Stuck On My Stepbrother by Lilian Vale Page A

my stepbrother like this. He’d seen me as a little girl, for heaven’s sake! He’d even changed my diapers! But every time I thought about him - I don’t know - my body just reacted to him with such intensity…
    As I thought about him now, I felt the muscles in my ass begin to clench, and my thighs begin to tremble. I felt soft and warm between my legs, and found myself tightening and releasing my muslces, letting my groin rub gently, almost imperceptibly on my desk chair. I replayed the meeting I’d just had in Adam’s office in my head. The glasshouse. The fainting. The red leather chair. Those eyes, looking down on me. Kinbaku . That word suddenly came back to me, from the book I’d seen lying on the dresser.  
    I opened my internet browser, and typed it into Google. I clicked on the first result that came up, and read the following:

    Kinbaku is a form of Japanese erotic bondage involving ropes. It literally means ‘tight binding’, and is normally differentiated from shibari, as shibari describes the art and esthetic of the bondage, but kinbaku, in addition to this, refers to the sensual, sexual connections between binder and bound.

    I hid my internet browser and took a moment to catch my breath. Erotic bondage? Had I read the title of that book correctly? What was my brother into ?
    My heart was drumming in my chest. I felt so warm and wet between my legs, but I was scared, too. Terrified that I was uncovering something that shouldn’t be uncovered. That I was on the cusp of something far bigger than any of the idle gossip I’d been hearing around the office since I started.
    I needed some air. I’d go and get some lunch. I knew what I needed to have.
    Just then I noticed another email pop up. It was him. Shaking, I read it:

    Meet me at Tambara, at 7pm tomorrow night. I will buy you dinner, and give you an explanation.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cards Are On The Table

    Tambara was the most expensive restaurant I had ever been to. I could tell that before I had even set foot in the place. It wasn’t the restaurant I saw Adam outside the other day, when I was with Patrick. This one was even deeper into the pricey end of Midtown. The door of the restaurant did not have a menu outside, advertising its food. Instead, the restaurant name was presented in elegant gold lettering, and the archway leading inside was woven with hundreds of tiny, bright flowers, forming a sweet-smelling lattice to welcome its customers in. It must have needed re-weaving every couple of days, and was surely at least eight hours’ work. It was absolutely beautiful.
    I took in a deep breath of jasmine as I walked through the archway and into the restaurant.
    Inside, it was even more exquisite. The walls contained intricate wooden carvings, and the candlelight shone in such a way that gentle, shapely shadows danced across them, drawing the eye around the artwork in all directions. On each table was a beautiful cut-glass vase, containing sprigs of lavender, filling up the room with their sweet-smelling perfume.
    I could also smell cedar wood and spicy miso, fresh fish and the sharpness of lemon. It was a feast for the senses, and it was heavenly.
    The waitress, a beautifully-groomed Japanese woman, in a tight, seashell-pink kimono, walked me over to a private table in the corner. Adam was already there. He watched me walk over to him, his expression hard and severe. When I sat down, he softened. ‘Rose,’ he said gently. ‘Thank you for coming.’
    The waitress handed me a menu, and I thanked her, feeling woefully out of place in this beautiful environment. I was wearing a fitted blue dress, made out of t-shirt material, with three-quarter length sleeves. It felt both too frumpy and too casual. I never seemed to get my outfits right. ‘Thanks for inviting me,’ I said pathetically, waving my menu around in the air out of embarrassment. Sometimes I really was a goofball. ‘So what’s the best dish here, then?’
    ‘I’ve already