Climb on My Stepfather (Ashley and Alex)

Chapter 49

DADDY'S NAUGHTY GIRL.

Lia Amarie has been in love with Tristan Hemsworth ever since middle school when he moved in next door with

his little son, who she instantly becbest friends with. Now she's nineteen, and still very much lusting over

the sexy, very much older billionaire Adonis's hot body, every beautiful inch. But to Tristan, Lia will always be off-

limits. The little girl who always ran out to hug him whenever he cback from work. Can she rise above this

silly perceived notion and show him that she can be a bad, naughty girl?

1: Lia.

"Nine...ten. Ready or not, Eric, 'm coming your way!" | yell, pulling off the black blindfold around my eyes, and

sprinting out of the house, towards the garden.

We'd played hide-and-seek a thousand times — mostly when we got tired of video games and wanted a little

excitement aside from board games — and each and every time, Eric always hid in the garden, close to the

thickest rose patch or in the abandoned den behind their huge mansion. Today, however, he wasn't in the

garden, and | start getting worn out when | see that he's not in the abandoned den as well. Taking a detour back

into the house, | stand still in the foyer and shut my eyes, listening. | hear things being moved about in the

storeroom to my left, accompanied by intense giggling.

Smirking, | tiptoe towards the storeroom and, with a deep breath, kicked the door open, catching Eric right

before he slipped into an old sack. "Aha!

Gotcha!" | lunge at him, knocking him off his feet as we both fall onto an old mattress, wrestling each other and

laughing. He tickled my sides, causing my arms to fly out, and flatten themselves over his broad, solid chest. I'll

be lying to myself if | said | didn't know when they morphed from soft, baby flesh, to rock hard solid overnight.

Just like how I'd traded my breasts- soft handballs — for big, supple oranges.

Ever since | met Eric in sixth grade, we'd gotten along like bread and butter.

His house was my second home, and we were inseparable. Literally. His friends were my friends, and one of us

hardly took a decision without informing the other of it first. Little wonder why everyone expected that, after

high school, when we both will move to the city, we'll get married.

| haven't given much thought to marriage. Ever. And Eric would be the last man | would want to spend the rest of

my life with. I'm sure he feels the sway too. Our bond is entirely platonic and we do see each other more as

siblings.

He pinches my upper arm now, and | yowl, aiming a kick for his balls which he dodges smartly. We roll about like

bunnies for a while, before disentangling, our hands clasped together as we look up at the dusty ceiling, trying to

catch our breaths, giggling.

"How did you know | was in here?" Eric asks, probing my side. | gasped, whirling away.

"Stop! | just... | didn't find you in the garden or the abandoned den so I..." I'm getting ready to slip out of his

reach and kick him out of the bed with the heel of my foot when I hear the front door of the house open and

close curtly. And | end up losing my focus and falling off the mattress instead.

He's home.

Six o'clock on the dot every evening. Not a minute more. Not a minute less.

It's him. The only man who can make my stomach flip.

Outwardly, | try to contain myself, try not to show a reaction that'd get Eric to suspect, but inside, I'm burning up

like a paper that'd caught flame, rattling like a rickety old train on the railway and my stomach has been left on

the dirty, metal floor.

Eric's father is home.

Tristan McHemma Hemsworth.

| catch sight of his pristine, black loafers as he passes by the storeroom, glancing in briefly and beaming when

he espiescollapsed on the mattress, next to his laughing son. He shakes his head and moves on, towards the

kitchen, barely givingenough tto drink in his familiar features. Honestly, I've got to accept that it's

impossible to soak in the sight of his big, sexy body. Those broad shoulders. Hard, thick, and impenetrable.

Everywhere. Even in his pants and boxer briefs, I'm sure.

Seriously, I'm not making this up. Last month, he'd taken Eric and | swimming to celebrate our birthdays - Eric

and | were born in the smonth and our dates were only three days apart so we also celebrated it together

like twins. | hadn't envisioned that Tristan was fond of water, or that he'd strip out of his immaculate suit and join

us in. | merely thought he'd wait for us at the parents’ section, so you can imagine my surprise when | saw him

swimming up to us in a tight, yellow underwear which did nothing but divulge just how huge, and hard his junk

was. | knees wobbled under the water at the sight of his salt and pepper chest hair, the round slab of his

stomach.

The painful outline of his thick, huge, veiny cock.

Each tthe water molded his swim trunks to his lap, the enormous ridge in between his thighs made my belly

so ticklish, | turned so red, Eric had to carryout of the water, thinking | was having a sunburn.

Tristan Hemsworth is forty-six, a single-father widow.

I'm nineteen.

I've been silently, passionately, madly in love with him since | was roughly, thirteen.

| thought I'd get over him as | grow older, but honestly, no one compares. No one ever seems capable. What

Tristan does toin my dreams is more fulfilling than what any boy could hope to accomplish in real life. I'm not

exaggerating, which is the reason why | don't even bother with them. College starts in a few months, and I'm

already doubly sure the boys there won't measure up, either.

At the reminder of college - namely, the tuition fee needing to be paid - sadness clumps itself around my guts,

makinggroan as | rise to my feet, dusting myself off. | flash a breezy smile at Eric. "I'm going to grab some

water from the kitchen. I'm so parched." | tuck a stray strand of my ginger red hair behind my ear and exhaled.

"Want anything while I'm at it?" "No," Eric says, standing up as well. He towers overwith a few, substantial

inches. "You go ahead. I'll try and clean up this place. Pops gonna havegrounded if | don't."

"Not if | can help as well. Be back in a bit."

On my way to the kitchen, my hands quiver as | tuck my skirt a little higher, and knot my tank top under my

breasts. | flip my hair back, and put ona flirtatious smile. It's like a superpower - I've disarmed almost every man

I've cacross with my smile and suggestive body language. I'm known for being a smart flirt. A sly tease.

They're wrong, but Godforbid they ever find out that it's all a facade. That I'm just pretending. Treading water. Try

as much as they can to resist me, I've always gotten what | wanted.

And this time, I'm intent on making Tristan mine. | don't care what | have to do, or what it takes.

You have no idea how it hurts to keep seeing someone who you desperately crave everyday. Getting a glimpse of

what | can't have.

Pretending he's mine for a moment, like | always do. It's what I've brought myself to settle for.

But I've had enough. It's t| head in for the kill.

When | walk into the pristine kitchen where everything is literally stainless steel, | find Tristan leaning over the

countertop, a cup of hot coffee in hand, scrolling through something on his phone, the frown on his face

deepening every passing second. His mid-section is suspended as he puts his full weight on his elbows, those

meaty fingers clasped around the gadget's shiny body. At the mere closeness of him, and the knowledge that

we're alone, my nipples harden, skin prickling and pulsing.

"Hey there, Master Hem," | greet, pouting as | trail a finger down the wall of the archway. "What's making you so

grumpy? Bad news?"

"It's nothing, really," he says dryly, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Hey, Lia.

How are you?"

"You know I'm always better whenever you're around, Master," | sashay over to the counter where he is standing,

propping a hip on the low cabinetry. "I always feel a little safer whenever you're home. You're all big and buff..." |

trail off, swallowing.

He cutsa brief look, but his eyes doesn't seem to see any of the eye candy

I'm offering.

Ugh. Of course he doesn't.

To him, I'm still the little girl who ran out to hug and welchim whenever he chfrom work.

"You know, Lia, you're safe whenever I'm not around too. You've got Eric who'll never let anything bad happen to

you. The alarm system is also engaged and the gate electrified," he reassures absent-mindedly, flipping a paper

and scrutinizing it's content. "How's everything at home? How's your father?"

Broke.

Destitute.

A selfish loser whose entire life is a lie.

"He's fine. He said to say hello," | lied. My father is barely hto acknowledge