Page 66 of Jealous Stepbrother
Her eyes squeeze shut, tears gathering, her lips trembling on the edge of surrender. “My…my big, powerful, sexy brother.”
Those wordsdetonate something in me. My hips piston faster, harder, and her whole body locks around me.
She screams my name, breaking apart, and I follow, slamming deep, pulsing, spilling every ounce of obsession and hunger inside her.
“Fuck! Scarlett,fuck!”
CHAPTER 18
BROTHER, OH BROTHER
Scarlett
When the storm finally breaks, when his body stills over mine, I expect guilt to come crashing in like it always does.
But it doesn’t. Not right away.
His hands gentling and his mouth brushing soft kisses over my face, my throat, my hair keeps every terrible thing in the world at bay.
He eases me down onto the old couch in the corner of the boathouse, stalks out, and returns a minute later with a blanket that he tucks around me after he places me in his lap.
I rest my head on his shoulder and his hand lingers on my hips, tracing slow circles that have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with keeping me grounded.
“You okay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing my cheekbone.
I nod, but my throat is raw. My body’s still humming, my soul torn in two.
“Why does that turn me on?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t need me to explain. I see it in his dark and merciless eyes. His obsession.
It’s the reason he pushes me to call him brother instead of stepbrother.
He shrugs. “It’s like women who call their loversdaddy. It kicks up something primal inside me. Something the world insists is forbidden.”
Yeah, and Asher planted that seed in me four years ago. A seed of taboo that sprouted against my will, and with every demand to call him brother, it grows stronger roots. Branches. Twining into the deepest part of me. Wrapping around the core of my most forbidden desires.
And heaven help me, my pussy turns into a faucet every time I utter the word.
He smiles like sin itself because of course he knows how it makes me feel. “I see you, darling Scarlett. You want to hate yourself but you can’t, can you?”
“Shut up,” I whisper.
He laughs, thick and low, so sexy I stop breathing.
I tuck myself into him despite every rational bone in my body screaming to run. His arm drapes around me, his lips brushing my temple.
For a few stolen minutes, we’re nothing but warmth and breath and the illusion of belonging.
But outside this boathouse, the storm waits.
As do our parents.
As does the truth we can’t hide forever.
And sooner or later, the house in Montauk will stop sighing and start spilling our secrets.
“We have to go,” he murmurs.
