Claim Me, Alpha StepBrothers

You’re Not My F*cking Father

~Olive~

“You can’t f*****g handle me,” I bite out. “You talk about making my p***y wet like it’s some big achievement, Crew? Please. I’ve had bigger threats from boys who actually knew what the f**k they were doing. Keep running that mouth and I’ll have you on your knees begging before you even get close enough to smell how wet I’m not.”

Crew’s grin turns feral, eyes flashing with pure delight at the challenge. He leans in even closer, breath scorching my ear.

“Feisty little thing. I like that. Makes me wonder how sharp that mouth stays once I’ve got two thick fingers buried deep in that tight p***y, making it drip down my hand while you try to keep talking all that shit.”

Cas makes a small sound — almost a growl. “Crew.”

Crew ignores him, crowding me harder. “Go ahead, baby sister. Keep pretending that cold little cunt isn’t already aching for us. I bet you’re soaked right now, thighs slippery, c**t throbbing just from hearing me say it. By the time I’m done, you’ll be creaming all over my tongue and still trying to act like you hate every second of it.”

My p***y clenches so hard I almost whimper. Fresh slick floods my panties, hot and shameful. Traitor. Filthy f*****g traitor. I hate how my c**t is pulsing, how my n*****s are tight and aching, how my body is screaming yes while my brain is screaming burn them.

I look at Cas.

He looks at me.

And in that half-second before he locks it down and looks away, I see it: guilt, raw hunger, and something darker I don’t have a name for yet. Something that’s going to ruin me.

He looks away first.

I win.

I think.

“Tour’s over, boys.” I grab my overnight bag and sling it over my shoulder. “I can find my own room.”

I walk past them, making sure to brush — just barely, just enough — against Crew’s shoulder. He turns, voice dropping low and sinful just for me.

“Olive.”

I don’t stop. “Yes, Crew?”

“You’re going to be very fun.” Pure promise. “And when you finally stop pretending you don’t want us… I’ll make sure that pretty p***y is dripping before I even touch you.”

I keep walking up that ridiculous staircase, heart hammering, cunt still throbbing traitorously. Behind me I hear Cas’s quiet warning: “Crew. Don’t.”

And Crew’s lazy reply, already lighting a cigarette: “Don’t what, brother?”

I find my room — third door on the left, biggest one, princess in a tower bullshit — lock the door, unlock it, lock it again. Then I slide down to the floor, back against the wood, and pull out my phone.

New note: PLAN

1. Don’t fall in love with either of them. Especially not the cold one.

I delete and retype that line three times before giving up.

2. Do not let Crew’s dirty talk get to you. No matter how much he whispers about burying his fingers in your p***y until you drip, do not get wet. Do not clench. Do not imagine it.

3. If either of them tries anything, ruin them first. Make Crew beg on his knees while you laugh. Make Cas watch.

4. Never let them see you squirm. Even if your cunt throbs when Crew talks about melting your ice-queen p***y, keep your face bored and your mouth vicious.

5. And if you slip and get wet for them make sure you come so hard on your own fingers you forget their names. Then delete this note. You’re here to burn this house down, not ride the heirs.

My thighs press together anyway. The room feels too hot. My red dress feels too tight.

“f**k,” I whisper into my palms. “f**k, f**k, fuck.”

Downstairs, a low laugh echoes. I can’t tell which twin it is.

I’m so dead.

**

The dining room could fit my entire Connecticut apartment twice with room for a graveyard.

I’m in the black dress Mom made me change into, standing in the doorway. Crew is already seated next to my chair, leg pressed firmly against mine under the table the second I sit.

I don’t move my leg.

He wants me to pull away? He can die waiting.

His mouth twitches. He noticed.

Fuck.

Richard raises his glass. “A toast. To my beautiful Diane. To Olive. And to my boys, who I hope will make their new sister feel… at home.”

“To family,” Mom beams.

“To family,” Crew murmurs, clinking his glass against mine with a wicked little “Sis.”

I’m going to kill him before dessert.

Mom chatters brightly about me being pre-law at Ashford soon. Richard smiles that trained smile.

“Ohhhhh really,” he drawls, setting his wine down with a soft clink. “Pre-law at Ashford? That’s excellent, Olive. Smart girl.” His gaze slides to the twins. “And perfect timing—Cas and Crew will be resuming at Ashford too this semester. They took a little… break last year, but they’re back on track now. Family should stick together, right?”

Mom lights up like a Christmas tree. “Isn’t that wonderful, honey? The boys can show you around campus, introduce you to the right people. No more navigating those big schools all alone.”

Wonderful. My stomach flips. Ashford. With them. The same halls, same dorms or whatever rich-prick housing they have, same air I’ll have to breathe while pretending my stepbrothers didn’t spend the entire tour eye-f*****g me like they wanted to split me open and ruin me for anyone else.

Crew’s hand drops under the table, casual as hell, fingers brushing the side of my knee. Not grabbing. Just there. A promise. I don’t flinch. Instead, I cross my legs slowly, trapping his fingers between my thighs for half a second—tight enough that he feels the heat radiating through the thin black dress—then uncross them like it was nothing.

His breath hitches. Barely. But I hear it.

Cas hasn’t said a word since we sat down. He’s across from me, jaw tight, eyes locked on his plate like it personally offended him. He looks like he wants to drag me out of here and punish me for existing. Or maybe punish himself for wanting it.

“Cool,” I say, voice sweet poison. I smile at Richard, all Connecticut-polite daughter. “I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. Won’t you, boys?”

Crew leans in, voice low enough that only I (and maybe Cas) can hear. “Oh, we’ll show you everything, baby sister. Libraries. Empty classrooms. That little spot behind the science building where no one ever goes.” His fingers trace higher under the table, just under the hem of my dress, teasing the soft skin of my inner thigh. “Wouldn’t want you getting lost. Or wet cause it rains over there Or both.”

My c**t throbs so hard I have to bite the inside of my cheek. Traitor. I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand properly this time, and dig my nails into the back of it in warning. He just chuckles, dark and low, like the pain turns him on.

“Crew,” Cas mutters, a warning growl that does absolutely nothing to stop his brother.

Richard chuckles, oblivious or choosing not to see. “See? Already bonding. This is going to be great for all of us.”

“I’m so happy,” he says smoothly, eyes sliding over me like I’m already part of his collection. “I can’t wait to be your father soon, Olive.”

Mom lights up like she’s auditioning for a goddamn perfume ad, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Me too, love.”

“Mum, just shut the f**k up if you’re pawning me off like some f*****g accessory!” I snap, voice cracking through the crystal and silver like a whip. Mom flinches, eyes wide. “And you, Richard—you’re not my father. My father is dead. Six f*****g feet under.”

Silence crashes over the dining room. The kind of silence that costs rich people money to maintain.

Mom’s face crumples, mascara already threatening to run. “Olive Grace! How dare you speak to us like that? Richard has been nothing but generous—opening his home, his family..”

“His family?” I laugh, sharp and bitter. “This isn’t a family, Mum. This is a f*****g hostile takeover. You sold us out for a bigger house and a richer d**k, and now you want me to call this prick Dad while his sons sit here eye-f*****g me like I’m tonight’s dessert?”

“Olive, I understand this is an adjustment. Losing your father… that’s never easy. But we’re building something new here. Stronger. You’ll see. The boys will look out for you at Ashford. Won’t you?”

Cas watches the whole thing, chest rising and falling too fast. His voice comes out rough. “Olive. Sit down. You’re making a scene.”

“A scene?” I stand up fully now, chair scraping loud enough to echo. “This whole night is a f*****g scene. You two pricks have been undressing me with your eyes since I walked in the door. Crew’s practically finger-f*****g me under the table while you sit there pretending you don’t want the same thing, Cas. And you—” I point at Richard, “—can keep your ‘happy family’ speech. I don’t need a new father. I need you all to stay the hell out of my way.”

Mom stands too, voice trembling. “Olive, please. This is your home now. We’re going to be a family. Apologize to Richard.”

“Apologize?” I grab my wine glass and drain it, the red liquid burning down my throat like the rage in my chest.

“I’d rather choke on it. You dragged me here, dressed me up, and shoved me into this circus. I’m not playing along.”

Richard waves a hand, still playing the gracious host. “Boys. Olive. Let’s all take a breath. Diane, darling, why don’t you show her some of the wedding plans later? Give her a chance to warm up to the idea.”

I scoff. “Warm up? I’d rather set the whole place on fire.”

“f**k you, Richard,” I spit, the words flying out before I can even think. “You’re not my f*****g father and you’ll never be one. You’re just a d**k f*****g my mum.”

Mom gasps like I slapped her, one hand flying to her chest. “Olive! That is enough!”

Richard’s smile doesn’t even twitch, but his eyes go flat and cold. He sets his wine glass down with care, like he’s deciding exactly how hard to break me later.

“Strong words from a girl who’s benefiting from this ‘d**k’s’ generosity. The house. The tuition at Ashford. The opportunities.”

This f*****g bastard.