Page 49 of Jealous Stepbrother
His body cages mine, heat and hunger coiled tight as if he might devour me right there, damn the risk of being caught.
When he finally drags his mouth from mine, I’m trembling, my lips swollen and my breathingstutteringin my throat.
“Sleep tight, princess…” His smirk is lethal, his voice a low, taunting scrape. “…if you can.”
I stumble away and then flee to my room, barely suppressing the urge to slam the door. I tell myself I’ll be fine, that I can breathe him out of my system like smoke, that this ache is just a trick of proximity and not the real thing.
But my pulse is still ricocheting in my chest, my skin humming where his breath dragged across it.
I tear off clothes that feel cloying and restricting and I fall into bed wearing just my bra and panties. Memories of the last hour flash through my brain as I toss and turn.
Dinner. Victor’s eyes. My mother’s nervous laughter.
Asher’s insolent smirk as he told his father‘Absolutely’.
Letting my stepbrother put his hand on my pussy under the dinner table.
God, what is wrong with me?
My room is suffocating even with the air con on full blast.
I stare up, but the ceiling feels like it’s collapsing, pressing every nerve flat against the mattress. Every second that ticks by reminds me of his voice and his hands and his wicked,talentedmouth.
I roll over, groaning, burying my face in the pillow that smells faintly of detergent and not nearly enough of him.
I last three minutes past midnight.
The hallway is hushed when I crack the door, the air pushing through the slightly open windows carrying the scent of salt and pine.
My bare feet whisper over the polished floors as I move toward the one place I swore I wouldn’t go.
His door is half-closed. The light beneath it makes my stomach twist.
I push.
He’s there. Waiting. Sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders broad beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt, hands steepled on his knees as though he’d known no,counted onme breaking.
“Couldn’t sleep, princess?” His voice instantly wraps around my spine.
I grip the door, as if it would stop the foolishness unfolding.
The distance vanishes in three strides.
His hand curls around the back of my neck, in a rough, delicious grip. He tips my face up until I’m forced to drown in those storm-dark eyes.
There’s a feral strain of fever in the eyes that devour me, a muted violence in the motion that rips the door from my hand, shuts and locks it with ominous intent.
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper against his mouth. My throat isparched.
“No,” he agrees, voice dark and smug. “But you are. And now you’re not leaving.”
Then my stepbrother enfolds me in his arms, slamming me flush against the hot pillar of his aroused body. His hands are everywhere, dragging up my nightdress to cup my ass, pulling me against the steely length of him.
His thumbs hook under the sides of my panties, sliding them down my legs, his gaze locked on mine the whole time.
“On the bed,” he orders.
