Page 2 of Easter Daddy

“Whatever,” he says playfully. Then, we’re left alone.

“Good afternoon, Lily,” I say to her, realizing that I have not responded to her yet. “I’m Liam Lewis.” I walk around the car once my erection has softened enough for me to move. I have to see the rest of her, see the rest of what she looks like. Is her body as beautiful as her face? What about when she’s naked?

No, no, no. Stop. You cannot be thinking of that right now.

I listen to the internal voice because as I look her up and down, I become painfully aware that I have nothing to hide my wayward dick behind. And fuck me, is she beautiful. Her body has the perfect proportions. A small waist and wide, firm hips. I’d love to grab her by those hips and—

No.

“Would you like to go inside?” I ask, fixing my eyes on her face. I can’t lose control. I can’t. She’s my fucking stepsister, for fuck’s sake. And she’s only 18.

You don’t know her, and she’s not actually related to you.

That damned devil on my shoulder whispering justifications into my ear is so hard to resist. I see the way that the girl looks at me, too. I know she’s attracted to me. I can see it in her eyes. It wouldn’t be difficult to get exactly what I want from her, but that would be wrong.

“Sure,” she says.

This poor girl has no idea the type of shit that I’d love to do to her. And for the sake of sparing myself from embarrassment, I can’t afford to be thinking about that right now. But later tonight, I know that I might end up fucking my fist at the thought of her.

I slow my pace, allowing her to walk ahead, my curiosity getting the better of me. The building is big and white with a purple sign that read, “Lavender Pastures’s Office.”

She doesn’t need me to show her the general direction to walk in, but I want to see her ass. Not to think too hard about it and go hard in my pants again. I just want to see it, and when I do… it’s perfect. It bounces with each step she takes. I’d love to grab it, to spank it, to—

“Hey. That door, right?” she asks me, breaking my train of thought. She’s pointing at the glass doors under the purple sign and looking over her shoulder at me.

“Yes,” I say roughly through clenched teeth. Her eyes widen. Perhaps she sees something on my face that scares her. And maybe, that’s not such a bad thing.

I can’t have her. I know it’s absolutely forbidden. I cannot have her.

But fuck do I want her.

2

LILY

Idetest nepotism. Specifically, I hate nepotism for myself. I don’t ever want anything in life handed to me. There’s a certain pleasure in knowing that you worked for something before you got it. And I’ve always liked that.

So what does it say about me that I got my first job out of high school because of exactly that? Because of who my stepbrother is? My stepbrother whom I don’t even know.

Liam Lewis.

Not just a billionaire but the owner of PlantPlast, the biggest biodegradable plastic company in the world. I’ve seen photos of him from years ago around the house but nothing too recent. Even those were beautiful, but I thought it would be better to see him in person than online before our first meeting. Even as my stepdad drove me to the pastures, I had to resist the urge to look him up. And boy, am I glad that I didn’t.

It's been fifteen minutes since we entered the main building, and I can’t stop stealing glances at him. He’s sinfully attractive, so damn hot and sexy. He has a chiseled jawline that can cut paper, his deep blue eyes dancing with wicked intentions, a perfect nose, and lips that look like they were crafted to please women.

Now and then, our eyes meet, and when they do, I almost swear I can see lust and arousal in them, but I can’t be completely sure.

“Excuse me,” he says roughly, before getting up. That’s okay, though. At least now, I don’t have to look at him anymore. At least now, I don’t have to see him giving me that look. As soon as he’s out of the room, I exhale deeply. This is getting to be too much for me.

Just then, the manager, Janette, walks into the room.

“Good afternoon again, would you like to help us paint the eggs?” she asks with a kind expression.

“Sure,” I say with a nod, getting up.

I follow her into another room, and I’m momentarily thrust into darkness—only for a moment, though. The light flickers on, illuminating the room around me. The room is decorated with childish décor, and on the floor before me is a clear, plastic box with several solid-colored Easter eggs. They are light colors—blue, green, pink, purple, yellow, and orange. I wonder why the designs weren’t printed onto them. If he runs a multi-billion-dollar biodegradable plastics company, why not print the designs onto the eggs? Why have them bare? Perhaps he prefers them that way. Or maybe he isn’t particularly concerned with this.

Or, perhaps he did it on purpose so that I could have more to do in my job.

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