Page 26 of Auctioned to her Stepbrothers

As I grab my keys, my phone pings with a link from her map app. She wasn't kidding. Barely a mile away. Why?

Less than five minutes later, I pull up. Her clunker of a car has a dent in the bumper and the beginnings of rust around the wheel wells, stands out like cargo shorts at a black-tie event. I doubt there's another like it for miles. She paces nervously next to it while looking around.

In a tiered white skirt that reaches all the way down to her calves and soft blue top, she's a far cry from our dressed-in-nothing sex slave at the club, but that doesn't make me want to bend her over the hood of my car and fuck her silly any less. Maybe I should tell her to dress like this next time. Demure. Innocent. Until we tear her clothes off.

"Thank you," she says with relief as I get out.

"Don't worry. You'll be paying me for this one. In flesh."

She catches her lower lip between her teeth and rolls it. It's not clear whether it's nervousness or anticipation, but it really doesn't fucking matter because it has me hard either way. I gesture at the wreck she calls a car. "What's wrong with it? Other than everything?"

"I don't know. I just—I thought I'd take a drive through the old neighborhood. See if I could get a peek of the house, you know. It's been so long, and I never really wanted to return, but then you guys came back into my life, and…" She trails off with a shrug.

Never wanted to come back. I can believe that. I never thought I wanted her back either, the way they ran off. But now,I get this sadistic urge to drag her back to the estate, to rub her face in it. "Get in my car."

"What about my—"

"I'll have it towed, but I'm ready to get the fuck away from this eyesore. What would the neighbors think?" My laugh is short and devoid of humor.

She takes the passenger seat as I put the car into drive and pull out.

"Why did you call me and not Nate or Lyle?"

She looks out her window, away from me. "Honestly? They didn't answer."

Figures. "Pull your skirt up."

"What? We're not in the—"

"Do it. I just went out of my way to pick you up and get your car fixed. On top of everything else we're paying for you; I think it's the least you could do." Am I a bastard? Probably. But we already established the rules for this week. She's ours, and she doesn't get anything for free. No matter how willing Lyle and Nate are to bleed for her, I'm sticking to the fucking deal.

Besides, she loves it. Every time so far, even when she's resisted, she's gone off like a fucking cannon by the time we're done. Then she cuddles up to Nate and Lyle like a cat searching for affection. Even now, there's a smolder in the look that she sends me, even if she tries to distract from it with a scoff.

Then she obeys, revealing inch after glorious inch of firm calves and creamy thighs. After another glance my way, she pulls it all the way up until her bikini panties are exposed. Virgin white, with a little pink bow on the front.

Fuck me. Did she plan this?

Had the way home been longer, I would have her touch herself while I drive, but there are too many eyes in this neighborhood, and as sexy as she is, I'm itching to drag her home.

She stiffens as I pull through the massive wrought iron gates with my mother’s family monogram on the bars. It shuts on well-oiled hinges behind us. The long, winding drive to the house gives her a chance to take in the estate, to let the memories flood back. She stares out the windows, her gaze flitting around as she refamiliarizes herself with it.

I want to remind her of what she left behind.

She gasps when the trees fall away, and the main building comes into view. I pull up in front and stop. She's out of the car almost immediately, the skirt falling to cover her back up.

The front door opens, revealing Lyle and Nate. They must've seen us from the windows.

"Honor," they say together, frowning similarly in confusion; it's like they're twins. Once they've seen their fill of her, they shift their attention to me with raised eyebrows and quizzical expressions. You'd think I just set fire to the car and declared myself king or some other kind of crazy bullshit.

"Her car broke down," is all the explanation I give. "Are you clowns going to hold the door like gentlemen, or what?"

Honor cuts me a look. "I never thought you'd sound so much like Dick-Ass when you grew up.”

For once, I don't even know what to fucking say. Me? Like Dick-Ass?

As my eyes follow the sway of her ass up the stairs, I catalog all the ways I'm like my father, and at least in my mind, that list is ridiculously fucking short. I'm nothing like him, and I'm never going to be anything like him. A child-beating, foul-mouthed, narcissistic, empty-hearted, controlling asshole.

And she just fucking compared me to him.

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