Page 42 of Jealous Stepbrother
She glances over at me before she flips it over.
Her breath catches and I see the exact second recognition hits.
It’s the picture I took in Montauk on the back deck the day after I fucked her four years ago. It was the last thing I did before I left.
The sun was sinking low behind her, her hair loose and wild, her mouth curved in a laugh at something on her phone. She had no idea I was watching, let alone capturing her like that.
My private shrine in one stolen moment.
I can read her shock in the shift of her shoulders, the tremor in her fingers.
“Asher.” Her voice is a whisper, fragile, almost broken. “What is this?”
I move behind her, close enough to breathe her in. I don’t flinch. Don’t even bother pretending to be ashamed. I pluck the frame from her hands, set it back down where it belongs.
“A reminder,” I tell her, voice low and deliberate, right against her ear. “Of what I’ve always known—that you were mine before you even knew it yourself.”
And I mean every word.
I reach for the hem of her dress, drag it up and off, and nearly swallow my tongue.
She’s wearing one of those lace and satin concoctions in a deep peach. Between thecolorand her round, firm ass, I don’t know which I want to attack first.
I sink down behind her, trailing her smooth skin from hips to ankles and back up.
She mewls and—fuck, that sound should be my new ringtone. Imagine every call, every text punctuated with that needy little cry. Except no—bad idea. I’d never get a single piece of work done.
I peel her panties down, drop them to the floor, unclasp her bra with one sharp tug. My teeth sink into the swell of her ass, hard enough to sting, just to mark what’s mine, to taste what no one else ever fucking will.
She moans when I lick the stings, and I nudge her forward with a palm to her hip, my voice rough with command.
“It’s time. Go get on my bed, Scarlett.”
She goes, hips rolling like the goddess she is. I catch a glimpse of her slick pussy as she hitches one leg up, then another, and I have to throttle the groan that attacks me.
Like she knows exactly what I want, she goes to the middle of the bed, and sits back on her knees with her legs curled around like she’s about to start yoga, not awaiting a deranged reaming from her feral stepbrother.
My dick never went down after the nut to end all nuts, and it jerks to full mast at the sight of her—finally—in my bed.
Scarlett in my sheets.
Scarlett against the headboard I’ve stared at night after night, imagining her spread across it. Every fantasy I’ve bled out in this room is here, breathing, blushing, trembling in front of me.
Her eyes dart all over me as I stop at the side of the bed to unbutton the cuffs of the shirt I never took off.
The second I toss it away, I climb in behind her on the mattress, spread my legs to bracket hers, and twist her chin to take her mouth.
I kiss her until her lips are swollen and she’s gasping into my mouth. My hand slides down, knuckles brushing her sides, her hips, her thighs, pushing them apart like I have every right. And I do. I fucking do.
I drag the fingers of one hand over her belly, the other clamped on her thigh to ensure she stays open for me. At the first graze of my fingers between her slit, she shudders and cries out. I caress her again and groan.
She’s like warm silk.
“Fuck, Scarlett. You’re so wet. Did sucking me off do this to you?” I demand against her mouth.
Her head bobs even as her mouthhungrily latchesback onto mine. My dick jumps against her ass, a guided missile searching for prime pussy after years of waiting.
But not yet.
