Page 69 of Jealous Stepbrother
The question is a problem I’ve never had to solve before. I don’t do happy for anyone. But for her, I’d try. God help me, I’d try.
The city lights flicker in through the tinted glass as we pull into the underground garage. She stirs when I lift her, arms instinctively looping around my neck.
“Shh,” I murmur against her hair. She’s warm, pliant, smelling like salt and her faint floral shampoo. “We’re home.”
Upstairs, I don’t bother with the guest suite. I had her things moved into my room when we were away. My bed’s where she belongs from now on.
I set her down, and she blinks up at me—sleep-drowsy, but there’s something else there too. Resignation. And apprehension.
“You’re really never letting me go, are you, Asher?”
I stand over her, brushing her hair from her face. Clench my belly and tell myself there’s hope in that question, not fear. “No, princess. I’m not.”
She turns away from me, hugging my pillow like it might protect her. Her breathing evens out after a while, her body softening into the mattress.
I take the chair beside the bed.
I should leave. I don’t.
Because watching her sleep should be harmless. It’s not.
Every minute that passes makes the need sharpen. It’s new, this visceral fucking feeling. I want her safe, want her happy, and so deep in my world that no one could pry her out without losing fingers.
And somewhere in that stillness, a new kind of fear takes root. Not the fear of losing my company or my reputation. Something worse.
I’m in love with my stepsister.
Fact.
And this weekend has only proven that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her—cut throats in the shadows, twist the truth until it fits, reshape the life we’ve been handed into one that servesus.
But alongside that vow is the razor-edge truth I can’t ignore.
It might not be up to me.
She could walk.
She could choose a path less fraught with forbidden bullshit drama.
So the real question is… how far am I prepared to go to make sure she never does?
CHAPTER 19
STEP, STEP, JUMP
Asher
Istart small.
I keep her buried in work, which isn’t hard since we need to step up a gear in readying the collection. There are enough deadline-heavy work stacked on her desk that she can’t slip away for long lunches with Annette or let Victor pick apart her resolve.
For the next two weeks I track her every movement—what she eats, who she talks to, when she sleeps. I keep her dizzy with orgasms every chance I get until she can’t swallow without tasting my cum.
For every spare minute, I make sure she remembers how she shakes when she calls mebrother.
And she keeps up, as best she can.
But inevitably, some things fall through the cracks.
