Page 72 of Jealous Stepbrother
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the company doctor to write you a new prescription on Monday.” He pushes off the doorframe, prowls toward me like a big cat scenting blood.
Takes my face in his palm, lowers his head.
The kiss is filthy and hungry, stealing the protest from my tongue, until I’m gasping when he scoops me up like I weigh nothing and carries me into the bedroom.
I shake my head against his throat, desperate for air, desperate for clarity. “No need. I’ve made an appointment to get a medium-term shot. No more pills.”
He stills. Just enough that I feel the shift, the tension vibrating in his muscles. His mouth skims the shell of my ear, but his voice is different now, lighter, offhanded, like he’s trying too hard to make it nothing. “Oh yeah? Where and when, Scarlett?”
“Next Saturday afternoon. Midtown clinic.”
His eyes narrow, and I catch something dark flicker there. Something almost… calculating. I dismiss it because he’s kissing me. And well, I’m being paranoid, right?
Apparently not.
I’m halfway through brushing my hair the next Friday morning when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from the clinic:We’ve canceled your appointment as requested. Please call to reschedule.
Cold washes through me.
I whirl on him where he’s sprawled across the bed, naked, phone in hand, as though nothing in the world could rattle him.
“You canceled my shot appointment?” It couldn’t be anyone else because he’s the only person who knew.
“Yes.” His tone is maddeningly calm.
“What the hell, Asher?”
He sets his phone down with precise movements, then rises slowly, unbothered. He prowls over and plucks the hairbrush from my hand and sets it down.
Then he winds my hair into a rope around his wrist.
“Because it’s not fucking safe. I read the studies, Scarlett. Increased risk of clotting, mood instability, and a mile-long laundry list of side effects, including severe dizziness. How the hell it was even allowed on the market is beyond me. You don’t need that shit pumped into your body.”
I laugh, sharp and shaky, because it’s either that or scream. “You read some articles and decided for me? Do you even hear yourself?”
“I hear just fine.” One hand slides beneath my tank and up to cup my breasts. My breath wheezes out of me when he fondles me, kneading and plucking at my nipple until I’m gasping and clinging to the sink.
Then he hauls me up and stalks into the bedroom.
I’m bent over the side of the bed before I can claw out another word.
His hand pins mine to the mattress, his cock thick and unrelenting as he rips my panties down. “But I’ll always take care of you, Scarlett. Always. You don’t need to worry. You don’t need todecide. That’s my job.”
“Asher—” My protest shatters into a cry as he kicks my legs apart and thrusts into me hard, every stroke a brand, every groan a claim.
“You’re mine,” he rasps against my neck, rutting into me, forcing me to feel him, to forget everything but the way he owns me. “We’ll do the research together, baby. We’ll figure out what’s best for you. I promise. But you don’t run off making plans without me. You hear me? That’s not how this works.”
“God… you… you…”
“I know, baby. You want to slap me and claw my face. But let’s settle for me pumping this tight, beautiful pussy until you lose your mind, hmm? Will you let your big brother do that for you?”
And even though I shriek a helplessyes, and scream through the orgasm that crashes over me one shameful minute later, leaving me weak and aching, the next seed of worry is sown.
Because I’m starting to wonder what “together” really means when Asher’s the only one calling the shots.
And the worst part? Some sick, shameful part of me wants him to.
The next morning, the storm seems far away again.
