Page 16 of Cookies and Control

Bull

I curse myself for watching Betsy’s perky, round ass walk out of the room as she disappears into the kitchen. The sway of her hips, the defiance in her step. She’s no longer the young girl I can protect with my thick wallet, hiring private tutors and taking her on lavish vacations to keep her from hanging out with boys her own age.

She’s a woman with needs, and I finally see that. But I’m so much older, literally her stepfather. I’ve been entrusted to care for her. I don’t want to be the one to cause her to suffer ridicule.

“You’re playing with fire,” I say to Rocky for making her think we can be together.

He faces me, his expression hardening. “Exactly why I’m notplaying.”

“We’re so much older than her.”

His eyes bore into mine. “Exactly why we’d be able to give her the world. We’re not working minimum wage jobs to make ends meet. We offer her security. If she wasn’t your stepdaughter, would you pursue a relationship with her?”

The question hangs in the air. I hesitate to admit, “It’s not that simple. I was married to her mother. I promised her I’d care for Betsy, protect her.”

Rocky sits across the room from me. “Who better to protect her than us?”

I stop him. “Us? How perverted would that look?”

He looks away, then back at me, his expression serious. “I have feelings for her too, Bull. Think about it—how better to ensure someone will always be there for her than to make her ours?”

The thought of Betsy with another man flashes through my mind, and it nearly kills me. My possessiveness is overwhelming. “Rocky, we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he interrupts. “Can’t admit that we’re both drawn to her? Can’t look around and see the number of unconventional relationships in Eggplant Canyon?”

“Stepbrothers are very different than stepfathers and uncles.” I’m torn between my loyalty to my late wife and the undeniable pull I feel toward Betsy. Rocky’s words challenge me to confront feelings I’ve suppressed. The thought of Betsy with someone else is unbearable, but the thought of crossing that line, of breaking that taboo, is daunting.

I study Rocky, my brother, my confidant. He’s come to terms with this struggle. If I don’t claim Betsy, he will—without me.

The rich aroma of coffee fills the room as Betsy returns with a tray of mugs. But it’s not the coffee that commands my attention—it’s her. She’s tied her shirt, exposing her entire midriff and ample cleavage. More skin, more temptation.

My body reacts, a primal response defying every paternal instinct. I hate myself for loving her—not in the way a stepfather should, but in a way that’s forbidden. That my family will never forgive me for.

I try to distract myself, imagining my mother’s reaction. The horror, the disgust. Bringing Rocky into this madness would only make it worse. This can’t happen. Not now, not before the Christmas party.

The thought stops me cold. Would I be willing to try this after the party? When the pressure’s off, when we have time to explore, to understand?

“No cream for you.” Betsy hands me a cup, her fingers brushing mine. A spark ignites, electric and as intense as when I touched her at the club. Her eyes lock onto mine, a challenge equal to her words.

Heat rises through my body. My pulse quickens. I grip the mug tighter, fighting the urge to pull her close, to claim those defiant lips.

But she moves on, setting the tray on the table beside Rocky’s chair. Then, she does the unthinkable and straddles his lap. My heart stops as jealousy surges through me like wildfire.

“So,” she begins, her voice casual, as if she hasn’t spread her wet pussy over her uncle’s lap. “I thought we could discuss coffee, cream, and cocks. Would you like cream?”

Rocky’s hands rest on her hips. “As long as you’re serving it.”

I stumble over words, trying to stop them.

“Bull, back off,” he warns.

Betsy continues, “I need to learn about sex, about intimacy. And I’d rather do it with men who care about me.”

Men? She shouldn’t be thinking like that. I stomp closer, reaching for her, trying to pull her off Rocky’s lap. They bothforce me away. “Betsy, your first time should be special,” I insist, my voice tight.

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “What was so special about your first time?”

The question catches me off guard. Nothing. It was sex, and not very good sex in retrospect. I shake my head.

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