Off
Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance
by Callie Harper
Blurb:
Tuck
I
like to fight and I like to fuck.
Now’s my shot to fight for real, step out from my billionaire father’s shadow and be my own man. This summer’s all about going after my goal of becoming a pro MMA fighter.
The problem is the girl I want to fuck. She’s driving me crazy with her little yoga outfits, her creamy skin, luscious curves and wide-eyed innocence. Normally, I’d hit it and quit it, get her out of my system and focus.
But she’s my fucking stepsister. And she hates me. This summer we’re supposed to spend eight weeks together living under the same roof.
I need to taste her. I won’t rest until she’s writhing beneath me, begging me to let her come. I’m a man who gets what he wants, and what I want now is Jewel.
Now’s my shot to fight for real, step out from my billionaire father’s shadow and be my own man. This summer’s all about going after my goal of becoming a pro MMA fighter.
The problem is the girl I want to fuck. She’s driving me crazy with her little yoga outfits, her creamy skin, luscious curves and wide-eyed innocence. Normally, I’d hit it and quit it, get her out of my system and focus.
But she’s my fucking stepsister. And she hates me. This summer we’re supposed to spend eight weeks together living under the same roof.
I need to taste her. I won’t rest until she’s writhing beneath me, begging me to let her come. I’m a man who gets what he wants, and what I want now is Jewel.
Jewel
I
want him so bad it hurts. I’ve never felt this way before.
I’ve never had a problem keeping my distance from bad boys. The more muscles, tats and testosterone, the more I ran the other way. I learned my lesson, growing up with a trainwreck of a mother.
Until now.
Tuck makes my panties melt. He keeps me up at night, twisting in the sheets, obsessed with fantasies while I touch myself.
But he’s my stepbrother. And he’s an alpha, dominant asshole.
We’re sharing a house and he’s walking around shirtless, every inch of him ripped with hard muscle, sweaty after his brutal workouts. I don’t think I can hold out much longer. I’ve always been the good girl, but he makes me want to be bad.
I’ve never had a problem keeping my distance from bad boys. The more muscles, tats and testosterone, the more I ran the other way. I learned my lesson, growing up with a trainwreck of a mother.
Until now.
Tuck makes my panties melt. He keeps me up at night, twisting in the sheets, obsessed with fantasies while I touch myself.
But he’s my stepbrother. And he’s an alpha, dominant asshole.
We’re sharing a house and he’s walking around shirtless, every inch of him ripped with hard muscle, sweaty after his brutal workouts. I don’t think I can hold out much longer. I’ve always been the good girl, but he makes me want to be bad.
***Off
Limits is a standalone stepbrother romance novel with a HEA (85,000
words).
Releasing December 14th
CHAPTER
1
All
Rights owned by Callie Harper
Jewel
He
looked like the kind of man you wanted to rip your clothes right off
of you. Like a huge, sexy, rugged pirate, stepped right out of the
historical romances I loved. But also kind of like a Sean Connery
60s-era James Bond, suave and tall in a classic tux perfectly
tailored to fit his large frame. The party was just getting started,
but he already had the late-night look with his bow tie hanging
loose, his white shirt slightly unbuttoned. My panties got wet just
looking at him.
I
blushed at my own thoughts. They weren’t the kind I normally had.
Calculations for science labs, worrying if I’d be late for an
obligation, that was what usually filled my head as a sophomore at a
preppy all-girls college in Massachusetts. But standing there at that
party my mother had dragged me to, I forgot all of that.
I
hadn’t wanted to go to the black tie charity affair that night, but
my mom had insisted. She craved the spotlight. I shrank from it. But
she said that there was someone special she wanted me to meet, the
guy she’d been seeing for the last couple of months. I’d been
hearing a lot about him. He was so rich! Had she mentioned how rich
he was? Cross your fingers, this could be the one! But I’d heard
that plenty of times before. It got so you tuned it right out.
She’d
been pretending to be interested in polo lately, the game with the
horses and mallets. You know what she liked most about polo? The rich
men who attended polo matches. The charity event that night had
something to do with raising money for equestrian land conservation.
What was that exactly? She pretended to be passionate about the
cause, told me the equestrian industry needed our support. I tried
not to roll my eyes.
I’d
had some fun getting ready for the party. Mom talked me into wearing
green that night. I usually tried not to call attention to my red
hair. It drew enough attention to itself as it was. Thank God it had
toned down a bit from the orange of my youth. I liked to pretend it
looked auburn, though in full sunlight I swear it was fire-engine
red. Basically, my hair belted out a solo of color when all I wanted
to do was blend in with the chorus.
But
my mom certainly knew how to take advantage of assets, and she chose
a flattering dress for me. She knew a lot about lingerie and
supporting structures and by the time she’d rigged me out I looked
like the perfect hourglass. I was still getting used to my curves. I
was what you called a classic late-bloomer. I’d had a long, awkward
stretch, made all the more awkward because my mother happened to be a
movie star.
Or
had been. She was now decidedly on the B list, but you’ve still
probably heard of her. Candice Kidd. At 14 she’d been discovered in
a shopping mall in Illinois. She still loved talking about it. She
started modeling, living unsupervised and mainlining coke like the
rest of the malnourished, overpaid minors with whom she shared an
apartment in New York. At 18, she made her big crossover, heading out
to L.A. to launch her acting career.
At
18 she’d also had me, a minor footnote on her Wikipedia page. My
dad was some agent she’d partied with one night, but he’d never
been involved. While I’d been shunted off on whatever neighbor she
could impose on or babysitter she could afford for a little while,
she started snapping up any acting part she could, working her way
into America’s hearts or at least the pants of American males. She
had a couple of bit parts in teen romps, the kind set in summer camps
where bikini tops came off during mud fights. Where at 14 she’d
been 5’10” and all skin and bones, by 18 she’d filled out big
time. That’s when Hollywood took over.
Her
big moment, the apex of her career, came with a moderately successful
romantic comedy: Springtime
in Paris.
You’ve probably seen it late at night on TV. There was the cute
meet, the typical hijinks and mix-ups, then all was lost
until—surprise! Everything worked out in the end.
Fast
forward 15 years and Candice Kidd was your basic has-been starlet, a
few stints in rehab, a few years making headlines as the girlfriend
of Zane Black. Nothing like a heroin-addicted lead singer in a band
to bring stability to a happy home. She hadn’t been in the
headlines for a couple of years, thankfully, but for most of the past
decade she’d been good for a juicy gossip story.
What
had I been doing through it all? The exact fucking opposite. Some of
my first memories were of my mom vomiting from too much booze or
sleeping off a hangover. I watched her cry into her rum and coke
after she got dumped, then a few weeks later clean up all bright,
shining and hopeful over some new guy. Repeat cycle.
I
vowed I’d never be like her, and so far so good. I kept my head
down in high school, as much as possible that was. It was hard to be
stick-skinny with flaming orange hair and freckles in a Southern
California high school where the rest of the student body was either
cool and Mexican (think Latin hip-hop video) or surfer dudes (teen
beach movie). I fit right in. Not.
But
I used that to my advantage. I had a lot of time on my hands. I
studied and then studied some more and what do you know I’d won
myself a college scholarship.
I
loved it at my safe, small, all-women’s, ivy-covered New England
campus. That was my comfort zone. Not black tie galas.
When
we got to the party, my mom said, “I want to introduce you to
someone. Try not to spill anything on your dress. And don’t
disappear on me.” Then she promptly disappeared into the crowd. I
watched her and sighed. I was used to it.
I
made my way over to a dimly-lit corner and found an inconspicuous
spot behind a pillar. I had a glass of champagne to sip, and I
settled in to people-watch, one of my favorite pastimes.
That’s
when I saw him. The most outrageously handsome, dark and brooding man
I’d ever seen in my life. Up until that moment, I’d never really
understood what all the fuss over guys was about. While all the
teenage girls around me in school had twittered and preened, I’d
rolled my eyes.
Now,
I felt like I’d been hit by a Mack truck. My knees weak, my pulse
instantly racing, it wasn’t just the champagne that made me feel
tipsy. I was grateful I was standing in a corner where I could lean
against some structural support. From my dark, private spot I took
him in, all of him. Standing well over six feet tall, he looked so
big, so powerful in his stance with his feet splayed apart, hand in
one pocket. Dark hair, dark eyes, massive shoulders tapering down
into a slim waist. He stood next to the bar, surveying the scene like
he owned the place. He didn’t look too much older than me, but he
looked so much more experienced. A bit of stubble played along his
strong jaw as if he hadn’t shaved for the party, too cool for that.
He looked both perfectly at home in the midst of a wealthy gala and
also above it all, glowering and rough.
A
shiver traveled down my spine. His hair had that careless look,
tousled just enough as if some woman hadn’t been able to keep her
hands off of him. I knew how she felt. I was so attracted to him it
hurt.
It
wasn’t just me, either. I’d heard the phrase before: chick
magnet. All he did was stand there looking impossibly gorgeous and
strapping and women flocked over to the bar to make eye contact,
fluff their hair, and offer a word or two of flirtatious small talk.
I took it all in from behind my pillar, spying on him. I gave meaning
to my own phrase: wall flower.
I
took pleasure in the fact that he didn’t seem interested in any of
the women who threw themselves at him. He’d acknowledge them, offer
a comment or two in return which would make them laugh and ruffle up
their feathers. But then his dark gaze would return to the crowd.
He’d sip his drink and, without a word, dismiss them.
He
was bored, I realized. Maybe he didn’t want to be there. Like me.
I
couldn’t help myself. I made my way over to the bar, too. He had a
hypnotic pull I was helpless to resist. I had to draw closer.
It
wasn’t as if I thought he would be interested. I’d seen him
dismiss women far hotter than me. This was L.A., after all, where
young, gorgeous women grew thick on the vines. After the party got
going there was bound to be some starlet or teen popstar who’d show
up with her entourage, the “it” girl of the moment. Surrounded by
buzz, that’s the type who had a shot at capturing his attention.
Ordering
another glass of champagne from the bartender, I felt acutely aware
of his nearness. He stood so close now I could almost feel his
presence, but I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact.
So
I was shocked to hear his voice, deep and sexy like I knew it would
be. “Hey, Red.”
I
blushed furiously. I’d heard that nickname enough times to know for
sure he was talking to me. But the way he said it didn’t make me
feel awkward or funny-looking. The way he said it made me feel hot.
I
looked up at him, shy, a nervous, electric tremble running through my
body.
“Are
you having fun lurking around?” he asked.
“What?”
Shocked, my eyes widened. Had he seen me?
“I
saw you over there, hiding behind that pillar.” He pointed over to
my former hiding spot. I bit my lip and winced slightly in
embarrassment. “What are you up to?” he continued, teasing. “Are
you trying to make sure you don’t make all the other women here
jealous?”
“What?”
Apparently being next to him reduced me to one word and one word
only. I definitely wouldn’t snare him with my witty repartee. But I
couldn’t understand, was he giving me a compliment?
He
leaned down to me and I thrilled at it, he was so tall. At 5’8” I
wasn’t exactly a giantess, but he made me feel so willowy and
slender, delicate next to his massive frame.
“They
all wish they looked like you,” he whispered, conspiratorial. “You
look fresh and young.” He swept one of my errant locks of hair
behind my shoulder, baring my pale skin. “Innocent,” he
continued, his voice low and seductive.
I
looked up at him through my lashes. He had a decidedly more predatory
gleam in his eyes now. Much less bored than before.
“It’s
a currency here in L.A.,” he continued. Gesturing out to the crowd
with his drink, he added, “If they could figure out a way to bottle
what you have they’d do it in a heartbeat. Even if they had to kill
you to make it happen.”
For
some reason, what he said made me laugh. I burst out with it, not at
all delicate and ladylike, more like a peal of laughter ringing out.
“You
think I’m joking?” He looked at me with the hint of a smile. I
hadn’t thought he could look any more handsome, but the sight of
him amused almost took away my powers of speech.
“No.”
I composed myself, a hand to my chest, proud I’d managed to say
more than ‘what.’ “I’m laughing because it’s so true.”
“They’re
vampires,” he observed, looking out at the crowd.
“And
they would drink my blood,” I agreed, standing by his side.
Just
like that, I went from outsider to insider. He made me feel special,
like I belonged and I’d just about never felt like that before. We
stood together, surveying the room from our own private world.
He
brought a hand to the small of my back and my whole body responded, a
surge tingling through me. My stomach did a low, slow flip. If he
could do that to me with just one hand, I was in trouble. Gently, he
started leading me back over to the dark corner where I’d been
standing. How much more I’d enjoy the quiet, private spot sharing
it with him.
“So,
are you here tonight because of your deep concern for equestrian land
conservation?”
Sarcasm,
I liked it. My native language. “I’m very passionate about
equestrian land conservation,” I agreed in mock seriousness. “As
soon as I figure out what it is, I’m going to become the president
of this group.”
“Yes.”
He nodded as if I’d just said something very wise. “So true. The
equestrian industry really needs our support.”
“Is
that what we’re raising money for?” I had to ask.
“I
think so.” His full mouth crooked up at the corner in wry humor.
“Good.”
I nodded back. “The industry matters a lot more than the horses.”
“Who
cares about the horses?” he agreed.
“Horses-schmorses,
I always say.” Instantly, I flushed with embarrassment. Why did I
have to go and say something so dorky when we’d had a nice banter
going, back and forth, making fun of it all together?
But
he laughed. “Yeah, I’m so glad we’re not at a benefit for
animals.”
“Please,”
I agreed, as if totally annoyed at the thought.
“And
don’t even get me started about charities that help people.”
“Like
refugee children,” I added, as if the concept were preposterous.
“Ridiculous.”
We
were both laughing now. When I’d first seen him, scowling and dark,
I couldn’t have imagined him doing it, but he now gave me a full
smile and I felt dazzled by it, unsteady on my feet. He brushed
another strand of hair that had escaped my up-do and tucked it behind
my ear. I shivered at his touch.
“Why
are you here tonight?” he asked me, almost sounding astonished at
my presence. In a good way.
“I
got dragged here by my mom,” I admitted. “How about you?”
He
shrugged. He gave new meaning to the word “nonchalant”. I
thrilled to his every move. “I’m spending Christmas break out
here in L.A. with my dad.”
“He
lives out here?”
“He
splits his time between New York and L.A. His investments are all
over the map.” How very jet-setting. But I could tell from
everything about him, the tension in his body, the set of his jaw,
the tightness in his voice, he didn’t want to talk about it. I
understood that feeling, not wanting to talk about your parent.
He
looked down at me again in a way that made me feel like it was just
the two of us in the room. Like he’d been waiting all night to meet
me. “We should get together this week.” He swept his finger along
my shoulder and I swore I’d never felt anything so good. I could
feel where he’d left a trail, tingling and hot. In that deep, husky
voice he added, “I bet we could have some fun.”
Me—conservative,
inexperienced, some might even say uptight—me, I had to fight the
urge to bury my fingers in his hair and lick his neck. Standing that
close, apart from everyone else, I could smell his musky, masculine
scent and it made me dizzy. My lips parted. His did as well.
He
reached out again to my hair as if he couldn’t keep his hands off
it, taking a strand between his large fingers, touching it as if it
were expensive silk. “Like fire,” he murmured. I’d always felt
embarrassed by my hair, but he made me feel like a rare, exquisite
beauty.
“What’s
your name?” he asked.
“Jewel,”
I managed. My heart raced and I could feel myself start shaking
slightly, so sensitive to his touch. He looked down at me like he
wanted to devour me whole. With a flicker of nervousness, my eyes
darted to the side, as if checking for an escape route. I felt so
vulnerable, trembling next to his massive frame. We were so tucked
away, no one could even see us where we stood. Anything could happen.
“Jewel.”
He repeated my name and made a low, appreciative noise in his throat.
His thumb teased my lower lip. “I want to taste you, Jewel.”
Right
there at the party, behind a pillar in the dimly lit corner of our
private world, he dipped his head down and kissed me. He started
warm, gentle and sure, but then he pulled me closer, deepening our
kiss, his mouth claiming mine. I felt a rumble in his chest as his
tongue teased me, licking, dipping, hot and wicked. I heard a low
moan and realized vaguely that it came from my throat. Pressed
against him, my soft curves were a perfect fit against his rock hard,
solid muscle.
Heat
grew in my core as he pushed me back against the wall. My hands
snaked up into his hair, soft and sleek, his hand circling my throat
as I tilted back to take in more of him, his tongue plundering my
mouth. My breathing ragged, I clutched his massive shoulder. An
animal lurked beneath that tux. His mouth searched me, urgent, down
at my throat, licking and sucking my sensitive skin. He cupped the
swell of my ass in his large, powerful hand and forced me against his
body. I could feel his long, steel length hard for me.
“You’re
making me crazy,” he whispered into my ear.
I’d
never felt so wild, so reckless and crazed with lust. Maybe I’d had
too much champagne? But I hadn’t felt drunk until he kissed me.
Panting,
I murmured, “I don’t even know your name.” My hands, feverish,
marveled at the width of his shoulders, worshipped the wall of muscle
through his shirt.
“Tuck.”
Rhymes with… His hands, hot, roamed me as if he couldn’t get
enough, circling my waist, skimming my back as he panted into my
neck. My blood simmered as his hands traveled slowly up my dress, so
slowly up to the curve of my breast. I sucked in my breath, my eyes
closing as he brought his thumb up to lightly tease my heaving
mounds. Instantly, my nipples hardened, two points pushing against
the fabric. His molten eyes drank me in.
“You
like that, Jewel?” His deep and wicked voice, so secret and dirty,
he made me so wet just from the sound of it. The way he looked at me,
licked his lips as he feasted on the sight of my arousal. What would
it feel like to have those full, hot lips on my breasts, to feel his
tongue on my skin, sucking my aching nipples?
In
a remote region of my mind I tried to remind myself that I was still
in public, at a party, and I didn’t do this kind of thing. I was
cautious, reserved. I left parties early, didn’t give out my phone
number. But then he kissed me again and my entire brain lost its
reception in white-hot static.
Owning
me, his hands cupping my breasts, his breath ragged and hot against
my throat, he continued his light, teasing strokes. Heart fluttering,
pulse pounding, I sucked in my breath and bit my lower lip, my
eyelids half-closing as I needed more, more contact, more of his
hands, his heat, his skin on my skin. His gaze stayed on me,
mesmerized by my response to him.
In
that sinfully sexy voice of his, he asked, low and husky in my ear,
“Have you ever been bad, Jewel?”
Trembling
against his hardness, I couldn’t think. My sex clenched tight at
his words, slick heat building within me. I couldn’t process what
was happening. “What do you mean?”
His
voice stroked me, soft as silk, “I get the feeling you’ve always
been a good girl.” His thumb and forefinger found my nipple,
aroused, pressing against the fabric of my dress. I arched my back
into his touch, still so light and teasing. Dark eyes intent on my
face, drinking in my reaction, he pinched. My mouth parted in a gasp
and I closed my eyes in the onslaught of sensations. How could it
hurt and feel so good at the same time? It was as if my breast was
wired directly down between my legs, making my sex throb and glisten
with need.
“I
think you should be bad with me, Jewel.” He dipped his mouth down
to my sensitive throat, trailing hot kisses against my skin,
“Delicious,” he murmured as he stopped to lick and suck, swirling
his tongue. Pressed up against the wall, panting and unable to think
straight, I felt like Little Red Riding Hood with the big bad wolf.
If the wolf had been hypnotically sexy as sin.
He
ground his hips against me and through our clothes I could feel his
heavy, thick cock. He was huge. A moan escaped my lips, true, real
lust clenching its fist around me for the first time in my life. I
wanted this man. No, I needed this man. I needed him to do all the
things I’d only read about, right there, right then, up against the
wall.
A
hot palm down at my hip, searing me through my dress, so close to
where I throbbed but not close enough, he asked, “Are you getting
wet for me, Jewel?” I panted and twisted under his grasp, wanting
more of him, needing more heat, more pressure. “Right here at the
party?” He tormented me, moving his hand ever so slightly down,
then grasping the hem of my dress to inch it slowly up.
“Naughty
girl,” his dark voice rasped at my ear, his tongue flicking along
my lobe, biting then sucking the sensitive flesh.
Moaning,
I arched my back, pressing my breast into his hand, impatient, needy,
wanton. I’d never been so reckless. I’d never felt so good.
Callie Harper writes contemporary romances so hot they may melt your ebook. You’ve been warned.
She is powered by coffee, wickedly sexy bad boys, and all things funny, intentional or otherwise. She is the author of OFF LIMITS to be released 12/15 and the BEG FOR IT series which will start being released in January 2016.
She lives in the gorgeous Bay Area with her family.
Connect with Callie at:
Twitter: @CallieHarperBks
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/callieharper
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