Page 9 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

THIS DERANGED JEALOUSY THING

Asher

I don’t stop until I’ve licked every drop of her pleasure from her pussy. I wasn’t exaggerating just now.

One hit of cream from my stepsister’s pussy is better than ten lines of coke combined with three pumps of morphine.

Despite my head swimming and my cock harder than tungsten, I stay there between her legs a second longer, breathing her in, memorizing the heat and taste and scent of her while her body still quivers.

She thinks she can fight me. Pretend this isn’t what she wants. But I’ve just proven the truth. She’s mine when she’s like this. Mine when she fights. Mine when she’s awake or asleep.

The deranged jealousy thing? Yeah, it’s driving me even more insane than I imagined it would. But I’m beginning to accept it as par for the course of this thing between us.

And as long as I get this—her, falling apart in my arms, her beautiful lips parted with that g-out look on her face?

I’ll learn to live with the green-eyed monster intent on inviting himself to my psyche more than I’d like.

Her thighs still tremble when I stand, caging her in with my body. She’s flushed and wrecked, skirt bunched around her waist, eyes still shut.

I cup her jaw. “Look at me, baby.”

She opens her beautifully glazed eyes, which attempt to evade mine a second later.

“You get it now, Scarlett? You think I’m letting you go after this?”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

“Another thing. Next time we do this, you keep these beautiful eyes open, you hear me? No hiding what you’re feeling, now or ever, hmm?”

She swallows but says nothing.

“Good,” I murmur. “Because I’ve waited four years to get you under my roof, under my rules… and under me. And now that you’re here—” I brush my mouth over hers, a filthy, claiming kiss that still tastes like her— “you don’t leave. Not ever.”

I step back and swing her into my arms, traveling through the penthouse while kissing my sister.

She’s moaning by the time I step inside her room.

Is shaking by the time I set her on her feet and step back. “Goodnight, sis.”

And yes, I grin at her bewildered expression. Then grimace at myself for the pure torture I’m putting myself through.

But more than wanting to fuck Scarlett until neither of us could talk or think, I want her completely under my mercy.

All gas, no brakes.

As to how long I could hold out… well, that was the fucking gold-plated question, wasn’t it?

Scarlett

Morning arrives with razor sharp clarity.

I would blame the giddy summer sunshine if the floor-to-ceiling drapes weren’t obscuring the light, leaving the room in semi-darkness.

No, my agitated state stems entirely from every nerve in my body remembering exactly what happened last night.

I blink awake in my bed in the guest wing of his glass-and-chrome kingdom, hair mussed, panties missing, thighs still trembling from the way his mouth and his dirty talk and the absolute immorality of it all destroyed me against the wall.

I’m furious.

Furious that I let him touch me. Furious that I wanted it. Furious that… God help me… the part of me that’s supposed to feel shame is purring like a cat in the sun.

I bury my face in the pillow with a groan, trying to shove it down, but my body betrays me. The ache low in my belly pulses with every remembered lick, every groaned curse against my skin.

My hips shift restlessly under the sheets. A moan slips out before I can choke it back, exactly like the one I made yesterday morning.

And just like yesterday morning, the sound summons the devil.

The click of the balcony door.

The solid, measured steps across my room.

The shadow falling over me before I even roll onto my back.

I don’t need to open my eyes or turn over to know Asher’s here.

But the compulsion I can’t fight flips me over.

He’s not wearing a suit. Just a pair of black sweats riding low on his hips, every inch of his upper body bare and golden in the morning light.

His hair is still damp, like he’s just stepped out of the shower.

And his eyes… God, those eyes are already fixed on me like he’s been replaying everything too.

“Morning, baby sis,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “Thought about you all night.”

I sit up fast, tugging the sheet with me. “Get out.”

“No, princess.” He steps closer, slow, deliberate, until the mattress dips under the weight of one knee propped far too close to my hip. “I came in here because we’re going to settle something.”

“No. I’m not?—”

“Shut up.”

The two words cut through me like a blade. My mouth snaps shut.

He plants his knee firmer on the bed, leans over me, and I realize with a shock that his waistband is pulled down, that his hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and firm. He’s already thick, hard, flushed. And he’s not even pretending to hide it.

Stroke. “I don’t want to start the day pissed off again. And you don’t want that either, do you, baby?”

There’s a trick in there somewhere but since I can’t see it… yet… I have no choice but to shake my head, my gaze pinging with sickening compulsion between his face and his fat dick.

“Good. Then we’re going to talk about that night,” he breathes. Stroke . “The one in my room. Four years ago.”

My stomach flips. “No.”

Stroke. Stroke. “Yes.” His hand tightens around himself.

“Why… why are you doing this?”

His jaw ripples in the secretive gloom. “Because it occurs to me that your denial is what’s keeping me angry.

You walk around with those wide eyes, protesting every time I call you mine.

And yet those same eyes have followed me for years, checking me out, licking these lips you’re dying to kiss me with, jiggling that fat ass like you want to bounce it on my cock.

You’re a fucking cock-teasing slut, and you’re fucking lucky I’m into you as much as I am or you would spend every second of every day with a raw, spanked-to-hell ass. ”

A garbled sound escapes me before I can throttle it.

“Ah, I see even that turns you on, doesn’t it, horny girl?”

“No.” My protest is shockingly feeble and I see his teeth gleam in the dark. As if he knows the inferno raging inside me, shooting fiery arrows straight to my pussy.

In the last four years, I’ve slept with exactly three boys, college boys who bored me to tears and had zero chemistry. After my last one over a year ago, I got my first inkling of what the problem could be.

My stepbrother.

The man who utterly ruined me that night and forevermore.

“Yes,” he snarls now. “You’re going to tell me every detail. What you wore. What you were thinking. How you touched me. And exactly what it felt like when your brother took your ripe little cherry.”

Heat slams through me like a punch.

I shake my head, but the memory rises up anyway, like a film reel flickering to life in my mind. The late hour. The sound of summer rain on the roof. My bare feet crossing his carpet. His shadowed face and his tortured, fevered eyes when he looked.

“Asher—”

“Start talking, Scarlett. Now.”

And I do.

“I… I told you how I couldn’t sleep that night. I think I was a little upset because it was your birthday too but it looked like you didn’t want to be there. To be with your family.” I shrug, and I see his eyes drop down to my chest.

To the tits bared for his view by one very flimsy sleep tank showing my very erect nipples.

His eyes stay right there as he strokes, strokes, strokes, his breathing turning a little rougher.

Then he slows down, his eyes returning to mine with a silent command to keep talking.

I clear my throat, shifting my hips when the ache grows unbearable. “I didn’t tell you, but… I heard you and your dad fighting.”

His nostrils flare at the reminder and I hurry to skip past that.

There was a time when I thought Asher resented his father for marrying again but I’ve seen him with my mom, know he bears no ill will toward her or their marriage.

But even after the revelation that he did resent his father for the crime of meeting my mother and me first, I still think a part of him resents me .

And I’m not even fully sure why.

No, scratch that.

I think, maybe this savage attraction to me… is against his will and better judgment.

And that idea… it doesn’t horrify me as it should.

Which in itself is terrifying.

“I felt bad and I… I convinced myself I just wanted to apologize. I begged you to come home. And it was clear you were miserable.”

A half-snort ejects from his throat and I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow, all while his fist continues to pump his cock.

The cock now dripping with pre-cum.

I watch, fascinated, as a drop hangs off the bottom curve of his crown, then slowly… drips onto the comforter.

“Stop staring at your brother’s cock and keep talking, naughty girl,” he croons roughly.

A shudder ripples through me. I open my mouth to continue but he swings his other knee onto the bed. Then in the next breath, he’s straddling my thighs. My breath strangles tighter as his large, muscled body looms over me, his thick shaft one foot away.

Oh God.

Words jumble in my brain and I have to fight to put them in some sort of order. “I came to your room?—”

“Uninvited.”

Flames lick into my face and I swallow. “Uninvited.” I pause as another drop lands on the bottom of my tank. He catches the next one, smears it all over his purple head, and sweet heaven, I want to taste it so bad. I whimper.

He smiles. Wicked. Cruel. Smug.

I decide to race through to the finish. Be done with this before I do something unconscionable. Like claw his eyes out.

Or maybe take over… wrap my hands around his, help him to?—

No.

“I was wearing my nightie?—”

“Color,” he snaps.

Is it humiliating that I remember every detail? Maybe. “Pink,” I snap back.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Baby pink satin with white flowers,” I expand, trembling under his stare.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, twist.

He groans. And heaven help me, I’m fascinated by what that twist at the end does to him. And I know I’m filing that tip away for… for never.