Step Knows Best: Brat At Bareback Ranch

By Ginger Starr

"Ginger Starr stories are hot and heavy and quite explicit!" 
-Karin Witnish, raunchyromancechick.com 

All characters are 18+ and unrelated consenting adults. Frank adult language and sexual situations.

"A little hitching sound caught in Ben's throat. From his glazed expression, I could tell he was thinking the same thing. He caught my gaze and reddened. I played it to the hilt: stiff nod, strict man of the house stink-eye. 

“Son." I put my hand on the doorknob. He touched the brim of his cowboy hat and backed away across the threshold. I slowly closed the door, still glaring at him like a Victorian patriarch. 

Now Claire and I were alone in the cabin. I took a slow deep breath and turned around. 

She was gone. “Claire?” 

“In here,” she called from the master bedroom. My stomach flip-flopped, like when I was a kid and first noticing girls. I took a step forward and then stopped.

“Uh, okay. Just checking." Get a grip, Dave. Jesus. 

Claire appeared in the doorway. Her hair was in a high ponytail, which swept across her shoulders as she breezed past me to her suitcases. Kneeling, she opened one, tossing clothes and shoes to the floor. 

I took a quiet breath. “Need any help?” 

“I’m looking for my bikini. I’m going to lay out by the pool.” 

“Do you want to unpack in *your* room first?” 

I indicated to the smaller guest room that was hers. Her bottom lip puffed out. No, I wasn't giving her the master bedroom, for f**k sake. 

Standing, she grasped the handle of the smallest suitcase and pulled it with a theatrical groan. 

“Here, let me help you."

“Thank you,” she purred. I ignored the “sucker” sign she stamped on my forehead with her sparkling cat eyes.

My teeth clenched, I grabbed the rest of her luggage and followed her, her full hips swaying beneath her dress. She plopped the suitcase on her bed and leaned over it, taking things out. My c**k throbbed to life, as she arched her back and the hem of her dress rose on her taut thighs. 

I kept my eyes on her body, but lowered my head, like a bull ready to charge. She stood suddenly and whipped around, her hands on her slim waist. I averted my gaze, but not quick enough. A victorious little smirk played across her face. 

Arching one elegant slim brow, she raised her chin and stared at me, her eyes mocking, supremely confident in the power of her youth and beauty to twist me around her finger. I gave her my best poker face. 

Claire wanted to play with me? Well, let the games begin." 

Also included, a bonus excerpt from Brat Therapy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ginger Starr Publishing
• Release date: Jan 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524229757

Ginger Starr

Ginger Starr is the nom de porn of a typical girl next door with a highly active imagination. She writes  mainstream fiction as well as erotica, including several New Adult romances and mysteries under  different names. An actress too, she has performed in film and plays throughout the USA, South America and the Carribean. 

Book preview

Step Knows Best: Brat At Bareback Ranch

Ginger Starr

Published by Ginger Starr Publishing, 2016.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

STEP KNOWS BEST: BRAT AT BAREBACK RANCH

First edition. January 21, 2016.

Copyright © 2016 Ginger Starr.

ISBN: 978-1524229757

Written by Ginger Starr.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Ginger Starr

Step Knows Best: Brat At Bareback Ranch | Copyright 2015 Ginger Starr

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Further Reading: Stepbrother Billionaire: Play For Me

Also By Ginger Starr

About the Author

Step Knows Best: Brat At Bareback Ranch

Copyright 2015 Ginger Starr

Authors Note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are unrelated and consenting adults, 18 years of age or older.

***

All of my soon to be ex-wife’s energy is focused on owning things, useless shit. I have more than enough money for her to buy whatever she wanted, but it was never enough.

Out here, looking up at this big cloudless Montana sky, it’s easier to admit than it was with Marty, my therapist in Manhattan, that in eight years of marriage, June has never really cared for me.

I’m not sure if she’s even capable of loving a human being. I guess I always knew that she was trying to fill an emotional void with stuff. Or, she’s just a greedy bitch.

Either way, I wasn’t going to fund her Bergdorf Goodman wishes and champagne dreams anymore. This checkbook was closed. Except for Claire, her daughter from her first marriage, who I had raised since she was ten.

I had promised to pay for her college and invited her on this special getaway trip to Sweet Creek Ranch, high in the Montana Rockies, where I was raised.  When I called to invite her, this was her response: Yeah, okay. Sure.

Well, great! I sounded like a cross between a sitcom dad and escaped lunatic. The silence at the other end of the line was deafening.

Then, Yeah, I have to go now. Mom wants me.

That’s okay, honey. You...

Dial tone. I looked at my cellphone and sighed. Claire was understandably upset about her mom’s and my divorce. Who the hell knows what lies June told her about me?

Well, she was eighteen now, old enough to make up her own mind.

I refused to campaign for her affection. Except, that I did. Five weeks later, I waited at the gate for her at the Missoula International Airport. She wasn’t hard to spot in the throng of passengers arriving through terminal B.

In a sea of denim and plaid, Claire stood out, all five feet, eight inches of her, in a flowing emerald green silk dress more fit for cocktails in Soho than a week at a dude ranch with strappy little gold sandals that laced up her fawn-like legs.

Her thick copper curls, the kind of richly gleaming auburn you can’t get in a salon, fell in lazy ringlets to the middle of her back.  She inherited that hair color from her mother. Her eyes too: as intensely green as Kentucky bluegrass in an electrical storm.

I took off my Stetson and waved it in the air. Hi, there, honey! Over here!

She gave me a dutiful smile, but bristled when I tried to hug her. Hi, David, she murmured coolly. I stepped back, holding her at arms length.

David? Who’s David?

Her bio dad had skipped out when she was still in diapers. June had been a teen mom. I was the only