20 Book Taboo Romance Box Set

By Virginia Steply

Copyright 2015 Virginia Steply

All Rights Reserved

Warning!  This TABOO box set includes themes that may not be suitable for all audiences. 

Table of Contents

Punished By My Step-Daddy

Dirty, Naughty, Sexy, Steps

Trained by my BIG Step

Sins Between Steps

Step-Brother Heat

My Step Sex Teacher

Bound By My Step-Brother

Daddy’s Naughty Little Girl

Hot Flow

Anything For Daddy’s Little Girl

More Than A Step-Daddy

Foreign Affairs; My Italian Step

Craving My Step-Brother’s Tool

Step-Brother; Hard Lessons

The Soldier’s Little Step

My Step Daddy’s Secret

What My Step-Daddy Deserves

Three Steps, One Night

Punishing The Brat

Down And Dirty Steps

Punished By My Step-Daddy

My stepfather, Robert, and I had the same routine every morning. I always got up early, and he did too.

I guess other 19-year-old girls spent late nights up with their friends or clicking around on Facebook, or whatever, and then they slept in late. What other kids did didn’t really influence me much. I guess it didn’t help that most of the spoiled brats at my private high school were obnoxious and poisonously mean. I could care less about what they did when they weren’t snorting Adderall or whining. Maybe I was just a morning person. I yawned and cuddled a little deeper into the big easy chair, where I was curled up, my legs under a blanket. I could see the sun rising in the cloudless sky, slowly illuminating the Arizona desert outside my window. I liked getting up early, usually a couple hours before school, and getting lost in a book while I drank my coffee.

Now that school was finally out and I was heading off to college in a few months, I still liked to head downstairs and read. On the days I had to lifeguard, I would eventually put my book away around nine or so, then jump in my new BMW and drive to the pool.  It was sleek and black and I would have felt totally spoiled and conspicuous driving it, if it weren’t for the heavily tinted windows, which matched the dark color and personality of the car perfectly. Not that it stood out at the country club anyway, parked next to brand-new Mercedes and Audis.

Everyone thinks your life is so easy when you’re rich.

I wondered what would people think if they could see those awful, spoiled kids I was surrounded with at school. The dirty secret of being rich was that your parents were usually too wrapped up in their high-powered careers to raise you properly, or give you real attention; couple that with being handed anything you could ever want, and you had a nightmare recipe for narcissism and lack of impulse control.

Sometimes, I wondered why I wasn’t more screwed-up.

My mom was your typical rich dilettante, addicted to Percocet and so self-absorbed that she could barely manage herself, let alone a raise a daughter. Needless to say, I’d grown up quickly, figuring things out on my own and becoming independent beyond my years. It was technically my mom’s job to pay the bills, but she never did, and I’d been doing it ever since I was 11 or so.

I still remember the day I started paying the bills: a truly miserable Arizona summer day, a 110-degree scorcher in June, when the air conditioning got shut off. That was a few years before she divorced my stepdad and left the country for Switzerland.  I helped support him through the ordeal, and as strange as it sounds, we’d gotten close and became a tight-knit family of two. I understood how stressful his job was, and I always tried to make his life a little easier...if those ways didn’t quite match your stereotypical bratty-teenager-and-beleaguered-father dynamic-well, that didn’t matter to me. We were close. He was the senior sales manager of Arizona’s largest evaporative-cooler manufacturer. That was a pretty stressful job. I would be there to help him deal with the day’s stress, just listen to him if he needed me to.

And I could count on him to spoil his little girl, despite all my protestations.

I looked outside at our quiet neighborhood street. It was in an older, upscale neighborhood, with beautiful houses perched on a desert hillside above Tucson. My stepdad was probably out for his run. It was Saturday, and he would run as long as he could before heading to the office for a couple hours to keep tabs on things, but the soaring temperatures during the day usually brought him in around ten or so.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” he said, opening the door. He looked flushed and relaxed after his run, and his clothes were soaked in sweat from the long, hot slog back up the hill to our house.

“Hey dad,” I said smiling.  I fought the shiver that threatened to consume my body. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it—truth be told, I thought my stepfather was hot. Actually, I knew he was hot. He was gorgeous, with a chiseled body, thick blond hair, intelligent blue eyes, and a face that looked as masculine and perfectly sculpted as the rest of him.  “You look really red,” I teased. “You know, if you spent less time working out, I’d probably have a new stepmom by now.”

“Sure, honey,” he said. “I’ll get on that right away.”

He pulled his sweaty shirt off, and I flicked my eyes towards the window uncomfortably. I didn’t want to stare. He was ripped. Every square inch of him was cut; abs, shoulders, his chest; everything. I let my eyes lick over his body for a second before I kept needling him.

“You know,” I said, “you could probably find someone through Internet dating.”

“Jesus Christ, that sounds like a real nightmare.” I tried to stifle a giggle. “I’d probably just stumble upon another nut-case like your mom.” I smiled.

“I made you a couple eggs. I figured you’d be returning soon.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, wandering into the kitchen.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I watched him walk away. His ass and legs looked tight and powerful, especially when he wore his running shorts, and his back was broad. Looking at the shape of his body, like an inverted triangle, with his narrow waist and broad, defined shoulders gave me a delightful shiver. Now that he wasn’t looking at me, I let myself drink in his body.

“You still going out with that hippy boy?” he called from the kitchen.

“His name’s Caleb.” I shouted back. I felt anxious. Ever since I’d started dating Caleb, my stepfather had seemed a little more on edge than usual. I wrote it off as him merely being protective.

“Whatever. You still going out with him? When am I going to meet the girl who’s dating my daughter?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Soon.” Let’s just say my stepfather was a bit on the old-fashioned, conservative side when it came to guys with long hair.

He walked back into the room with a glass of orange juice, his expression serious. I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. “It’s time you did. I want to know what kind of person he is, if I can trust him.”

I rolled my eyes. Caleb was nice and accommodating, a real gentleman.  And so far, all we had done up to this point in our relationship was kiss; he even asked my permission, in a way that had totally killed the moment.

“Just what do you see in that boy, anyway?” My stepfather’s face looked practically twisted with consternation.

“Dad…geez.” I rolled my eyes again. I didn’t know how I could make him understand. We’d moved to Tucson last year, from an upscale suburb in Phoenix. It had been my senior year of high school, in a totally new town, in a private high school full of hostile kids. Caleb and his friends were the only kids who were nice to me.  They were a totally different crowd from the friends I’d had in Scottsdale: they were a hippy-ish, festival-going, easy-going group of people. We would spend long hours slack-lining and playing disk golf in Caleb’s yard (his dad was one of the largest land developers in Arizona, and their place was massive), and we would go for long hikes in the canyons above Tucson, in the Santa Catalina Mountains.  And we did some things that I knew my stepdad would wholly disapprove of, like smoke weed. I hadn’t been crazy about it at first, but I was always around Caleb, and he smoked, so eventually I started, too. I felt nervous just thinking about my little pipe and the jar of buds in my panty drawer.