Page 133 of Wanting What's Wrong

The man I love.

The man I can never have.

Three

Jackson

Breathe, Jackson. Fuckingbreathe.

She takes my breath away even after all these years.

I knew I loved her from the moment she stepped into my life, with her backpack full of Barbies and those haunting mint-green eyes that told me right then she needed me. Would always need me.

A smile curls the corners of my lips as I remember the first time I met her, green foil wrappers from the bowl of Andes Mints in our kitchen all over the floor around her little feet, chocolate decorating her pink lips. She was so nervous about meeting her mother’s new boyfriend and his son, until she got that first mint in her mouth.

My feelings were different back then. More innocent. Just a certainty that I had to protect her no matter what. But now?

There’s not one innocent thing about me wanting to stuff every thick inch of my virgin cock into her tight unpopped cherry cunt.

That’s not the end of it either. It would be bad enough, butmy thoughts where she is concerned are depraved. I want her on her knees, my sticky release decorating her plump cheeks and lips as she gazes up into my eyes and calls me Daddy.

That fantasy took roothardsince she became an adult. It was like a switch got flipped and there’s no going back. I think about caring for her like I always have but with this deviant twist and it’s become my obsession. Well, one of my obsessions.

The other is, I’ll knock her the fuck up, yeah,pregnant,bredwith my sister with my seed in short order until she’s waddling around, ready to give birth to the first of what would be an army of our children.

But,shewill always bemybaby. Daddy’s girl.

I want it with a desire so deep, my bonesachewith it. As though they are cracking under the pressure of thewanting. The wrongness of it all.

I could have it all, too, and nobody would think anything of it, if only she wasn’t my sister. Stepsister. Whatever.

Breathe.

“You having your first party and didn’t even invite me?” I grin, letting her know my question isn’t serious, but my feelings fuckingare.

Whenever I see Mina, the world comes into narrow focus. Even more than when I threw the winning spiral in the most important bowl game of my career last year. That pales in comparison to this goddamn perfect specimen of womanhood sitting right here with a fucking bottle of Tequila against her lips.

I hate that fucking bottle. I should be the only one touching those lips. My mouth. My fingers. My cock.

But, it’s so much more. I want those lips to tell me all her secrets. All her dreams and worries and silly stories. I want to feed them strawberry ice cream and roll her cherry vanilla lip gloss on a hundred times a day like she does for herself now.

Those lips.

They contain multitudes as they say, and I want to be there for it all.

And what the fuck anyway with the tequila? She’s the original, OG good-girl. She wouldneverdrink, and now I find her sitting alone in the backyard of a house full of who-the-fuck-knows, ready to straight shot the worst tasting fucking liquor known to man.

Something is fucked up and rage is bubbling in my gut. I’ll handle whatever it is in her life that needs handled, but right now, she needsme.

Jackson, her brother.

Her protector.

Her…fuck. Yes, her fuckingDaddy,but I can never tell her that part.

She’s paler than when I saw her at her graduation and that’s pissing me off as well.

I was thinking about that little apple of pink on her cheeks just a couple hours ago when I rage fucked my fist in the shower. I imagined turning that cute little bit of pink into a hot flush all over her curvy body as I slid in deep, spraying against the opening to her womb as she bucked and begged her Daddy to stop in one breath, then for more in the next.

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