Page 10 of Hot Stepbrother Daddy

It's been three days, and I already feel like I'm losing my mind. I haven't shared space with anyone in years, and now all of a sudden I'm supposed to coexist with her. The woman I was so sure I connected with on some otherworldly level before she bolted from my hotel room. The same woman who has been haunting me ever since.

And let me tell you, Laurie is everywhere. I'm positive there has never been a more radiant, alluring creature, and it's just my fucking luck that she's totally off-limits to me now.

Yesterday, for example, I went out back to check the pool filter and there she was—stretched out on one of the lounge chairs in a tiny white bikini that should be illegal.

Then she spotted me, one brow quirking like she knew exactly what I’d been staring at. “Didn’t know the pool guy made house calls this early,” she teased, her voice all sweet and smug.

I turned around and went right back inside, filter be damned.

She's making me come apart at the seams. I've jerked off thinking about her so many times that I shouldn't be able to get hard for a year, yet every time she moves a muscle, my cock stands at attention in seconds.

And the worst part is, Laurie doesn’t even seem to notice. She’s just living. Painting her nails on the back porch, wandering around in those tiny pajama shorts she wears at night, sprawled across the couch sketching with her iPad.

Meanwhile, I'm losing sleep, losing focus, losing my fucking mind. If I don't get a handle on this obsession, I'm going to do something stupid, I just know it.

By day five, something shifts in Laurie again. Gone is the casual breeziness she's been treating me with up until this point, and now she's sticking herself in my orbit like she belongs there. Even when I’m doing something as simple as watching soccer, she’s there, radiant with her hair down and not a shred of makeup on, offering me a sweating glass of sweet tea like a peace offering.

I accept it warily. "You like soccer?"

"Not really," she admits, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. "But I figured I'd give it a try. Got to expand my horizons, right? Try new things, make risky decisions."

Her voice is light, but when she turns her gaze on me, lids low and eyes heated, I'm hit with such a wave of desire that I'm dumbfounded. She stays there for the entire game, asking the occasional question and making it damn near impossible to pay the match any attention.

As the match wraps up, she stands, announcing that she’s going to bed, but not before stopping next to me. She leans over, her hand brushing my shoulder and her voice low and soft in my ear. "Did you ever play soccer?"

For one wild second, I almost turn my head to kiss her, but I clench my jaw. "No."

"Too bad," she sighs, standing up straight again. "That would have been fun to watch.”

She's doing all of this on purpose. She has to be. No woman on the planet can be this seductive by accident.

* * *

I hear the crash first,and then Laurie's yelp coming from upstairs.

I practically vault over the back of the couch to rush up the stairs. When I throw open her door, heart hammering in my chest, I find her next to a toppled-over step ladder, paintbrush in hand.

"I'm okay," she says, her voice breathless. "I slipped off the first step and knocked it over."

Christ. She’s just painting, that’s all. She’s not hurt.

One wall is finished, a rich, golden hue that glows under the lights. The rest of the walls are pale pink, decorated with awards, pictures, posters, and other teenage treasures.

"What is this?"

She blinks, a little color staining her cheeks as she gestures to the finished wall. "Just...something I thought would look nice."

"It does," I say, stepping closer. "But why?"

She shrugs, picking at the dried paint on her brush. "If I'm going to be an adult living with my mom, I at least want to be an adult with an adult room. Not...this."

She waves her hand around the space, and I know what she means. It was a typical teenager's room, a shrine to her youth. All the things that had once been important to her were on display, but now she’s different. A woman, not a little girl.

Laurie looks self-conscious for the first time since I'd met her, and I hate it. "It's a good color. Really." And then, despite my better judgment, I add, "Do you want me to do the edges for you, so you don't have to get on the ladder again?"

She gives me a surprised look. "Really?"

"I'm already up here. Might as well."

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