Page 14 of Jealous Stepbrother
“You don’t sound sure, sis. And I suggest if you don’t want to get bent over the dinnertableand fucked for all of Manhattan to see, stop squirming in my lap.”
“I…I don’t want to do any of those things, so just l-let me up.”
His inked arms tighten around my waist. A flash of something close to anger darts across his face. “I’m going to be keeping score, princess,” he mutters, his blue eyes dropping to my mouth.
I suck the inner flesh of my bottom lip. Then feel his cock surge beneath my ass. “Of what?” I manage to mutter, because…that imprint is massive. Terrifying now as it was the first time I saw it. The first time that was never supposed to happen.
“Of every time you make me work for something that we both want. And do you know what the consequences of that will be?”
Fireworks set off in my bloodstream as memories of warnings and consequences light up in my brain.
He gives a low laugh, his mood apparently restored at the furnace-hot blush consuming my face. “Yes, baby sis. But trust me that whatever it is you’re thinking barely scratches the surface of what’s happening here.”
His mouth finds mine again, slow and deep and shameless.
Until my pulse is a wildfire in my veins.
Until the mildly terrifying notion that I’ve fallen into his clutches once more impinges hard enough that I pull away, shoving lightly at his chest. At first he doesn’t let me. But when he finally breaks it, my head is spinning.
He keeps me where I am, grabbing my half-eaten plate and placing it next to his. Then he plucks my fork from the table and feeds me the rest of my meal as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.
When the plates are empty, he stands, still holding my wrist. Then he swings me into his arms, carries me through the penthouse to my room. He sets me on the edge of the bed and walks to the door in five long strides.
There he looks over his shoulder, and the fire in his eyes is unholy as hell. “Goodnight, Scarlett.”
I blink at him, startled he’s not pressing for more. Not making good on every silky threat he’s delivered since I walked into his presence this morning.
He sees my confusion and smirks. “All in good time, baby. I want you hot and desperate, the way you’ve made me. I want you on your knees begging me to fuck you when the time comes.”
“Are you sure you won’t be the one begging, Asher?”
I expect him to laugh again. Instead, his expression turns solemn, unreadable. Then he shrugs.
“You could well be right. And if you are—” his gaze drops briefly to my mouth, heat sparking there— “you’ll be the only one to ever see it.”
He closes the door behind him, leaving me with the ghost of his kiss and the knowledge that the game’s already started.
CHAPTER 4
MEMORY LANE SUCKS…RIGHT?
Scarlett
I’m caught in that strange place between sleep and wakefulness, heavy-limbed and restless. The sheets are twisted around my legs and my hair is stuck to my cheek. I barely slept, too wired from my plans being derailed spectacularly, too wound up from Asher’s touch, his words, the way his mouth felt against mine.
The promises hanging thick and oh so illicitly in the air.
Every time I closed my eyes, last night looped in my head. Every time I tried to shove it away, that other night—four years ago—slipped in. The taste of him. The feel of his hands where they had no business being. The reckless, breathless moment right before it all went too far.
Before we crossed that forbidden line.
Now I’m squirming, exhausted,hornierthan I’ve ever been in my life, pressing my thighs together like that’ll quiet the ache throbbing low and urgent in my belly.
A small, involuntary moan rumbles free before I can stop it, and I bite my lip.
God, what is wrong with me?
I glance down, see my pebbled nipples pushing against my sleep tank. Almost mesmerized, I drag a nail across one peak, then almost jackknife at the wild electricity that streaks from nipple to pussy.
