Page 7 of Step Brother Bear

My eyes widen. “Are you seriously this much of a fucking degenerate? Why are you blasting porn in the middle of the night when you know I’m on the other side of the wall?”

He shrugs, throwing his head back as if I’m wasting his time. “I’m used to it loud. I can’t fucking sleep, and I needed something.”

“Then get fucking headphones, you insane bag of shit!” I don’t hide the volume of my voice this time, a part of me hoping that my parents wake up and help me—even though that’s highly unlikely.

“Shh!” He orders.

I laugh. “Oh, now you're worried about being quiet?” I study him, his arm still in a bandage, his shirtless and sweaty form—molded from hours lifting weights loudly in his room. “You’re obviously well enough to get a job and get out of here. You’re spending all your time working out and watching porn instead of doing anything productive!”

He steps closer, his eyes shifting into something dark. “Believe me, if I could leave this place, I would. I need to lie low for a while.”

I think of Chrishell. She knew he was here, but he’s probably not hiding from people like her. Could it be the gang she mentioned? I don’t know why I even contemplate it. I shouldn’t care.

“Well, maybe actually try to lie low then, instead of barreling around and acting like you want the whole world to know you’re here!” I’m yelling now, losing all sense of reserve.

The palm of his injured arm meets my mouth, and his other arm snakes around my middle, dragging me into his room and slamming the door closed behind us. He presses me against the wall, his veins straining as he looks down at me.

“I’m dangling by a fucking thread,” he seethes. “I’m trying my best to drown you out, but godammit, you make it near impossible. I’m so close to losing control, to fucking your mouth until you can’t speak anymore.”

I don’t move, genuinely terrified. It must be the low lights of his room playing tricks on me, but I swear he morphs before my eyes. His hair seems more unruly, his muscle mass bloats, and his fingers at my mouth start to pierce. He brings his nose to my neck—sniffing me—fucking sniffing me. His musk envelops me. I should be fighting against him. He’s injured, making it worse as he uses his strength to hold me against the wall. Surely I should be able to create some distance between us if I tried. But I can’t move, not because of his pressure but because I’m shocked and something else. Something I don’t want to name.

He licks at my neck, trailing downward. His tongue almost doesn’t feel human, rough and longer than should be possible. My stupid fucking breath shakes, and I clamp my lips together, mortified at my body’s insane reaction to my stepbrother manhandling me. I shouldn’t want this. I should be fighting him, not tilting my head back, welcoming him to have his way with me. But reality blurs from the whiplash of the events. Perhaps the previous sex sounds made me subconsciously horny. Or it could be his rock-hard cock, rubbing against my thigh. Chrishell was right. He is huge. I can tell from his gray sweatpants that do nothing to hide the details of his length.

“God, Isabella. Your smell.” He moves lower until he’s nuzzled between my breasts, my thin sleep tank giving him no resistance. He bangs the wall behind me with one fist, vibrating me and spilling a shriek from my lips. That snaps him out of it. He jolts upright, pushing away from me with a wince. “Get the fuck out.” He turns away, cradling his injured arm and groaning in agony.

“What?” I stutter.

“I said get the fuck out!” he yells.

I don’t wait to hear more. I bolt out into the hallway and slam his door behind me. I don’t stop until I’m in my room with my door locked, falling to the floor as I catch my breath. What the fuck just happened? I’m going to need years of therapy to detangle my thoughts, from the arousal to the fear and everything in between.

I climb into my bed, grab my phone, and hide under the covers. There’s no hope of my racing heart returning to sleep anytime soon, but there’s one thing I must do before I even attempt to slumber. I’m ordering us both the best fucking headphones on the market.

Chapter 5

It’s gotten to the point where I'm sure I’m applying to the same jobs multiple times. All the applications start to blur together, yet nothing pings in my inbox except scams. Why don’t any of these jobs get back to me? I would much rather hear no than the never-ending silence. If this keeps up, I’m ditching my efforts to find employment and instead making an investigative documentary about the money-laundering scheme that must be going on behind the recruiting and hiring process.

My stomach rumbles, and I check the time on my computer at the bottom of my screen. It’s already 10 a.m., and I haven’t eaten anything. It’s been two days since the traumatizing incident inside Derek’s bedroom. I leave my room as little as possible, but I’m running low on snacks, and I don’t have the energy to keep clicking through job sites without a form of sustenance.

My nerves rattle my bones as I exit my room, chatter coming from downstairs. I stop at the top step, listening. Thankfully, it’s only my parents' voices. “Good morning, sweety,” my mom says as I step into the kitchen. It’s not often that I catch both of them in the same room. Suitcases rest at the back of the couch, separating the kitchen from the living room.

“What’s going on?” I ask while opening the fridge.

“Your mom and I are just getting ready to leave,” my stepdad says.

My stomach drops. “Leave where?”

Mom stops searching through the cupboard and looks at me. She’s got a fresh blowout, and her makeup sits perfectly in place. I hate seeing her like this. We don’t look anything alike, her straight blonde hair, pale skin, and thin frame versus my curls, curves, tan, and freckled skin, and it’s even more obvious when she’s done up. It’s like a reminder that her best looks even more opposite than my natural self. “I’m sure I told you. We have a conference in Venice. We’re only going for two days. We’ll be back before the weekend.”

“Venice?”

“California,” Darrell clarifies. “Can I trust you not to throw any ragers while we’re away?” He chuckles at his stupid joke.

“You can trust me…”

Mom snaps, turning to face me. “Oh, about that. Could you help Derek change his bandages while we’re away?”

“What?” My veins pound in my body.