Page 33 of Jealous Stepbrother
And—the fuck?
A job offer.
From one of my competitors in Florence.
Every muscle in my body goes taut. My thumb hovers over the message before I open it and read just enough to know they want her.
To take her away from me.
Not happening.
I delete it without a second thought and with zero guilt just as she comes in from the adjoining workspace, cheeks flushed from a burst of creative energy.
She starts to tell me about her latest sketch, but I’m already crossing the room.
By the time she realizes I’m behind her, I’ve caged her against the drafting table, one hand flattening over her stomach, the other sliding down the curve of her thigh.
She stiffens. “Asher?—”
My open palm lands on her left ass cheek in a hard smack.
She yelps.
My dick jumps at how her firm ass bounces as I deliver another smack, same place, even harder.
She cuts herself off mid-shriek, her gaze bouncing between the door and my face, adorable bewilderment and rage building on her own. “What are you—Arghh!”
Smack.
I rain down two more on her right ass cheek to make a neat five, then I toss the phone onto the table.
Gripping both cheeks in my hands, I growl in her ear. “Call her.” My voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the command init. “Right now. Tell your mother you’re not coming to Montauk this weekend.”
Her breath hitches. “That’s what this is about?”
“Don’t test me, little girl. Do what I told you to do yesterday.”
Her chin comes up, her eyes flashing. “Why? I can’t just cancel?—”
“Yes, you can. And because I said so.” My hand slides under her skirt and, fuck me, her skin is so smooth, so hot from my spanking. “And because you belong to me this summer. All summer.”
“I need…something to…Asher, I can’t just?—”
“Lunch is being delivered in a few minutes. It’s up to you whether you want an audience for this or not but I’m going to keep stroking this pussy until you do as I say.”
My fingers slide beneath her panties, over the thin strip of hairthat arrows to my favorite placeon this whole damn earth.
She jolts when my middle finger grazes her clit, and she scrambles for her phone.
Her hand shakes as she dials. I stay close enough to hear every word, my fingers stroking slow, distracting circles over her clit.
“Mom? Yeah, I—I’m sorry, I meant to call e-earlier. I can’t come to Montauk this weekend,” she says, her voice faltering when I press a little harder. “Work… no, it’s not like that. I’m fine. Really.”
But her mother’s tone, sharper now, laced with worry, sticks in my head.
“No, Mom, they’re not working me too hard.” She turns her head, attempts to glare at me. I strum her clit. She shakes and grips the bench with her free hand until it shows white.When I lift my eyebrow, she ducks her head. “I promise I’ll tell you more about it soon. No, Mom, I’m at work, I h-have to go. Love you. Talk soon.”
She hangs up as her mother’s launching into another third degree.
