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Chapter Seventy-Six: Ringing
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Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Seventy-Seven: Love
Marko Christ, what had he done? What of the bond? He could smell her now, so what did that- A hearty chuckle escaped her, stilling the panic in his being. “Good God, that was fast!” She uttered again with a louder laugh, but his stomach would not let him join her, “God! We are like animals!” She uttered as she lowered her sweater and pulled her pants to decency. She did not wipe his seed, merely covered it, he wanted to help clean her, but he couldn’t bring himself to suggest the act; what if he lost his sanity again? “Relax…” She whispered as she slid from the table, wobbling slightly, perhaps because of the weakness he induced in her knees. He should be proud, but regret at his irresponsibility claimed him. How could he do that? How could she let him? “There is no need to resemble a deer in headlights; the scent is gone. The bond is still broken.” Impossible, he could still… He raised his nose to confirm, and…it was gone. Her…bubble gum (?) scent was gone. The scent h
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Seventy-Eight: Straying
AlbaThe thumping of my heart will not cease; my body’s frame is hard against the door I slammed in his wake, but my knee’s support leaves me pooling on the cold floor.The room is dark, and only light from the industrial streetlights pools in from the window, yet that diminishes my need to turn on the house’s lights. My stomach burns; it is not the alcohol swimming in my veins, enticing bravery where none calls for it, but the seed he spilt on me under his lustful gaze, the growl he voiced on my flesh, his command, his dominance…everything sent my body burning.His anger has never affected me this way, even with the bond intact; all I wished to do was pacify him, but now…I want more.I want him to spill more on me, his anger, his rage, his force; I want him to break me.The pull of my sweater and shirt from my frame was easy. The discarding of my poorly ripped bra, on the other hand, was not because it hung against my bruised flesh like a torn jacket, but thank heaven, his moisture
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Seventy-Nine: Move
“The plane is ready for you, your majesty.”The attendant says, and as I follow him in the guided direction, she stands before me, blocking me from Marko.“Our Alpha requests your presence.”Marko stills in his track before turning his glare to her, and as much as one can visibly notice her cower, there is some excitement in her gaze.“He- he only requests five minutes.”“No.”Marko answers for me, but as if disregarding his words, the attendant turns fully to me.“Please?”I know Jax’s mode of operation; she would probably, no, definitely be punished if I do not yield to her request, but the weather is unstable. We might have to wait and depart tomorrow if I stay too long.I reach for my device and dial his number.Of course, he doesn’t answer.“Please?”The attendant repeats, but this time I shake my head. I wish I could bring myself to care for her fate, but I just do not.“Then- then use this line.”She utters desperately, then passes a card bearing an unfamiliar number.“Please.
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Eighty: Gown
"Hush hush, my sweet..." I whisper to the bundle of warmth in my arms that smells of powder and milk. The bundle opens its little hands as if trying to reach me, and melty warmth pools in my chest. They offer a toothless grin before their little mouth produces sounds I do not understand, yet I wish I could record every vowel in a secret archive or press my ear to their little chest just to feel their intention. "Ready for the party?" Violet utters as she walks in, arms reaching for the bundle that proceeds to throw up on me. “Oh no…” I mutter, but just as quickly, their smile makes their little accident on my expensive dress cute. “Okay, gimmie, while you go change, he might come personally if you miss this flight.” I almost refuse. I want to stay home in my pyjamas, watching the little mass push everything into their mouth or open their eyes wide enough to take in everything they wish to…but Violet has a point. I am already late, the flight will take two hours, and I will ar
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Eighty-One: Man
“But surely, priestess…” Magnolia sneers. “Even if your intention was to copy me, shouldn’t you have made yours a little more decent? Perhaps not copied my size?” Did…did she alter my dress’s size? She is smaller than I am, petite with even proportions, while my body has a nasty habit of making garments more provocative than they should be. My hand reaches for wine or perhaps grape juice from a nearby waiter’s tray, to which I then proceed to spill its cherry-coloured contents on my chest. The liquid drips between my flesh to seep into the gold and stain it hideously. “I do not think they are the same now; mine bears a cherry mark.” I utter. “How can you spill such an expensive beverage that thousands worked hard to make?” She responds. One cannot win with her, can they? “Magnolia.” Rhett calls warningly, but not enough to establish any boundary, more like, ‘Magnolia, please stop misbehaving on my behalf.’ In the end, it seems all familial bonds but my own are tough to
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Eighty-Two: It
A boisterous laugh, one I was certain I held no capacity to produce, slips from my lips at his words.“A real marriage?”I repeat.“With whom?”I take a step back from him, doing my best to hide any emotion my body exhibited. I hate the keenness with which my gaze traces the muscles underneath his shirt.Christ, for the first time this evening, I appreciate his shoulder garters, not because they remind me of Marko, but because they frame him like an Adonis.Did…did he have good fashion before, or am I just noticing this?“Alba.”He calls my name in a low tone that almost causes me to inhale in preparation for…for what?Is this how he gets his women?Christ, I thought I was immune to his charms; what if he had never used them on me?Still, before he says anything, I proceed with my point.“So, let me get this straight, I utter to you that I am terrified to think of you in any other way for fear you will leave me, and your response is to taunt me?"Which part of me terrifies you when I
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Eighty-Three: Rebound
I must be floating…I must be, or I have been in misery for too long that I the light holds an intoxication I am weak to.“Stop me.”He utters again, his hand sliding to graze my flesh as he peals the bodice further from me, exposing me to the cold.His coat and the squeezing bodice maintaining the shape of my flesh hit the ground as he offers to warm me with his flesh instead."Stop me."Again, he utters with more desperation as if hoping I was the logical one of us.Yet how? How can I stop him when his touch feels better than the cloud that follows me all day? When this feels better than drinking? When I don’t have to stop.We do not have to! The only thing to affect us if we get caught will be impropriety. I will not be dragging his family line through the mud; he will not be losing the thing dearest to him.This is what I want in a partner, I do not wish to be their demise but merit.A moan escapes me as his tongue trails between my bare breasts.He moans, perhaps tasting the suga
Bound to my Wicked Stepbrother Chapter Eighty-Four: Hah...
"Face me, Alba."Again, the deepness of the breath I take startles even me, but with him, there is always a need to brace myself.Surely, he wouldn’t do or say anything implicating now that we are in the lobby by the entrance meant to receive guests.I know his speech was meant to release the teens now that midnight approaches, and since that is the case, wouldn’t this place be flooded soon?So, what is the merit of holding a conversation with me now?Or should I be grateful? It must mean he expects nothing."Your majesty."I utter with a polite smile as I turn to face him, bowing low enough that none would even consider the possibility of history between us.A scoff sounds before the scent of his cologne grows stronger.His feet appear before my gaze that is trained on the floor, and just like when we met in the restaurant, he lifts my head.His gaze looks unreadable, I want to make a joke about the familiarity of our actions, but it halts in my throat at his perfection.His lashes:
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