meet across the crowd of people reuniting. All around people are hugging and kissing and shaking hands and generally glad to see each other. Which puts us distinctly out of place, because one look at each other and it’s clear neither of us is glad to see the other.

But fuckin’ hell, any hope I had of her losing her hair or putting on eight-hundred pounds or something since the last time I saw goes fluttering away the second my eyes land on her.


She’s wearing jeans, a long-sleeve t-shirt, and rain-boots, but she might as well be in a fuckin’ red-carpet gown. Or fuck, lingerie or something.

Because, fuck me sideways, she’s even hotter than I remember. Those searing blue eyes like cold rain, that dark brown hair like a wave of silk down over her shoulder, that defiant way she’s holding her head up high and her shoulders back.

That perfect rack and an ass that gets my cock hard right there standing in the middle of Heathrow Airport.

This is going to be bloody problem.

Whatever, I tell myself. You’ll barely see her. She can deal with this whole situation however she wants to.

But suddenly, the last thing my dad said to me pings and resonates inside my head.

“Dad,” I grab his coat before he takes another step through the crowd; “What do you mean I should ‘wait for her’.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he turns back and throws me a quick questioning look. “Oh, bugger, didn’t I tell you?” He’s smiling away, as if none of this is at all blowing apart my whole world.

“Tell me what?”

They’re getting closer now as they push their way through the crowd; the smiling bride-to-be and her scowling, sexy as fuckin’ sin daughter. My dad shakes his head, “Must’ve slipped my mind with all this happening so fast. She’s a baker you know.”


Oh, fuck.

And instantly, I’m seeing where this is going, and I’m slowly shaking my head even before my dad can open his mouth.

“I hired her. She’s your new pastry cook.”

And then they’re right in front of us, and my dad and Mrs. Caulfield are laughing and hugging, and I’m just standing there, staring at Chloe with our eyes locked.

Yeah, this is going to be a right bloody fuckin’ problem.

I moan, feeling the shudder of new feelings - dangerous new feelings - roar through my inexperienced body as the boy kisses me. He presses me against the back wall of the garage in my backyard, his hands sliding up to my waist and slipping beneath the hem of my t-shirt.

It’s then that I freeze, stopping his hands and pulling back from his perfect, wonderful lips to look worriedly up into his eyes. “I- I’m not sure that we should be doing this.”

He grins at me, those dark eyes sparkling with the promise of passion and wickedness all mixed together; the promise of sweet, deliciously bad decisions.

“Are you scared?” I nod, and he kisses my cheek; “You don’t have to be, I’ll go slow.”

I blush and bite my bottom lip and he grins.

“Oy, you keep doing that you’re gonna make a habit of it.”

I giggle but then my eyes flash seriously at him. “I’m just- I’m not sure we should.”

He nods. “I mean, we’re both eighteen, luv.” He grins at me, “You’re going away to college in a few months; you really want to show up with that V-card?”

I blush bright red, almost regretting that I’ve told him that. I mean, of course I HAD to, the night before when things got- well, when things went further than I’VE at least ever been.

Much further.

Far enough that even now I can remember the night previous, where we slipped into the very garage I’m pressed against right now and found ourselves in the backseat of my mother’s Toyota. I can remember feeling both scared and hotter than I’ve ever felt before, the feelings of apprehension and excitement as I took my shirt off in front of him, blushing at the way his eyes drank me in.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” He says quietly; reverently.

I can remember whispering his name again and again into his lips as his fingers find me wet and ready for him, stroking in and out of me with my pants on the floor of the car and my panties tangled at my knees.

And then here we are, back at the garage; the whispered promises of “tomorrow” in the aftermath of the previous night’s release, weighing heavily on me.

Oliver sees the hesitation in my eyes, or reads it in my voice, because suddenly, he’s stepping back. “Okay, no.” He shakes his head, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. “You’re right, we shouldn’t do this.”

Well, shit.

And it’s a line like that that has me grabbing him and kissing him fiercely. It’s those words that have me dragging him through the backdoor of the garage again, and climbing into the backseat of the Toyota all over again. We’re grinning, and giggling, and once we’ve stripped each other’s clothes off and I’m kissing him again, I know this is everything I want it to be.