Page 24 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

STEP, STEP, JUMP

Asher

I start 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 me brother .

And she keeps up, as best she can.

But inevitably, some things fall through the cracks.

When she skips lunch, I spank her ass red, then ensure she’s well fed for dinner.

But when my baby sister starts forgetting to take her birth control pills…I…shrug philosophically. Because, well, things get misplaced sometimes, don’t they?

Tablets disappear into secret holes and crevices, never to be seen again.

Mistakes happen.

And if that mistake plants a fertile seed of something deeper between us—something no one can untangle—well, who am I to stand in fate’s way?

It’s one secretly contemplated answer to what I’ve wanted all along.

A way for her to be just that little bit more mine.

A helping hand in every way that counts.

Tonight, we’re working late. Again.

I watch her, pencil smudges on her fingertips as she sketches in the quiet, lower lip caught between her teeth in that way that drives me insane.

The lamplight gilds her hair and turns her skin to something soft and glowing. My eyes drift down, and I picture her differently.

Rounder, fuller, belly swollen with the seed I planted in my stepsister’s body.

My heir. Our child .

The thought detonates in my chest, scorching and sweet and so fucking urgent, I don’t know how I breathe through it without falling to my knees and begging the Creator to make sure it happens now .

In my head, I whisper names. Ones I’ll never admit aloud, not yet.

Names that sound like us. That tie her tighter to me.

She looks up suddenly, catches me staring.

And she smiles.

Soft and unburdened. Fuck, I’m bold enough to call it a happy smile.

It melts my insides until I feel like I’m splitting apart. Wish I could bottle this moment. Keep it tucked safe.

Replay it and all the others I intend to come after it, every day until I die.

I should’ve got off my fucking ass and sketched it.

If I only knew what was coming.

Scarlett

Bliss.

The perfect word to describe the past two weeks.

Genuine, unfiltered bliss .

I wake in Asher’s bed, go to work in his world, and fall asleep wrapped in him every night. For the first time in years, my day isn’t sprinkled with anxiety or thoughts about whether I’m doing the right thing.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Being part of House of M has lit me up in ways I never expected. My sketches come alive under his guidance. My confidence has grown.

And it’s not just work.

Asher makes time for me.

Quiet dinners when I don’t feel like eating out, long, aimless walks through the city at midnight, his coat draped over my shoulders even when I insist I’m not cold.

He keeps a stash of my favorite teas in his office and somehow always remembers which one I want without me asking. He sits through movies I know bore him just because I picked them, his hand stroking lazy circles on my thigh the entire time.

He notices when I’m tired, when I’m anxious, when I need to be pushed or when I just need to be held, and he adjusts like he’s been reading my soul for years.

And I… I begin to think the feelings I’m too afraid to admit aren’t so farfetched or overwhelming or at risk of being rejected after all.

In a world where my connection with this man could be questioned, I’m feeling chosen enough, cherished enough to believe I can withstand whatever comes.

Like I could potentially be not just a part of Asher Masterson’s life but the axis it spins on. And the thought of that is… heady. Blissful.

Powerful enough to rob me of breath, especially when the man in question walks past me on the way to the shower, smiles that devastating smile and steals a kiss.

It’s Friday. We’re enjoying post-breakfast coffee when I hear a faint buzz in my pocket.

I grimace. Because it’s the sound of the fly hovering over the ointment, and the buzzing is becoming relentless.

As much as I want to blame Asher for giving them permission to stay in touch with me when he caused that ruckus at The Tides Club two weeks ago, I didn’t foresee Sadie and Anna-Lynn’s enthusiasm with texting.

It started out lighthearted.

But in the last few days, it’s taken a… probing vibe.

I wait till Asher steps into the dressing room to glance at the message.

Sadie: So… you still haven’t answered.

What was UP with that scene at The Tides Club?

People are still whispering, Scarlett.

Anna-Lynn: You would tell us if Asher’s… like… controlling?

Because, with what happened at the park, it’s all like… toxic?

I roll my eyes. Deny it, of course. Send back a string of laughing emojis. Insist they’re overreacting. But when I put my phone down, a tiny splinter wedges under my skin.

Because sometimes, when his hand closes around mine a little too tight, when he orders for me before I’ve spoken, when I realize I’ve barely seen my mother in weeks, a little voice whispers if they’re not right.

I’m halfway through my internship.

Shouldn’t I be thinking about what comes next? School, career, plans that don’t entirely revolve around the man who’s become both my obsession and my cage?

I shake my head to dismiss the thoughts, then slide open the vanity drawer. Rummage, even though I know it’s futile.

I’ve searched this drawer five times already.

My pulse flickers when I feel his stare. The weight of it always pins me in place. And I glance over because, God, I can’t not look at him when he’s close.

He’s leaning in the doorway, sleeves shoved up, arms crossed, watching me with brooding eyes that can turn feral on a dime.

My sex betrays me instantly, pulsing, plumping, dampening even though he’s fucked me twice already this morning.

“Looking for something?” His voice is all silk and steel.

“I still can’t find my birth control pills.” I shove the drawer closed harder than I mean to. “I thought I’d misplaced them, or left them behind in Montauk, but the emergency ones I refilled last week? I could’ve sworn I left them right here.”

“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 to decide . 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 helpless yes , 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.

It’s Saturday.

He feeds me strawberries dipped in chocolate, makes me coffee exactly the way I like it. He pampers me until I’m lulled, safe, loved.

Then he drops the news.

“Need to fly to San Francisco, baby. Been putting it off. We’ll head out this afternoon and fly back on Monday.”

“What? No, I can’t come. I have dinner with Mom tonight.”

Storm clouds darken his face. “Scarlett?—”

“No, you can’t just drop news like that on me,” I protest, shaking my head, staunchly clinging to the one sliver of control I have left. “I’ve put my mother off long enough. I’m not pushing it back again.”

His expression turns even more thunderous. “I don’t like this, Scarlett. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You won’t be leaving me alone.” I fold my arms, stubborn. “It’s my mom. She’s not a threat. Not everything is about control. You’re going and I’m staying right here. Just two nights. On my own.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “You’re mine. Nothing about you is ‘on your own.’”

“Asher.” I soften my tone, brushing my fingers over his forearm. “Please. Just… let me have this.”

For a long moment, I think he’ll snap.

Push, shove, bend me over and fuck me when his possessiveness rides him. But finally—finally—he exhales. His shoulders ease a fraction. “Fine,” he bites out. “Do what you want.”

Relief trickles through me, shaky but real.

I kiss him quick, before he can change his mind, and watch him walk out the door, his stylish weekender in hand.

I’m in the shower when I hear the lock click again.

My heart jumps into my throat one second before a shadow looms through the door.

Asher strides back into the bathroom, drops his bag, and cages me against the wall with a ferocity that steals my breath.

“Asher! What?—”

“I’ve changed to a later flight. I didn’t account for you saying no to me, baby.

Now I need more than a goodbye kiss to get me through the weekend.

” His mouth crushes mine, kisses me hungry and desperate, as though he’s been gone for years instead of minutes.

His arms band around me, crushing me to his chest.

“Oh God, Asher, you’re getting drenched?—”

“Don’t care. Please, Scarlett. Turn around and give me that pussy. I need it.” His voice is ragged now, almost pleading.

“Yes,” I breathe. Then I brace my hands on the wall and offer my stepbrother my ass.

He fucks me fully dressed, like a wild animal, spewing dirty words and rough accusations of how insane I drive him. How he can’t live without me even for two days.

And when he makes me come, twice, his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging my head back so I have no choice but to look into his wild eyes. “I have a bad feeling. Don’t make me leave you here. Come with me.”

I laugh, brush it off. “You’ll be back before I even miss you.”

Eventually he leaves.

I potter around, tell myself I’m not missing him as much as I feared I would. Count the hours until I can get my mind taken off the sheer depths of my feeling for Asher Masterson.

One hour before dinner, before I sit to curl my hair, I head to Asher’s studio to charge my phone. I grimace when I realize he’s taken the charger we both use in this room.

Opening the drawer in his desk where I know he keeps the spare charger, I rummage through, then freeze when I hear a familiar crackle.

And even before I lift the leather portfolio, my heart is leaping around in my chest like a jumping bean.

Please please please ? —

I gasp when I see them.

My birth control pills.

Not lost. Or misplaced.

Hidden .

My hands shake so badly I almost drop the bottle.

The realization shatters something deep inside me because now I know.

He didn’t just want me dependent on him. He wanted me tied. Bound in a way I can never untangle.

And if that thought rips through me like glass, it’s because part of me is horrified…

And part of me is already his.