Page 1 of Stalker Stepbrother

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CALLUM

She’s off-limits, you asshole. Keep your fucking hands to yourself, I tell myself as I jerk off for the third time tonight.

My orgasm rushes to the surface as hot jets of come spurt all over my desk and laptop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Drained of energy but still unsatisfied, I don’t take my eyes off the screen, still feeling the fire licking my veins as Callie bends over her bed to slip on a pair of panties.

The sight of her delectable body will forever be burned into my retinas. I can close my eyes and try to think of something else, but without warning, I’ll circle back to how she looks fully naked. From her creamy skin to those supple mounds, every inch of her is begging to be tasted, licked, explored, and devoured.

Who the fuck am I to say no?

Visions and thoughts of her mess with my head. Before meeting Callie, my mind was all about work, box, sleep, repeat. But she somehow managed to short-circuit my brain into thinking of nothing and no one else but her.

Dammit. This is uncharted territory for me. I have never known this kind of obsession, and it’s slowly driving me insane. I don’t know how to navigate this situation our parents have put us in.

Yes. Our parents.

We live under one roof. Or better, she lives under mine. She’s a few doors down from me. But I can’t touch her. Can’t even look at her the wrong way.

Even if all I wanna do is bury myself inside her, feel those tight walls clamping down on me, milking me, pulsating around my cock.

Her phone rings, and she ignores it at first, grabbing her silk pajamas and putting them on. It’s pink, her favorite. I know because she wears it at least four times a week.

When she’s done, she wraps the towel around her hair and finally answers the call.

“Hello?”

Thank fuck I only installed the best cameras in her room. This way, I can see and hear her clearly, even if she’s whispering. I mean, I make millions off this type of technology, so of course, I’d make use of it.

“Hmmm. Nah, I don’t think so. I still have so many things to do tonight.”

I almost laugh because she doesn’t. She’s gonna spend the next three hours on her bed with the lamp on, reading something she started only yesterday. Then, she’ll turn off the light at exactly 10:30 PM and go to sleep.

Yes, I know her routine. I know what she does the moment she steps into her bedroom. I should be ashamed because this isn’t normal behavior. But Christ, I can’t resist her. I wanna know her inside and out, what she does every single minute, how she likes to spend her spare time. I wanna spend my hours just staring at her.

I wasn’t like this two weeks ago.

Back then, I was a normal 40-year-old. Well, as normal as I can possibly be. Then, my father—who had really done nothing in his life to help me except racking up bills and purchases and charging them to me—showed up to say he was bringing my new stepsister home.

By home, he meant my massive house near the university. Apparently, he and his new wife—Janis—are off to their year-long honeymoon, so they’re dumping a 20-year-old college student on me. I was about to tear into him for demanding and imposing things when I didn’t owe him anything.

But Callie chose that moment to step into the living room.

I never really understood men going off the rails because of women. I thought that was stupid, that they were stupid. Yet, there I was, arrested by her beauty and feeling like a starved man watching his first meal in years.

Blood roared in my ears, loins tightening, heart slamming against my ribcage.

I became hyperaware of how she charged the air with just her presence. From her deep blue eyes to her shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, she was a picture of innocence and perfection. And I spent the next few minutes fighting off the need to pull her to my lap and find out if she’s as sweet as she looks.

I'm hit with a sudden, urgent longing to touch her, run my hands and tongue along those curves. Her beauty hits me hard. Like a fucking sledgehammer. Something that has never happened before.

“Hi,” she says, blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Hello,” I tell her, momentarily forgetting my father and her mother. The way she’s standing in her yellow dress, shifting her weight awkwardly. This is no rebellious 20-year-old. This is a little girl in need of my protection. That very thought tilts my world on its axis. I can’t just let her go deal with the dangers of this world. I’ve seen the worst of humanity, and I want them nowhere near her.

I stand and take her small hand in mine, bringing it to my lips, watching as she lifts her eyes to mine, pupils blown wide.

“Callie’s very respectful of other people’s spaces, so she won’t trouble you. With a house this big, you probably won’t notice she’s here,” Janis explains.

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