Stepbrother Studs Ian: A Stepbrother Romance Read online

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  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  Stepbrother Studs: Ian

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  MOXIE

  By Selena Kitt

  High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it. But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an x-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more trouble than she bargained for!

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  Veronica’s sexy, punk-rock stepbrother, Ian, gets angry when she brings girls home, but she does it anyway.

  Because while he tells her it’s because they make so much noise he can’t concentrate, she knows he secretly listens to them through the vent they share between their rooms.

  In fact, Veronica has a habit of keeping that vent wide open, just for that purpose.

  She has to admit, she likes making Ian squirm, and she can’t help but wonder if she might be making her stepbrother just a little bit jealous?

  That thought makes Veronica squirm.

  But one night, Veronica does something that pushes her stepbrother a little too far, and she finds out something she never expected.

  And only dreamed of.

  Stepbrother Studs: Ian

  By Selena Kitt

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  STEPBROTHER STUDS SERIES:

  Stepbrother Studs: Aaron

  Stepbrother Studs: Brian

  Stepbrother Studs: Cameron

  Stepbrother Studs: Daren

  Stepbrother Studs: Dustin

  Stepbrother Studs: Evan

  Stepbrother Studs: Finn

  Stepbrother Studs: Gavin

  Stepbrother Studs: Hayden

  Stepbrother Studs: Ian

  FIRST TIME WITH MY STEPBROTHER SERIES:

  Stepbrother First Times: Welcome Home, Baby

  “It’s just… distracting, that’s all.” Ian cleared his throat and continued to stir Ramen Noodles in the pot on the stove. It was his specialty—he made a Thai version that was out of this world with peanut butter, green onions and shaved carrots. She loved it when he made Thai ramen.

  Veronica crossed her arms and leveled her older stepbrother with what she hoped was a quelling look. Like he had any right to complain about the noise she made in their little apartment? I mean, really—Ian, Mr. Punk Rock, who played that Johnny Rotten crap on his Bose iPod speakers at max volume—complaining about her?

  Hello Pot, this is Kettle!

  “Distracting, huh?” The side of Veronica’s mouth rose into a smirk. “Distracting how?”

  “Oh come on.” Ian rolled his eyes, picking the pot up from the stove and carrying it to the sink to drain the broth. Veronica moved over a little, leaning against the fridge instead of the edge of the counter, to give him room. The kitchen was tiny. “If I was having sex with some girl that loud, you’d skin me alive.”

  “Well, maybe not alive.” She grinned when he glanced over at her.

  “What the hell are you doing with her anyway?” He gave her a sideways look as he shook the noodles around in the strainer and poured them back into the pot. “I kept hearing this loud thump. Not, you know, like fucking, but… what, were you banging her head against the wall on occasion, just for fun? Is she into pain or something?”

  Veronica snorted a laugh. “I bet you’d like to know.”

  Ian rolled his eyes again, but she saw the way the back of his neck reddened. Veronica knew he listened whenever she had her friends over to “play.” Jessie and Amanda were lovers—but occasionally they enjoyed adding a third, for a little fun and variety. Sometimes the three of them played at their place, but for some reason—probably the plethora of sex toys Veronica had in a box under her bed—they enjoyed staying over at Veronica’s when they had their little “play dates.”

  They practically had to play musical chairs at the breakfast table in their cramped little apartment. But she wouldn’t give it up for the world—it was the real deal, in the coolest neighborhood in the city. Ian could walk to the music store where he worked, and Veronica could walk to the Double Crow, where she served drinks.

  But their rooms were right next to each other and the walls were paper thin. Worse, there was a vent between the rooms, and if she didn’t close it, or vice versa, the sound carried. Even if Ian didn’t bring girls home often, she’d heard him jerking off before in the middle of the night. It was hard not to listen.

  And obviously Ian listened to her too.

  “I’m just saying, it’s hard to get things done when… you know…” Ian mixed the noodles with the peanut butter sauce and vegetables while Veronica got out bowls and forks. Her stomach was growling.

  “Just play your music louder,” she suggested, holding out her bowl for noodles. Ian scooped her a little less than half of what was in the pot. “Dude, I can’t help it if we get a little loud.”

  They sat at the little table across from each other, their knees touching, it was so tiny. She was wearing a faded pair of jeans with holes in the knees and she felt his bare leg brush hers. Ian was just in boxers and a t-shirt, his usual apartment attire, if there was no one else around. Her older stepbrother had filled out in the past couple years.

  “A little loud?” Ian tilted his head and raised a pierced eyebrow at her. “It sounds like you guys are making a porno in your room.”

  “You wish.” She grinned through a mouthful of noodles when he looked at her from under his thick, heavy brows. “Ian, get real. Do you hear me complaining about the millionth time you played the Sex Pistols? I mean, all those dead, 70s losers. Blah. But do I tell you to keep it down? No, I don’t.”

  “Hey, the Sex Pistols were about fighting back.” Ian slurped noodles, using the side of the table edge to crack open the top of his beer. “It’s better than all that ‘ooh I’m so sad I’m gonna kill myself’ emo crap you listen to.”

  “You know fuck-all about Emo, you punk-assed idiot.” She nudged him under the table, wrinkling her nose at him when he looked at her over the beer bottle he held to his lips. “Just turn up your music and quit complaining, all right?”

  “Sure.” Ian put his beer down and Veronica picked it up and took a swig. “I’ll turn my music up louder. Then we’ll have old man Quimby at the door again, threatening us with eviction.”

  “Fuck old man Quimby.” Veronica handed his beer back.

  “Okay, then, I’ll tell him that when he comes. And the rest of the neighbors with their torches and pitchforks.” Ian gave her a long, judgy look from under those dark brows of his. Sometimes he made her want to s
mack him upside the head. “There have been too many complaints already. You aren’t making enough money that we can afford to move. It still amazes me that we can afford this place even, shitty as it is.”

  “I’m not making enough money?” Veronica twirled her noodles and scowled at him. “Since when are they giving you tips at the music store? When was the last time you did a shift and your dickhead boss didn’t give you some lecture on how the minimum wage was ‘socialism’ or something. Your fucking boss won’t give you a raise despite the fact you’re the only one who knows how that place works.”

  Veronica really didn’t want to argue with him, but it was turning out to be another head-butting session. She really just wanted to make up with him, curl up on the couch, and watch the Netflix marathon of Dexter they were in the middle of. But no. He had to bring up her loud sex with the girls. It wasn’t her fault that Jessie and Amanda were so… exuberant.

  “Maybe I should tell him to fuck off too and then you can support us both.” Ian scowled back at her. “Since your tips are so great and all.”

  Oh great. Now he was going to make it about that. All she’d been trying to say was that he was underpaid, given his level of knowledge and experience. Why couldn’t she just tell him what she really meant? What she really felt?

  Veronica saw the rigid set to his jaw and knew it was too late. He was already mad. And she had a feeling he wasn’t really mad about what she’d said—he was mad about her and Amanda and Jessie. And not just because they were loud.

  “You’re Mr. Responsible all of a sudden, for a guy with Johnny Rotten posters all over his wall,” Veronica pointed out, slurping up the noodles. They weren’t going to get out of this without bickering, that much was obvious. And for some reason, she couldn’t seem to keep this stuff from spilling out of her mouth. “Before you start wearing a suit and a tie, you might think about cleaning the bathroom once in a while.”

  “I did it last time.”

  “Last year, you mean.”

  “You always change the subject.” Ian sat back and sighed. “This isn’t about bathrooms. It’s about me having to listen to your friends screaming ‘oh Veronica, more, more, fuck me more’ all night long.” He imitated Jessie and Amanda in a high falsetto. “Doesn’t that start to bore the crap out of you?”

  “You should be so bored,” Veronica snapped, taking another swig of his beer.

  “Fuck off.” He grabbed his beer back, putting it down between his legs on the chair, out of her reach.

  “And while you’re at it…” she said, picking up her empty bowl and heading to the sink. She told herself not to say it, but she knew she was going to anyway. “You might think about cleaning the kitchen once in a while too.”

  “You mean washing the dishes from your girlfriend’s ‘soufflé’?”

  “What would you know?” Veronica rinsed her bowl. “Jessie’s a great cook.”

  “I tried some of the leftovers.” Ian snorted. “It was like barf. No wonder she left cooking school.”

  “Fuck you.” Now she really was getting mad. He sounded jealous, for Christ’s sake. What the hell? “That was for me. You weren’t supposed to eat it.”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t eat much.” He smirked. “Most of it is still there.”

  “Most of it?” She turned around, leaning against the sink, arms crossed. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

  “Don’t worry, you have the rest of her to eat.” He scowled, slurping Ramen, spattering his cheek with peanut sauce. She had the urge to go over and lick it off that smug face of his, just to see the look he gave her.

  What the hell are you thinking?

  She flounced past him, making her comment casual, but cutting, “Well, that’s more than you’re getting, from anyone.”

  “Fuck you!” he snapped, grabbing her wrist, not letting her pass. A scowl knit his heavy brow, dark eyes flashing. “And just how am I supposed to bring anyone home when you’ve got a harem next door?”

  She met his eyes and saw something there that made her breath catch. Did he really care so much, maybe, not just because they made tons of noise and disrupted his sleep but—did Ian care because he really was jealous? And if he was—what in the hell did that mean?

  Veronica swallowed, thinking of what to say. For a moment, she softened. The look on his face, the hunger there, gave her a shiver. Then his words hit her—how am I supposed to bring anyone home? Who did he want to bring home, exactly?

  “What, are you afraid I’d steal her away from you?” She shook him loose with a smirk. “Listen. It’s not my fault you can’t get laid.”

  She went to her room and shut her door. Leaning against it, she let out a pent-up breath and tried to figure out why she felt so shaky inside.

  * * * *

  When Jessie and Amanda called and asked to come over, Veronica hesitated. She didn’t want to make Ian mad, not really. She’d come home from work at two in the morning to find him still awake, rummaging through his CDs in the living room, swearing because he couldn’t find what he wanted. He stormed off to his room without a word when she came in. She saw him in his room—which she sometimes called “the punk museum”—flipping through his collection of punk on vinyl.

  He’d obviously found what he was looking for, because the Ramones were playing when she went by on her way to the bathroom. She saw him sitting at his little desk, writing something. She knew the Ramones were a great source of inspiration for him, and he loved music, but Ian wasn’t a musician. Words were his medium. He was the most amazing poet she’d ever known, and she’d told him a million times he should write song lyrics or something.

  The one time she’d dragged him to a poetry slam, he’d brought the house down. But Ian wasn’t an extrovert like her. He didn’t talk much—except around her—but he had a way with words on the page.

  She’d stopped to talk to him but he’d just scowled and waved her away. Either he was in the middle of something and didn’t want to be interrupted—or he was still mad. So Veronica went to her room and grabbed her phone, flipping through some YouTube channels to relax a little before she went to sleep.

  That’s when Amanda called and said Jessie wanted them to come over and spend the night, and Veronica hesitated. What she really wanted to do was go into Ian’s room and stretch out on his bed and talk to him until he sighed. Then he would start to smile. Not a lot, just the corner of his full, sexy mouth. Then he would roll his eyes—those smoky eyes—throw down his pencil, and stalk toward her before pouncing.

  She liked it when he pounced, like a big cat, rolling her under him and tickling her until she cried and told him she was going to pee her pants. Veronica wondered if she provoked him so often, just because she liked it so much when they made up. But somehow their fight earlier had been different. There was more real scorn in it than their usual playful sarcasm.

  So Veronica had invited them over, meeting them at the front door to keep Ian from hearing the knock. Of course, it was all an exercise in futility. Besides, if she was going to admit the truth, even if just to herself, she kind of wanted him to hear them rolling around, writhing in pleasure. She’d even opened the vent between her room and Ian’s just so he could hear everything going on as clearly as possible.

  So she was a passive aggressive little mess, but, well, what the fuck.

  That’s how Veronica ended up half naked on the bed, cuddling Jessie, who was entirely naked, fiddling with the tangled harness of large strap-on. Amanda was sprawled on the rug, wearing nothing but red panties, which sported the words, “fuck this.” She was surrounded by a swirl of porn magazines and a sex toy or two.

  And all Veronica could think about was Ian. The plastic cock in her hand was a poor substitute. Was he just over there on the other side of the wall, stroking himself? Was he getting off, listening to them? God, she hoped so.

  It was so fucking wrong, but she earnestly, fervently, hoped her stepbrother was listening to her, thinking about her, as he jerked his cock and came a
ll over those hard, ridged abs of his.

  Oh, she wanted to lick it off.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Right, because a threesome with the girls, that was a-ok. But fucking your stepbrother? That would send you straight to hell. Or jail. Or someplace not-so-nice, anyway. Right?

  “Veronica, are you gonna use that thing or not?” Jessie cocked her head and nudged her with her full, round behind.

  “Coming right up.” Veronica suppressed a sigh, glancing up at the vent, ears perking up.

  For one glorious moment, she thought she heard him groan and shivered with pleasure.

  She could only dream.

  * * * *

  Ian’s “Fuck Everything, Even Death” trilogy was coming along splendidly. He was scribbling away when he heard the giggling from the vent, but managed to successfully ignore it. There was a thump or two against the wall, which sounded almost deliberate to him, and then some more giggling.

  “No!” Another laugh. Then Ian thought he heard the word “strap-on.” This caught his attention and, his mind caught between his work and what was going on next door, he found himself doodling on the margins of his “Death” trilogy.

  “I hate those things!” More giggling, “They’re so gross. If I wanted a cock, I’d sleep with a man.”

  Ian couldn’t help but listen more closely. He thought maybe he could hear the buzzing of a vibrator, but was that even possible? Surely his music would drown that out, at least.

  “No. Put that away. No cocks.”

  “Aw, Amanda…”

  There was an inaudible comment or two, then a smacking sound and a whoop, and some laughter. Something rebounded off the wall with a sharp crack.

  “You broke it!”

  “No I didn’t. It’s still okay.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Ow! Don’t squeeze so hard.”

  “Jessie doesn’t mind them, do you Jessie?” More laughter. The sounds of tumbling and bedsprings and thumping. There were only three of them in there, weren’t there?