Excerpt: Almost Wrong by Aubrey Parker

Posted October 14th 2016 by The Faerie Queen in Blog Tours, Excerpts / 0 Comments

Excerpt: Almost Wrong by Aubrey Parker

Hiya, and welcome back! Today, we’re giving you a little taste of Almost Wrong by Aubrey Parker! If you’re looking for some steamy step-sibling taboo romance, this one is for you. We’ve got two different excerpts, the second of which is pretty explicit, so proceed with caution, and maybe a fan. 😉


First, here’s a bit more about the book, and don’t forget to enter the giveaway at the end!


About the book

Almost Wrong

Excerpt: Almost Wrong by Aubrey Parker
This book may be unsuitable for people under 17 years of age due to its use of sexual content, drug and alcohol use, and/or violence.
Author: Aubrey Parker
Release date: October 11th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Add to TBR: Goodreads
Purchase: Amazon UK | Amazon US | iBooks | Kobo

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I’ve always hated Hunter Altman.

I hated him at first sight, in my teens, when my mother met his worthless father.

I hated when Bill moved in with us, dragging Hunter like bad baggage.

I hated when Mom and Bill made it official, turning the delinquent a-hole in the next room into my brand-new stepbrother.

I hated when I fell for Hunter, and Hunter fell for me.

It killed me when he left us behind, shed like dead skin on his way to the top. And now that Hunter is a hotshot music producer on every magazine cover, I hate him even more.

I hate his money. I hate his fancy toys. I hate that he thinks he owns me … or worse, that he OWES me.

I hate that he’s back. That he’s soiled our ghetto with his pristine suit, his fancy black limousine.

My heart hurts, I hate him so much. And it scares me that my heart might keep loving him in the end, beneath it all.


About Aubrey Parker

I love to write stories with characters that feel real enough to friend on Facebook, or slap across the face. I write to make you feel, think, and burn with the thrill that can only come from getting lost in the pages. I love to write unforgettable characters who wrestle with life's largest problems. My books may always end with a Happily Ever After, but there will always be drama on the way there.




The Tame One

“I guess we should talk,” Angela says.

I’m still wearing my tux shirt and pants, because going into the other room to change when she has nothing to swap seems rude. But at least I’ve ditched the jacket and tie. My sleeves are rolled up. She touches my forearm and gives me a chill I haven’t felt in forever.

“About what?” I ask.

“About us.”

I run a multibillion-dollar empire. I could buy and sell countries. People practically bow when I walk down the street. Still, those two words flutter my stomach.

“Okay. In what way?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her hand makes firmer contact with my arm, her fingers soft and splayed. She’s already turned toward me, and as juvenile as it seems, I keep wanting to look at her cleavage.

This is so messed up. She’s my stepsister. Has been forever. And we’ve been through all this before, a thousand years ago.

“You know what way,” she says.

I swallow.

“What happened,” she says, “I won’t lie. I wanted it.”

I nod. I wanted it, too. But right now I can’t breathe a word and risk breaking the spell between us.

“But Hunter … it was wrong. We grew up together.”

I think that’s stretching it. We spent two years in adjacent rooms, and I was gone most of the time. I never wanted to be there at all.

I say none of that.

“At the time,” she says, “I was just a kid.”

“Me too.” I don’t like how I say it—almost like begging, as if I’m waiting for Angela to feel sorry for me.

“I didn’t know what was going on back then. You remember how I was, kind of in my shell. I guess you’d say I was a late bloomer. We happened to become … closer … right around the time I finally started to bloom.”

I don’t like this talk of blooming. I remember how she’d bloomed. I remember how she felt to the touch.

I’ve seen countless tits since leaving home. I’ve licked whipped cream and snorted coke off an endless parade of nipples. Breasts are two blobs of fat capped with tiny hats, and yet one of my most vivid, most sepia-tinged memories is of that day under the pier. There was something about the first time I saw her like that. She looked vulnerable — but at the same time, I could see her as a sexual being in a way I’d never been able to before. At first, she’d seemed childish, and later she’d seemed full of herself, prudish, naive.

But that day she’d been … Angela. Someone new. Someone who’d bloomed open from a closed bud, and I was there when it happened, tempted by forbidden fruit.

“But it was just hormones,” she says. “We’re older now. Wiser.”

I try to smile. It probably comes off sideways, maybe obnoxious—the jaded grin I’m afraid will convince her that I’m the asshole she’s always imagined I was. But it’s meant to soften the blow as I say, “Stop it. I already feel old at thirty, and you’re making me feel older.”

“You know what I mean, don’t you?” Her hand is still on my arm. If she’s trying to make a platonic point, her touch is driving me in the wrong direction.

“I guess.”

“Have you thought about me while you’ve been gone? You know … in that way?”

Which answer should I give her?




Nobody could ever quite compare, and I may have gone through an entire modeling agency, like yanking tissues from a box, searching for something that felt the same.

Instead, I keep my face neutral. “I guess. Sometimes.”

Angela looks like she’s blunting her reply. “Me, too. Sometimes.”


The Not So Tame One

His kiss hit me like a bludgeon. It was as if something inside him snapped, and all of his carefully held control shattered like glass under a thrown rock. His mouth covered mine. His breath was in my throat, hot and urgent. And then whatever wall was left within me broke with his.

We became all hands. I ripped his pack away and dropped it heedlessly to the bed, where it mercifully crashed without noise. His fingers groped clumsily at my sleep shirt, his hands finding my braless breasts, the fury of his assault more than making up for his awkwardness. He tugged the shirt up and groped my flesh in great, rough handfuls. His squeeze was too tight. His lips mashed against mine. We fell to the bed in a pile, finally knocking the errant backpack to the ground.

Hunter was above me, propped on his arms. He was one percent sense; the rest was abandon.

“We can’t do this. You’re my sister.” He said it without step in front, as if trying to turn himself off.

I unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off his arms, frustrated by the way it caught on his wrists. I tugged as if I had no idea how clothing went on or off. It came free and I pawed his chest, pulling him toward my lips.


That was all he got out. Whatever demon had hold of me, it finally caught hold of Hunter and tugged him atop me. His weight smothered my body. He covered me like a shroud, his mouth hot and working. We were saliva and tongues. I’d never kissed like this. It wasn’t even kissing; it was something from the wild. Something primal, brought up from deep inside.

We couldn’t stop. Even at gunpoint, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.

No more words. There was a spell we couldn’t risk breaking. This was the ripping of a bandage—we had to do it quick, before we lost our nerve. He devoured my neck, covering it with kisses. He pulled my shirt all the way up and then off, licking every inch of my chest. Then he sat upright and fixed me with his stare, hands at the waist of my elastic pajamas. He pulled them and my panties off in one sweep, and then I was bare before him.

Hunter looked my body over, spellbound. Almost reverently, his hand moved between my legs. His fingers brushed my pussy lips, found me wet.

My hands went to his belt. I freed his cock and stroked it as I had before, only much more aggressively. I sat halfway up, shoving his pants and underwear down to his knees. Then I pulled him toward me, as if his cock were a tether. He used both hands to spread my legs, then followed my lead.

He was inside me in a second—just the tip. I flinched, and he moved to pull back. But I held his shaft. I held him just inside me, fighting to keep him where he was.

“Does it hurt?” he asked me.

“No. Yes. Just a little.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay. I want you to hurt me that way.”

“This is wrong. We have to stop.”

I wrapped one arm behind Hunter’s lower back and pulled him closer. The sensation was strange; there was pain, but there was pleasure behind it.

Hunter’s cock was halfway inside me. I tried to keep the effort from my face, but I must have failed. I tried to relax, but it wasn’t just relaxation I needed. It was something different — a muscle, of sorts, that I hadn’t yet used.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, needing him. “Yes.”

“You might bleed.”

“Then I’ll bleed.”

“You always remember your first. That’s what everyone says.”

“That’s why it has to be you, Hunter.”

He seemed to be trying gallantly to do what he saw as the right thing. But that ship had sailed. He was already inside me. If he left me now, there would be murder to pay.

I pulled him harder. His cock moved another half inch into me. There was more pain, but much more pleasure. My juices lubricated his passage. Only a little farther to go, and I could already sense the bliss beyond.

“You probably won’t come.”

“I will.”


I pulled his face toward mine. I kissed his face, then his cheek, then his ear. I ran my hands through his messy hair.

“I will,” I whispered.

The last of his resolve broke. He pushed all the way inside me. I clenched. The sensation was so foreign; I felt full, completely and totally invaded. A part of him was inside me. I’d never known anything like it. So intimate. Nothing compared.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispered.


“I want it to be good for you.”

“It is good for me, Hunter. Because it’s you.” A wave of pleasure shot through me as he withdrew, then entered again. “Be quick.”

It didn’t take long. He fucked me furtively, like a thief in the night. And I did come, twice. His cock, in my pussy for the first time, was too uncomfortable to be truly arousing, but his mere presence was still enough. I watched him. I watched him as he fucked my virgin pussy, his face barely under control.

My stepbrother.

My great taboo. I had to press my face into a pillow to keep from screaming his name.



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