Page 78 of The Bad Brother

Maybe I’m dreaming.

Testing the theory, I lift my glass of icy cold tequila to my mouth and take a drink before issuing my next command.

“Take off your underwear.”

This one changes her breathing. I listen to it go from slow and steady to fast and shallow. Watch while she hesitates… but only for a moment before she’s reaching under the skirt of her designer dress to do as I say. Working silk and lace over her hips and down her legs, I watch quietly while she lifts one foot off the floor and then the other to step out of them. Panties in hand, she stands in front of me and waits.

I’m dreaming.

I have to be dreaming.

“Give them to me.” This command is issued on a quiet growl that sounds like a warning but she holds them out for me to take without question.

Taking them from her, I can feel how wet they are. I already know what’ll happen if I smell him on her.

I’ll go crazy.

So crazy that I’ll have to fuck her to death to get the image of my brother between her thighs out of my head. That afterward, I’ll have to find him and kill him, just to be sure that he’ll never try to take what’s mine again.

Lifting them to my face, I breathe deep.

I don’t smell him.

I don’t smell anyone else.

All I smell is her.

My perfect little Peach.

I’m so relieved, all I can do is sit here, my hands shaking so hard I can hear the ice rattling around in my glass while I look up at the dark shape of her, standing in front of me but I’m not done.

Not yet.

I’m still dreaming.

Taking a drink from my glass, I set it next to the bottle of Clase Azuel on end table next to my seat on the couch. The same bottle Sera served her from this afternoon before she left.

“Get on your knees.”

She sinks to the floor in front of me without question.

Without hesitation.

If I reallyamdreaming, I’ll kill the motherfucker who tries to wake me up.

“Do you know what I can’t stop thinking about, Peach?” Dropping my hands to the waistband of my jeans, I work the button loose, giving it a hard, impatient yank. “I can’t stop thinking about the first time I fucked you.” Waistband open, I give it another yank, ripping the zipper open. “I sat up all night, driving myself bugshit because I was sure you called the cops afterward. That I was going to prison for something I didn’t do—again. That letting me fuck you was just a part of the plan you cooked up with my brother to fuck me up.”

This isn’t news to her.

I’ve told her this before.

“I don’t even know your brother,” she says it softly, hertone full of hurt and confusion because she thought we were past it.

I thought we were too.

Yes you do.

Pushing my hand past the waistband of my boxers, I wrap it around my stiff cock, rough enough to pull a groan up the length of my throat. “I sat on my couch until I couldn’t take it anymore.” Pulling the hard length of it free, I stroke myself from root to tip. “When I finally went over the edge, I came back here. I told myself it was to get my T-shirt but that was a lie. That’s not what I came back for.”

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