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Browse all 9 Bree Mills stories. Use the filters to find exactly the taboo you're craving.
My boss told me what the promotion would cost. I drove my nineteen-year-old stepdaughter three hours into the woods and never said a word about it. Four older men, one cabin, and a girl who turned out to be nothing like the one I raised.
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When the biggest frat on campus handed me a bid, I told myself I’d earned it. I hadn’t. Ashley had been my stepsister for seven years. She’s the one who got me in the door. This house doesn’t keep virgins and I had to join in.
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My wife has one embarrassment she can’t fix with money: her twenty-five-year-old is an ugly duckling who has never been with a man. So she asked me to examine my virgin stepdaughter. Then the exam proves Amy right—and she’s the one who asks me to keep going.
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Twenty years at the same company, and the promotion went to the owner’s son. So I helped myself to the company’s money until he caught me. Firing me wasn’t enough. He was calling the cops. I said I’d do anything. Then he saw my twenty-one-year-old stepdaughter’s photo on my desk.
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My wife is older, rich, and she cannot give me a baby. What she can do is tell me exactly who she wants me to try with, then sit in the room while I do it. My step-sister brought her friends. My step-sister was not supposed to want a turn.
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My brother has never once had something I wanted and kept it to himself. So he offered me his stepdaughter. Darren married Tina a year ago. Her daughter Jessica came with the house — nineteen, home all summer, black hair, black lipstick, no particular plans and no shame in her at all.
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My stepdaughter is one hour from her vows, and I’ve known for months that the man waiting for her had a vasectomy behind her back. So I told my stepdaughter the truth — and took the runaway bride out of her own wedding. Heather is twenty-five, copper-haired, and she’s already picked out baby names. She planned the whole wedding around her window. Her fiancé made sure she would never get pregnant, then let her put on the dress anyway.
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Five months after I married Renee, her daughter moved into our guest room. She was my boss’s stepdaughter first. Now she’s mine. Everybody at work still calls Ava the boss’s stepdaughter. For four years, she was. Richard Crane, my wife’s ex-husband, signs my paychecks, and he’s the man deciding whether I finally get the VP job.
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Three weeks after I made chief operating officer, the man who founded my company handed me a cream-colored card. The Harrow Invitational. One weekend, one private desert course, and a line printed at the bottom: bring your daughter. I don’t have a daughter. I have Brooke, my twenty-four-year-old stepdaughter, and she teaches golf for a living.
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