Holiday with Stepbrother

Holiday with Stepbrother

Introduction:

Arriving in Turkey to see my Stepbrother for the first time in 3 years.

The strap of my sundress digs into my shoulder as I shift my carry-on bag, scanning the hotel lobby for any sign of him. Three years apart and now I’m meeting him in fucking Turkey because his marriage hit a snag. Typical.

The lobby’s polished marble floor reflects my hesitant steps as I spot him by the concierge desk, same unruly cowlick, same habit of drumming fingers against your thigh when impatient. His linen shirt clings to broad shoulders that weren’t there three years ago.

The concierge bell jangles as he pivots toward me, his grin widening in that way that used to mean trouble, like when we’d sneak vodka from dad’s liquor cabinet or knock and run on the neighbours doors. Three years apart, but his hands still move the same, quick, confident, as he grabs my suitcase handle before I can protest.

The moment his fingers close around my suitcase handle, I catch the scent of his aftershave, something expensive and citrus-sharp that doesn’t quite mask the familiar warmth of his skin underneath. “Jesus,” I mutter, swatting his hand away only to have him grab my wrist instead, pulling me into a hug so tight the air rushes from my lungs. “Still don’t know personal space, do you?” My voice comes out muffled against his collarbone, but I don’t pull away. Not yet.

His fingers lingered at my waist a beat too long when we finally pulled apart, just enough for me to notice, not enough for me to call him out on it. “Christ, you’re sunburnt already,” he muttered, thumb brushing the pink skin above my dress strap where the Turkish sun had kissed me during my layover. The touch burned hotter than any sunlight.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, enclosing us in mirrored walls that reflected our silence back at us a dozen times over. His fingers drummed against the polished railing, a nervous habit I remembered from childhood thunderstorms when he’d sneak into my room claiming he hated the sound of rain.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing a hallway lined with potted palms and the faint scent of lemon polish. His fingers brushed the small of my back as we stepped out, casual, familiar, lingering just long enough to make my breath catch. “Room 714,” he murmured, his voice low against my ear. “Lucky number.”

The keycard slipped from his fingers when he tried to open the door, twice, before I snatched it with a laugh, swiping it properly on the first try. “Still useless with anything smaller than a football,” I teased, pushing the door open into darkness heavy with the scent of lemongrass and starched linens.

The door clicked shut behind us with finality. My fingers still tingled where they’d brushed against his when I took the keycard. The room was dark except for the city lights bleeding through sheer curtains, painting stripes across the king-sized bed.

“What happened to the single beds?” I inquired, fingertips brushing the pristine duvet covering the king-sized monstrosity dominating the room. My voice sounded unnaturally high, even to my own ears.

“This was meant to be for me and Sophie,” he said, shrugging as he tossed his wallet onto the dresser with a hollow thud. The casual mention of his wife hung between us like a swinging pendulum, one moment insignificant, the next slicing through the charged air.

“Wait” I halted halfway through unpacking my suitcase, holding up a silky nightgown like a surrender flag. “What’s actually happening between you and Sophie? Why didn’t she come?” The question hung between us.

The nightgown slipped from my fingers as he turned toward me, the silk pooling at my feet like liquid moonlight. His exhale filled the silence before words did. “Sophie and I…” He rubbed his jaw, the stubble making a rough sound against his palm. “We’re separated. Not officially yet, but…” His shrug was too casual, the way men do when they’re pretending something doesn’t gut them.

“Better get some Gin sent up,” I said, watching him twist his wedding band again, that nervous tic I’d noticed the moment we stepped into this room meant for lovers. “Lots to unpack.” The double meaning hung between us, thick as the Mediterranean humidity seeping through the balcony doors.

“I’ve already got the champagne on order,” he said, twisting his wedding band again, that nervous tell I’d forgotten about until now. The gold caught the fading light through the balcony doors as he turned toward the minibar. “Figured we’d need it either way. Celebration or…” His shoulders moved in that half-shrug again, the one that pretended everything was fine when his jaw was tight enough to crack walnuts.

The door chimed right as my fingers hovered over the minibar’s gin bottle, one of those delicate hotel sounds that shouldn’t startle but did. He paused mid-sentence about room service, eyebrows lifting toward his still-tousled hairline. “That was fast,” he murmured, crossing to the door in three strides. The hinges sighed open to reveal Anna, balancing a silver tray with the practiced ease of someone who’d carried more than just champagne through hotel corridors.

“Apologies for interrupting,” she said, her accent curling around the vowels like smoke. Her gaze flickered past him to where I stood frozen. Something unreadable passed behind her dark eyes, not judgment, but a recognition that made my cheeks burn. “Management insisted you receive proper amenities.” The tray clinked softly as she set it on the lacquered console table: three flutes, a sweating bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and a single crimson rose that looked violently out of place.

The rose’s petals trembled when Anna set the tray down, the stem quivering against crystal. My brother’s knuckles whitened around the doorframe. “That’s… unexpectedly thorough service,” he said, voice pitched an octave too high. Anna’s lips curved, not a smile, but the practiced expression of someone who’d seen every possible hotel scenario unfold.

The silence stretched like taffy, thick and sticky. I watched a single drop of condensation slide down the champagne bottle, tracing the same path my gaze had followed moments earlier, from Anna’s knowing smirk to my brother’s throat working as he swallowed hard.

“Stay for a drink, Anna, won’t you?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before I could process them, his voice catching slightly on the invitation. His fingers twitched toward the champagne flute like he wasn’t entirely sure who’d spoken.

“How generous,” she purred. “Though I suspect I’m interrupting something… delicate.”

“Not at all, I insist you join us for a drink,” my brother said, his voice sliding into that smooth register I remembered from childhood poker games when he was bluffing about a royal flush. His fingers tightened around the champagne flute hard enough I worried the stem might snap.

“Here, sit,” he murmured, gesturing to the plush armchair with the champagne flute extended toward Anna, the bubbles fizzing violently from how quickly he’d poured it. His knuckles whitened around the stem, not nerves, I realized with a jolt, but the same barely-contained energy that made him pace during thunderstorms when we were kids. “This is my sister Sara” he said pointing at me.

Anna accepted the flute with a practiced smile, the crystal catching the fading light as she settled into the armchair. The way her legs crossed, one silk-clad thigh sliding over the other, made my sundress suddenly feel two sizes too small.

Anna took a sip of champagne, her crimson-tipped fingers curling elegantly around the flute as she studied us over the rim. “You have interesting… family traditions,” she mused, her accent curling around the words like smoke. My brother’s laugh came out strangled as he poured himself another glass, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the edge.

Anna’s gaze flickered between us, my flushed cheeks, his white-knuckled grip on the champagne flute, before she set her glass down with deliberate precision. “In my country,” she said, smoothing her dress over her thighs, “we say blood is thicker than water, but champagne is thicker than both.” Her smirk deepened as my brother nearly choked on his drink.

Anna’s laughter echoed through the room as my brother wiped champagne from his chin. “Careful,” she purred, plucking a strawberry from the fruit platter with her manicured fingers. “You’ll need your stamina.” The way her eyes flicked to me made my bare toes curl against the floor.

Setting my champagne flute down with a clink that echoes louder than intended, “What’s going on here?” I ask, my voice hovering between amusement and something sharper, the same tone I used at eleven when catching him sneaking a girl into our shared attic chill room. My fingers tap an uneven rhythm against my thigh while Anna examines her strawberry with theatrical interest, clearly enjoying the spectacle of our discomfort.

Anna’s red-tipped fingers twisted the stem of her strawberry slowly before popping it into her mouth. “Darling,” she said around the fruit, her accent thickening with amusement, “your brother hired me for the night.” The strawberry juice stained her lips the same crimson as her nails when she smiled. “Though I must say…” Her gaze dragged down my body with the precision of someone used to appraising flesh for a living. “…he failed to mention the package deal.”

Anna’s words hung in the air like smoke, thick and impossible to ignore. My stepbrother’s grip tightened around his champagne flute, knuckles whitening, while I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. The balcony doors were still open, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and citrus into the room, but all I could focus on was the way Anna’s smirk deepened as she crossed her legs, the slit in her dress revealing a flash of thigh.

The silence stretched a beat too long before my brother coughed into his fist, the champagne flute trembling slightly in his other hand. Anna’s knowing smirk deepened as she crossed her ankles, the movement making her dress ride up another inch.

“I didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow,” my brother said, his voice strained as he watched Anna lick champagne from her fingertips with theatrical slowness. The words hung between us like a poorly strung tightrope, too obvious in their deflection, too telling in their desperation to steer the conversation anywhere but where Anna was pushing it.

Anna stood up with the effortless grace of someone who’d spent years commanding attention in hotel rooms just like this one. The hem of her dress whispered against her thighs as she crossed the space between us, and for one absurd moment, I thought she might reach for the champagne bottle. Then her manicured fingers were tilting my chin up, her perfume, something expensive and floral, filling my lungs as she kissed me full on the lips.

The kiss lasted three heartbeats, one for shock, two for paralysis, three for the electric current that shot down my spine. Anna pulled away with a smirk, her thumb swiping at my lower lip. “Mmm. Just as I thought,” she murmured, eyes flicking to where my stepbrother stood frozen. “Champagne and poor decisions.”

The champagne flute slipped from my fingers and shattered against the floor. Anna didn’t even flinch, just arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow while I stood there like a stunned animal, my lips still tingling from the contact.

My brother stood there grinning like a Cheshire cat, his amusement stretching wider with each passing second of my stunned silence. The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide it, one hand tucked casually in his pocket while the other held his champagne flute aloft like this was some fucking toast at our incestuous wedding reception.

The second kiss wasn’t hers to take, it was mine. I grabbed Anna by the waist with hands still damp from nervous champagne sweat, pulling her against me so hard the rose pinned to her dress crumpled between us. Her lips parted in surprise against mine, tasting of strawberries and something darker, like the Turkish coffee we’d ignored on the minibar.

Anna gasped against my mouth, her perfectly manicured hands flying up to brace against my shoulders, not pushing away, just steadying herself as my teeth caught her lower lip. Some distant part of my brain registered the muffled clatter of her purse hitting the marble floor, the sound swallowed by my brother’s sharp inhale behind us.

Anna broke the kiss first, her breath ragged against my lips as she pulled back just far enough to murmur, “Well that wasn’t in the service agreement.” Her dark eyes flicked over my shoulder to where my brother stood frozen, his champagne flute tilted at a dangerous angle.

Anna’s fingers curled around the thin straps of my sundress with practiced ease, her nails scraping lightly against my shoulders as she pushed the fabric downward. The dress slithered over my hips like liquid silk, pooling at my feet in a rumpled circle of yellow cotton. I stood frozen in the sudden exposure, the hotel air conditioning raising goosebumps along my bare arms and torso, my pulse hammering loud enough that I wondered if they could hear it.

Anna’s mouth was hot against my throat as she pushed me backward onto the king-sized bed, her teeth scraping a deliberate path down my neck that made my breath hitch. The crisp hotel sheets felt cool against my overheated skin as she straddled my thighs, her fingers already working at the waistband of my underwear with practiced efficiency.

Anna’s teeth grazed my nipple just as her fingers hooked into the lace of my underwear, the sudden dual sensation making my back arch off the mattress involuntarily. The humid Turkish air clung to my bare skin as she dragged the fabric down agonizingly slow, her breath hot against my nipple. “Christ” I gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets when she bit down gently, the sharp pleasure radiating straight to my already throbbing core.

The sound of my own heartbeat roared in my ears as Anna finally tugged my underwear past my hips, her manicured nails dragging along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I caught a flash of my brother standing frozen near the balcony doors, his champagne glass dangling forgotten from his fingers, his gaze locked on Anna’s mouth at my breast. The realization that he was watching, really watching, sent a fresh wave of heat between my legs.

Anna’s mouth closed around my nipple with devastating precision, not the tentative exploration of an amateur, but the calculated pressure of someone who knew exactly how to make hips buck. Her tongue flicked the hardened peak just as her fingers found the slick heat between my thighs, and my gasp ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling. “Fuck” The curse splintered when she crooked two fingers inside me without warning, her thumb pressing ruthless circles against my clit.

The champagne flute was swinging in my brothers fingers just as Anna’s teeth grazed my nipple. His voice cut through the haze of pleasure like a knife, casual, amused, familiar in a way that made my stomach flip. “You enjoying that, sis?” His chuckle rolled across the room, dark and warm as the Turkish night outside. “By the way, nice tits.”

“You’re not allowed to compliment my tits while a stranger is sucking on them,” I moaned, the words dissolving into a gasp as Anna’s fingers twisted deeper inside me. My hips jerked involuntarily against her hand, the hotel sheets bunching beneath my bare back. The absurdity of chastising my brother while a professional escort had me writhing on his hotel bed would’ve been hilarious if Anna hadn’t chosen that moment to drag her teeth down my sternum.

Anna’s lips trailed lower, her breath hot against my stomach as she paused just above where I ached for her most. She glanced up at me through thick lashes, her fingers still working inside me with torturous precision. “Such a pretty little sister,” she murmured, her accent thickening with amusement. “So wet for me already.”

My fingers twisted in Anna’s hair, not pushing her away, not pulling her closer, just feeling the impossibility of the moment as her tongue finally licked a hot stripe up my centre. “Jesus Christ,” I gasped, my thighs trembling against her shoulders. The champagne haze made everything blur at the edges, the way my brother’s knuckles whitened around his glass, the wet sounds Anna was making between my legs.

Anna’s tongue flicked against me with precision that made my toes curl into the sheets. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper, my gaze darting between her dark head between my thighs and my brother’s frozen silhouette by the minibar. His champagne flute hovered mid-air, condensation dripping onto his fingers unnoticed.