A Reluctant Stepfather Ch. 01

Copyright 2014 © M. J. Roberts

License Notes:

This story is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This story is FREE for your enjoyment and may not be re-sold.

This story is written specifically for Literotica fans.

Do NOT repost.

Mature Content:

This story contains deliciously interesting material,

and is intended only for persons over the age of 18.

By opening this you are stating that you are aware this is an erotic work of fiction.

All of the characters involved in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.

I know this isn't the best story I have and I encourage you to read some of my other stories. I have tried to incorporate some of the suggestions fans have emailed me, and will continue to do so.

This story is intended to be a six part story.

I am working on making the characters more in-depth and believable and giving the story a slower build up. If you have corrections, positive feedback, and/or suggestions, as always, I welcome hearing from you. I love to hear from fans. I try to answer each email individually. Contact me through my author page.

It's just a fun little taboo story.

Enjoy!

-M. J.

A Reluctant Step-father - Chapter 1

The brutal, whipping wind, with its harsh swirls of grainy snow, was pushed me away from the airport back toward the parking lot. Which was fine. I had mixed feelings about heading into Detroit International to pick up my charge.

I ducked my head low, hunkered down further into my big gray jacket, black wool hat, and Detroit Red Wings scarf, and continued to plow headlong into the wind. The bleak wintery day matched my mood, clear, cool, uncertain. It didn't escape me that the wind, pushing me away from the airport might be the universe's great metaphor for my reluctance.

Tom, you wuss. Buck up. It will be fine.

It was a relief to get in through the big double doors of the airport and out of the weather. But after a second of being able to say to myself 'phew' there was a sharp jolt of apprehension mixed with curiosity.

I remembered my luck. I may not be the smartest guy, or the best looking guy, or the wealthiest guy. But I can tell you one thing, I tend to have great luck. I reminded myself of that. Because, hey, I might need it.

I stood in the airport shifting my weight from one foot to another.

For a second I actually put my face in my hands, tugged at my freshly shaven cheeks, and shook my head. I couldn't believe it. Standing here, waiting to pick-up my step-daughter. Fuck, my step-daughter.

Of course I had been running late. I didn't leave until the last minute, not taking into account that the rotten weather would make everyone in Detroit drive like they'd never seen a car.

The people were bustling back and forth with their bundled up jackets and scarves and rolling luggage and I was sweating inside my unzipped parka.

I was thankful the first delay gave me a minute to compose myself.

When her plane was delayed again, I had time to think. Not good. I had just assumed that I would keep my needs away from the house, going to my sub instead of having her come to me, and everything would be fine. Now that I was actually standing in the airport, I wondered if I had been foolish to let someone I didn't know live with me. Of course she would cramp my style. Obviously it would affect me. I worked from home. What the hell was I thinking?

The last time I saw her Stephanie had been a ten-year-old who insisted on going to live with her dad in Europe.

Of course the last time she saw me I was a guy in his mid-twenties who was focused on how crazy I was about her mom.

Oh God, I had been so, so crazy about Marie. You wouldn't think anybody could be that in love. But I was. Marie was the sun and the moon and the stars and the galaxy. And for good reason too.

When I married Marie her family wasn't exactly all open arms. Everyone thought I was too young for Marie. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but Marie's family made it into one. Stephanie had been the worst. She just wanted to get away. Frankly it had surprised me that Marie let her go.

I tried to remember what Stephanie looked like the last time I saw her. Long, thick blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail on top of her head. Sparkly stuff all in her hair. Sparkly pink body suit. Snotty expression. Some sort of middle-school cheer competition or something. I was so besotted with Marie then I could barely think of anything else.

It might seem selfish but I didn't remember what Stephanie's childhood face looked like as much as her attitude that anyone dating her mother must be a prick.

I met Marie in a bar. Maybe that's cliché. She was with a bunch of college students, so it took a double take to realize she was in her thirties. But from the first second I saw her, I felt a kinship. Yeah, her family gave us a hard time. I was in my twenties and she was in her thirties. Big deal. If she were the guy, and I were the girl, no one would think twice about the nine-year age difference.

Marrying your best friend is one of the most amazing things in the world.

Having her die of breast cancer, a swift knife that cut her down seemingly overnight—one day here the next day gone—is about the worst thing that can happen in the world.

I know because it happened to me. And I still miss her, every day. It's like an ache in the middle of my chest that never goes away. God, she was so beautiful with that flowing chestnut brown hair, kind eyes, and great laugh. Thinking about her, the ache in my heart got worse.

The update on the arrivals board snapped me out of my reverie.

Fuck. Stephanie's flight was here. I hustled to the right area and waited.

It was a packed flight. I searched all the girls, looking for a gawky teen with an abundance of thick waist-length blonde hair. My eyes darted around, catching every glimpse of blonde and yellow. Jeez, would I even recognize her? Nothing. And then suddenly a woman with a black beret stood right in front of me, and I moved slightly to look around her.

"Um, 'ello?"

I did a double take.

Holy shit. She looked exactly like Marie.

Fuck. How old was she?

My expression must have been comical. I pictured my eyes bulging out of my head, and my arms pin-wheeling backward.

"You're supposed to be like, ten," I said.

She laughed.

"Eleven, twelve, fourteen—at most," I said joking. It's amazing how when you don't see kids, they never age in your mind.

"Twenty," she said.

She looked older, a LOT older. And she was hot. Like a smack in the face, holy shit hot. I stared right in her eyes and very purposely didn't look her up and down. She was twenty???

"It's been ten years?" I asked. Oh my God, fuck, ten years. How did I get to be thirty-seven already?

"Yes, it has," she said. She had a tiny bit of an English accent. Nice.

"Your hair," I said, pointing. It was short and very dark brown, peeking out the edges of her hat. She took the beret off and shook her hair, revealing one small pink streak. It made me feel better. She had a maturity about her that made her look like... well a woman. The streak brought her back down to her age a bit.

I looked at what she was carrying, a huge black purse and a laptop case.

"Let's go to baggage claim, get your stuff."

"This is it for now," she said, the English accent against my expectation of previous American brat making me smile. "I'm having all my stuff shipped. A decade of girl things is a bloody lot of crap," she said.

"Right."

Time to take my step-daughter home.

The first few minutes in the car were awkward, the kind of silence that bites with the chill like the weather we were driving through. I knew why she was back. We'd been exchanging emails frequently for the past month. She wanted to live where her mother had been, and she'd been having a bit of breakdown in England. Still I wasn't sure that things would be much better for her here. After all, I wasn't exactly the say-the-right-thing kind of guy. But I wanted to help her if I could.

Anything I could do, I wanted to do. So when she said she wanted to come here, of course I said yes. I mean, God, life had been so cruel, not just to me but to her. This had to be the right thing, right?

I wondered. Maybe, maybe not.

But it was done now. I tried to fill the conversation void, pointing out landmarks that she may or may not remember and new things: shops, movie theaters, anything I thought she might like.

We got home she grabbed an apple and stretched out on the couch.

I practically ran to my room.

Coward.

The next day was a blizzard, and she spent most of the day talking on the phone with friends from childhood and on Facebook doing God only knows what—and eating all my Ben & Jerry's. She didn't talk much, which was fine with me, and as the day wore on our awkwardness became a pleasant camaraderie.

I guess I half expected she'd be the same spoiled kid I remembered. Resentful, but passive about it, and a little bit of a pain in the ass. The reason I agreed to let her come was out of respect for Marie's memory. I'd dreaded Stephanie coming, but she was a perfect houseguest. It was how much she looked like Marie that was bittersweet. It was hard not to look at her and see my wife. But as the week went by I began to think of her more and more as herself, less and less like a shadow of her mom.

The first week went well. The second week she went into her bedroom and barely came out. The third week was even worse. Even though it had been over a year since Marie's death, it was apparent that it was just now hitting Stephanie hard. She had dark circles under eyes and a hallowed look I didn't like at all. But I left her alone. Everyone grieves in their own way.

It was the start of the fourth week that I really began to get worried. She'd been leaving her bedroom door open a little bit and every time I walked by she was in bed, curled up in a ball. Almost 24 hours a day she was in bed.

Finally I knocked.

"Stephanie?"

No answer.

I let myself in. When I got a good look at her up close, with her despair wafting off her like a wraith at midnight, I felt even worse.

I sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Listen, Stephanie, I get it. I do. But life goes on. And believe it or not, you HAVE to get up. You have to just...." words failed me. "The longer you stay in bed, the worse it'll get. You need to get a job. A job where you will see other people, be accountable, challenged, something."

She shook her head.

I scooted closer to her.

She was wearing a big pink T-shirt that came down to her thighs and the blanket was tangled up around her legs. She lifted her head to look at me. "I can't. I just can't find a job right now."

"I'll help you."

She nodded.

She half sat up, still sort of propped on her side and looked at me. "I really need you."

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Hey, I'm here for you."

She totally surprised me by launching herself at me in a big hug.

I hugged her back.

"It'll be okay, really it will."

Suddenly she was sobbing.

Oh shit.

"No, God, Stephanie, don't do that. I'm no good with crying females," I said.

She stifled herself, sniffling.

"Listen," I said. "I changed my mind, you need to cry. Go ahead."

She stopped.

"Sorry," she said.

"No, hey, it's all right. I said I'd be here for you, and I meant it. We're family."

"Right." She nodded against my shoulder.

Then she kissed my neck.

WHAT?

It was just the barest brush, maybe I imagined it. I pulled her away and looked at her. Her eyes were begging.

I was in shock.

She leaned forward and kissed my mouth.

I scrabbled off the bed so fast I fell on my ass.

"Jesus Christ, Stephanie, what are you doing?"

She followed me down to the floor, half crawling, her feet getting caught up in the blankets for a second. Her movements were cat-like. She kissed my jaw.

I was still in shock.

Then she rubbed her hands up my sides and kissed me hard. My cock stiffened.

I grabbed her arms hard and held her away from me.

She strained toward me.

"God Steph, don't."

"Please...." she said softly. The need in her expression and the soft begging in her voice were almost enough to undo me.

I jumped up.

"I get it, you're hurting, but this is not what you want, not really."

She nodded. It looked like a yes-I-do-want-it nod, not an agreeing-with-me nod.

I pointed a finger at her, stern. "You're my step-daughter. Do not do this to me."

I walked out and shut the door. Hard.

That...I don't know what the hell that was. My brain scrambled. Stephanie was grieving, confused. There was no way I was going to take advantage of a girl who was...whatever she was.

In all the scenarios I pictured when I agreed that she could come and stay with me, I never pictured that. I told myself that it was an aberration. She was just trying to use me for a minute to get out of her grief. It didn't mean...fuck, I couldn't think. She was so—stop Tom, just stop. You're better than this.

I forced myself to forget about it.

I pulled some strings, and got her a job at the local university processing admissions. She really liked it. I wasn't surprised. She was good with people, and the job meant working with people her own age.

Whenever the thought of that one kiss popped up I ruthlessly crushed it. It was obviously an aberration, one moment of weird need from her that had noting to do with me.

A few weeks later Stephanie brought me a new book about how the field of graphic arts was changing due to the web that she found in the campus bookstore. Although she didn't say so, I felt it was a peace offering. We were both going to forget it and go back to normal, maybe move on to better than before.

As winter turned into spring we grew into an easy routine. I read the paper during breakfast while she rushed around and then out the door in order not to be late. She cooked fabulous dinners that made me think I should exercise more. I renewed my Netflix streaming subscription and every night she chose something I never heard of, thought I would hate, and liked more often than not.

Stephanie watched Resident Evil on the last Friday of every month, which I found kind of funny and endearing. When I asked her about it, she said that her freshman year in college she and her female roommate had a ritual where they would put it on and make out in order to "practice" and now she watched the movie, for her it was a tradition. Well that shut me up.

She let her hair grow out and dyed it the same rich medium brown shade that Marie's had been. I didn't say anything about it, but after I got over the strangeness, I thought it was beautiful. The more we had dinner together every night, week after week, the more I liked her. She cracked me up, she was kind, and she was extremely intelligent. It was nice to have someone around.

One night we were watching a movie from the early 1990s called Wild At Heart. She was watching the movie and I was watching her. Sometime over the months she was living with me she had managed to slip past all my defenses and worm her way into my heart. Actress Laura Dern leaned out of a convertible and kissed Nicolas Cage and I thought of Stephanie. Holy shit I love you.

I pushed that one day, the shocking needy kiss day, out of my mind. It was an anomaly locked away. I didn't think of it again until one day in March when I bumped into her, a full body slam really, when she was coming out of the shower. She was covered armpit to ankles in a huge robe-like towel. She was looking down, using a small towel to dry her hair, and I remembered something I forgot in my office. I'd turned quickly and almost ran her over. I reached out my hands to steady her and touched the wet, bare skin of her upper arms.

"My fault, sorry," I said quickly and promptly hustled my way back into my office and shut the door. But the zing of electricity I felt when I touched her brought back to mind, full force, that moment months ago I had locked away. How sexy she'd looked in that pink nightshirt when she'd offered herself to me, how needy.

I murmured to myself a lot that night. Stephanie's few weeks of midwinter depression that had worried me so badly seemed a long time ago. Any lingering worry I might have had that she was still suffering disappeared the second I touched her. She'd changed into a healthy, balanced adult who was getting along fine in the world.

When I wasn't looking she'd finished her grieving and wallowing. It wasn't just getting out and having a job that made her okay. Something changed in her, some internal click that meant she had come to terms with a lot more than I had. Unfortunately that just made her all the more appealing.

It made sense that I was so attracted to her. She had a lot of the same traits that made me originally fall in love with Marie: a smart brain, a good soul, a sharp sense of humor, a beautifully female take on everything around her.

Having a hot twenty something as a roommate would be hard on any guy. The more she stayed close by, the harder it was going to be for me to resist her.

After dinner the next day I asked her if maybe she would be better off finding her own place, getting a roommate her own age. I was expecting some resistance but I wasn't expecting it to be so vehement.

"I don't want to go! I like it here. You want me to leave?"

"It's not that I want you to—"

"Then why?"

I could see it dawn on her face, a devilish smile of understanding.

"I'm trying to think of what is best for you. Maybe it's the best thing for you to live with people your own age."

She shook her head.

"Think about it, okay?"

"Mmhmmmnn-hmn," Stephanie said. But I had been around women long enough to know that 'mmhmmnn-hmm' meant a lot of different things depending on the tone.

I pretended that conversation never took place. I was fine until one day on spring break when she came into the kitchen, half asleep, with sleep-mussed hair, wearing just a grey sleep shirt that barely reached the top of her upper thighs. Then she reached up to a high cabinet... The shirt rose up to reveal a glimpse of tight bare bottom cheeks and a strip of pink thong, and she turned around and caught me looking. I quickly turned away and snapped my newspaper up. But I could imagine her smile. I could almost hear her thinking. Game on.

The next day she walked by past me toward the pool in a red string bikini. Her nipples were prominent through the fabric. She must have teased them until they were popping out hard before she got to me because it wasn't cold in the house. I tried not to stare at her backside as she passed, but the jaunty walk was hard to ignore.

The following day she stopped at my office door wearing a slightly bigger blue bikini bottom and I pretty sure, no top. She had a white beach towel wrapped around her neck that strategically covered her breasts.

"Hey Dad, some girlfriends from school and I are going to have a party in the pool, want to join us?"

Yes, yes. "No, thank you," I said pointedly.

"Whatever," she said.

She flounced out with an even jauntier walk.

I am NOT drooling.

A little while later I peeked out the back door. Yep. She and her girlfriends. Topless.

I am not an animal. I will not succumb to my baser desires.

Who are you kidding?

I watched them splash and play for a minute and then turned away. Then I did a U-turn like there was a built in pivot under my feet and watched them again. Hey, I'm a guy. God, hot. I didn't want Stephanie to catch me ogling her. It was a herculean effort to go back to work.

The onslaught continued.

Tighter short nightshirt at breakfast the next morning. White.