Page 16 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

MONTAUK THIRST TRAP

Scarlett

T he house hasn’t changed much in four years.

White clapboard, wraparound porch, and carefully curated hydrangeas so lush they look fake. The air smells like sea salt and money. Victor Masterson’s old-money brand of both.

But the atmosphere inside?

I know that’s going to be new.

Mom hurries out the moment Asher pulls up to the front doors and shuts off the ignition to his Aston Martin DB11. I barely step out before she’s hugging me, clinging like she thinks I might vanish.

I hug herback because I’ve missed her.

I haven’t seen her for over a month and, well, I’ve missed our closeness.

What I don’t miss is her eyes flicking between me and Asher like she’s playing a tense game of spot-the-difference.

Victor trails slower behind his wife but his gaze is equally sharp and assessing, even though his hug is warm and his smile genuine.

Until he turns to Asher.

The father-and-son handshake is firm but heavy with an ominous we’ll talk later message.

“Great timing,” Mom says, tugging me inside. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

We head inside, my arm tucked into my mother’s and the men striding behind us.

Dinner’s already on the table, wine being poured.

Polite, sharp-edged pleasantries are exchanged. I keep my head down, knowing my mother is dying to interrogate me about the past few weeks.

And halfway through the meal, she pounces. “So, you weren’t going to tell us about the internship with Asher?”

Asher tenses beside me for a moment before he relaxes, but I know he’s fully tuned in.

The fork in my hand clinks against the plate. “I didn’t think I’d get it,” I blurt before I can stop myself. And then I force a shrug. “Besides, I didn’t even know he was House of M until I arrived on my first day.”

Her brows knit. “And when did you start doubting yourself like that?”

Before I can answer, Victor cuts in, eyes sliding toward his son. “I’m surprised you even got in, considering the applicant pool. Unless, of course, nepotism had something to do with it.”

I frown at the not-so-hidden insult, but Asher doesn’t even flinch.

“You didn’t mind nepotism when you wanted me to come work for you despite my interest lying elsewhere besides business ,” he says smoothly, then adds, “But if it helps, Scarlett has raw and hidden talents I think we all underestimated.”

My cheeks flush hot.

Victor leans back in his chair, eyes eerily similar to his son’s flicking between us. “And you’re the one to bring it out?”

Asher smirks at me— right at me —and says, “Absolutely.”

The table goes quiet for a beat, but it’s not awkward. It’s… loaded.

My mother clears her throat and changes the subject. I can’t swallow the bite of fish in my mouth because I’m too busy feeling like I’ve just been claimed in front of the entire family.

And it takes every crumb of composure I can muster to stop from jumping a mile high when Asher’s hand clamps on my thigh, then trails up to cup my pussy.

Oh God oh God oh God.

The rest of dinner is long, slow, and unbearable. Polite clink of silverware fades into murmured conversation.

It feelslikethe whole table’s one big performance.

Laughing where appropriate, keeping the conversation polite, but under it, I can feel Asher’s stare on me like a second sun.

When dessert’s done and wineglasses clink, I summon a smile at my mom. “It’s been a long day. Do you mind if I head to bed early?”

Her smile is warm, if a little forced. And I see the glance she slides to Asher. “Of course not, sweetheart. I’m just glad you made it after all. Both of you.”

I smile again and rush to my feet after a quick goodnight to Victor.

I’m halfway up the stairs, heading to my old room when I hear the sound of chairs scraping back from the table.

Three seconds later, I feel him behind me.

I quicken my steps but I know I won’t make it. Asher catches me on the stairs, his hand closing around my wrist in the shadows between the sconces.

“Asher—”

“Keep walking,” he murmurs, low enough that the rest of the family doesn’t hear. “Or everyone here will know exactly what’s running through your head right now.”

My foot catches on the next step. His hand finds the small of my back, steadying me. I gasp low and urgent as his heat sears right through my dress.

At the landing, I turn, intending to take the right hallway toward my room, but his eyes linger on me like a challenge.

“Going somewhere, princess?” His voice is low. Dangerous.

“Yes, like I said, I’m tired,” I lie.

“You’ll sleep when I say you can.” His thumb brushes over my pulse. “You have any idea how hard it is to sit there and pretend I’m not thinking about this beautiful mouth, how wet you are under the table?”

I glance down toward the hallway where the hum of conversation still drifts from the dining room. “Stop, we’re not doing this h?—”

But he’s already backing me up the last three steps and into the shadowed corridor that leads to his room. The murmur of our family fades, swallowed by the tempest of need, until there’s nothing but his breath and mine.

“Asher—” My protest dies when his mouth crushes mine.

It’s less of a kiss and more of a branding, a reinforcement of that power play with his father at the dinner table and everything that’s come before today.

His tongue tangles with mine, rough and demanding, while his hand clamps possessively at my hip, pinning me to the wall.

He takes without apology, sucking at my lower lip like he wants me bruised with his claim, reminding me with every hard press that I belong to him and only him. That everyone’s access, even my own mother’s, is only by his permission.

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, talented mouth.

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 on me 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.

I hesitate, lips parting, a half-protest caught in my throat.

“Or I can put you there myself,” he adds, tilting his head, smiling slow.

I move, my heart hammering.

He prowls after me in silence, lifts and tosses me on his bed.

The moment I stop bouncing, he’s on me, ripping the flimsy barrier of my nightdress away and flinging it away.

Then he strips out of his sweats, his cock, veined and jutting, thick and aching for me.

Crawling up the bed, he brackets my hips with his knees, hands sliding under my thighs, lifting, spreading.

And then, without preamble or hesitation, he flips us over so I’m straddling him. “Ride me,” he rasps, voice shredded with hunger and command and his hands feral-tight at my waist.

My breath catches. “What?—”

“You heard me.” He strokes himself slow, teasing, eyes locked on mine. “Get on and fuck yourself on me. Unless you’d rather I keep doing all the work… Actually no, I think you’d like that too much.”

I move before I can think better of it, straddling him, the heat of his cock nudging against my entrance. His hands grip my hips, wickedly tight and unapologetically possessive.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Take me. All of me.”

My throat goes dry and my thighs quake.

And yet, I move.

My nails dig into his shoulders as I lower onto his waiting, engorged cock, as he fills me, slow and deep and oh God, so tight and full and straddling the edge of pain, I can’t think for a second.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

The air between usis charged and filthy and perfect.

When I sink down, I bite back a screech as the first searing stretch steals the breath from my lungs.

His head tips back, a growl breaking free from his chest, but his furious, reverent gaze stays locked on me.

“Look at you, riding your big brother’s cock,” he growls.

“Took you four years to come back for more, princess. But now you’re addicted, aren’t you?

A pretty little cum slut eager to be filled? ”

I gasp, trembling and already delirious.

He drives up into me, relentless. “Answer me, Scarlett. Say it.”

“Yes—oh, God, yes?—”

His hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me down until our mouths crash together.

“This isn’t just sex,” he rasps against my lips. “This is me staking every damn claim I’ve ever wanted to make. And I’m never letting it go, you hear me?”

He’s so deep I can’t breathe. Every push of his hips drives heat through my belly and sparks along my spine, until I’m clinging to him just to stay upright.

“Ride me harder, Scarlett,” he orders, voice gone rough. “Not like you’re scared. Like you’ve been dying for this since the second you ran out four years ago.”

I want to deny it. Tell him he’s wrong. But my body betrays me, rolling my hips, chasing every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he groans thickly. “Look at you… your perfect tits bouncing, taking me like you were made for it. Like you know who you belong to.”

“I don’t?—”

His hand snaps to my jaw, holding me still. “You do. You always have. Now I can make you scream it so our parents come see who’s owning this pussy. Do you want that, or do you want to keep riding?”

I ride him. Harder. Faster.

Until the house itself could crumble around us and I wouldn’t care. It’s brutal and perfect and wrong in every way that makes me want more.

The world drops away until it’s just his voice in my ear, dark, relentless, telling me how good I feel, how I’ll never get anyone else inside me again.

When I break, it’s violent. Pleasure rips through me, my cry muffled against his shoulder. He doesn’t stop.

He plows me relentlessly, holding me down, groaning like he’s losing his mind.

And through it all, beneath the sweat and the moans and the ragged, filthy words he pours into my ear, one thought terrifies me more than anything else.

I think I might be catching serious, addiction-level feelings for my stepbrother.