Stepbrother Jerk(6)

By: Natasha Knight


Her eyes were lowered when I returned my attention to her face. “I’d send you right into the kitchen, but I believe you called me a jerk a little while ago. For that, you’ll stand with your nose touching the corner for five minutes. Right there. Hop to it.”

“W—what?” She had to clear her throat and her voice came out small.

“Corner time.” I pointed to the spot. “Nose and toes touch the wall. Five minutes. I’ll set my watch once you’re in position.”

Uncertainty gave way to irritation and she glared, opened her mouth to speak, but somehow kept her arms in place, stomped her foot, and walked to the corner, assuming the position, waiting. I smiled and sat back down, knowing the minute I was alone, I’d be jerking off in my hand to the vision of that ass on display and waiting to be spanked by me.

I fished the cell phone out of my pocket and read through some texts, or pretended to. My gaze shifted often to the penitent in the corner. She stood remarkably still and, even more remarkably, silent, giving herself over to submission more easily than I’d expected she would. But perhaps what I’d expect of her in the coming hours would test that surrender.

When the five minutes were up, I went to her. I slapped her ass, making her jump. She grabbed it and turned to face me, her expression making me laugh out loud.

“Corner time’s over. Go get baking, Lisa. Our guests will be here before you know it. You don’t want to be in this little apron when they do.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. You won’t be allowed to leave the kitchen until the cake is baked, iced, and the kitchen spotless.”

“Who’s coming over?”

“Friends. Don’t worry, you know them.”

Her face sank. “Jace, please —”

I turned away. “I’m going out for a swim. Kitchen is stocked, so get to it.”





Chapter 3





Lisa




Jace was a jerk. But I guess I knew that. While I worked, he went out swimming then lounged on the back porch with a newspaper. I could see him from the kitchen window and mentally willed every horrible thing that could happen to him to happen as I poured chocolate cake batter into the pans and slid them into the oven.

Thing was, though, it wasn’t that hard to agree to this weekend. When my mom and Jace’s dad had gotten together, I’d been young. My dad had moved out not six months ago at that point. It had seemed so rushed. And the way my mom had told me, I guess it was typical for her, but, still, I’d been surprised. No, shocked. She’d introduced me to Jace and his father, and, within moments of that introduction, had shown me her brand new — and huge — engagement ring. Part of me wondered if she’d been cheating on my dad all along, but I couldn’t stomach that thought.

Jace had been good then. His dad, too, was fine, but I couldn’t like him without feeling like I was betraying my own father. With Jace, it was easier. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and he was nice to me from the start. Or at the start, at least. We’d connected pretty easily, actually, and I had to admit, from the first moment I saw him, there was a spark. It was weird, but, then again, it wasn’t like we were blood relatives. If I’d seen him on the street, I would have felt the same.

He’d found out a couple of months prior about my mom and his dad dating and told me later that he’d been shocked that my mom had told me the way she had.

I remembered those first months, hell, that first year. We’d lie in bed together and talk. On really nice nights, we’d carry our things out to the backyard when everyone was asleep and just lie there looking at the sky, counting stars until we fell asleep. We didn’t even need to talk some nights. It never failed that when I woke in the morning, I’d be tucked into my own bed, and I knew it was him who’d carried me in.

Neither of us mentioned these nights. They just happened. We’d started to hold hands, and it felt good. Felt right. But I guess I’d had the wrong idea all along.

If I thought of that night I’d tried to kiss him, I still wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I’d been so embarrassed — still was. Although what he did to me, making me stand in the corner like that with my ass on display, that took the cake on embarrassment. But the kiss, it had just happened. I’d leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He’d watched me do it, lying there, allowing it, kissing me back even, but then, as soon as it was over, he’d asked what I was doing. I’d been mortified. That had been the end to those nights and to our friendship because I’d been too ashamed to face him.

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