Page 39 of A Wreck, You Make Me

“Yeah, my bite won’t just make you bleed, it may kill you.”

“But I?—”

“But for some reason, you don’t seem to care.”

“No.”

A puff of a breath escapes him as he rubs his jaw over my cheek. “Good. Because I thought I’d go crazy if I didn’t get to touch you again.”

“You can touch me,” I say uselessly, because he is, indeed, touching me. But I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more, but I also know I shouldn’t have said it. For many, many reasons, including the fact that he can be so cruel to me when he wants to be and he basically snuck into my room in the middle of the night. It’s wrong. It’s a felony. But I can’t seem to care about it in the moment when his fingers are still kneading my flesh and oh my God, I think his thumb just grazed the seam of my panties.

“That a promise?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, even though I know I shouldn’t have said this either.

But I’m more concerned with his thumb. With the fact that I felt it again, moving along the fabric. I know it’s crazy because the music is so loud and our breaths are noisy, but I think I hear the rustle of his rough thumb against the silk of my panties. Maybe because that’s my whole world right now.

His touch and that place between my thighs.

“Good. That’s good too,” he says, his voice low. “You’re already earning your bonus.”

“What?”

“The new job I was talking about,” he rumbles, his thumb now inching away from the seam to get to the gusset, where he goes up and down, up and down. “The one that’s going to solve all your money problems.”

“Yeah?”

Up and down, up and down he goes, and I wonder if he can feel it. That my panties are wet, that they’ve been wet forsome time now and under his ministrations, I’m getting wetter. I’m getting drenched. My panties are sticking to me now, to my pussy, to the swollen lips. And it only gets worse when his thumb hits my clit.

My hips stutter, my smooth motions become choppy. A moan rises up in my throat and escapes in a puff of breath.

Still playing with my clit, he says, “This is what it is.”

“This?”

“Yeah. I give you a fuckton of money in exchange for a very specific kind of service.”

“What kind of service?”

“The kind where you let me make you dance on my lap.”

“Your lap?”

“Yeah, the only difference is you’ll be dancing with my dick inside you so I can fuck you to get over my twin brother’s girlfriend,” he rasps and before I can react, his thumb hits my clit again and his fingers tighten around my throat to the point where I can’t breathe and I explode into a million pieces.

Chapter Eight

Unknown Number

What are you wearing?

I’ve been staringat the text message on my phone for the past several minutes. It’s from an unknown number, but I know who it is. I figured it out the second I saw those words. Only one man in the world would send me this text.

My stepbrother.

The man who snuck into my room while I was sleeping, stole my bills—I finally thought to look at the letters on my desk and found them missing—so he could use them to proposition me.

How the hell did I get here? How did this happen?