Page 44 of The Bad Brother

I ’VE BEEN SITTING IN THE DARK FOR A few hours now.

Steadily drinking myself toward drunk while driving myself crazy because I can’t stop thinking about her.

Can’t stop wondering where she is. What she’s doing because Sloane left for her lunch date with her mother over twelve hours ago and she still isn’t home.

Per usual when it comes to Sloane, my fucked-up imagination is running wild.

By the time the bottle is half empty, I’ve managed to convince myself that she ran into Ethan at the club while she was eating some fancy salad with her mother. In my head, Ethan is contrite. Sincere. He apologizes for what he did. How he treated her. Tells her he loves her. Wants her back.

And in my fucked-up head, she falls for it.

I imagine that she’s with him right now.

That she forgot all about me and the weeks she spent letting me touch her.

Every time I’ve fucked her.

Made her come for me.

That she’s relieved and happy, now that she can go back to her old life. Leave me behind like a bad dream she’s finally waking up from.

Like I don’t matter.

Never mattered.

By the time I hear her key hit the lock, it’s nearly 1AM and it takes every shred of self-control I can muster to keep from launching myself over the back of the couch so I can tackle her to the ground. Fuck her until she remembers who she really belongs to.

Ethan.

She belongs to Ethan.

No she doesn’t.

Not anymore.

That psychotic little cocksucker has taken everything from me.

Everything.

I’m keeping this.

I’m keeping her .

And I’ll put him in the fucking ground if he even thinks about trying to take her away from me.

“Don’t turn on the light.”

The startled gasp that follows my command tells me she didn’t see me. Didn’t even know I was here until I said something. I don’t know why but knowing that pisses me off even more.

“Jensen? ”

“Yeah…” The question wrapped around my name makes me laugh because who else would it fucking be? “Jensen.”

“What are you doing?” She doesn’t sound startled anymore. She sounds confused. “I looked for you downstairs but Cade said that?—”

I told Cade that I’d had enough fun for the night and I was going to bed. Handed him my bullwhip and top hat and left him in charge of the circus. Obviously that was a lie.

“Where have you been?”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation.

“I went to work after lunch,” she tells me quietly.

No she didn’t.

I called the hospital. Whoever they transferred me to told me she had the day off.

Instead of calling her a liar, I take another drink.

“Did you see him?”

“Did I see who?” The confusion is back, this time edged with temper because it’s another accusation and she’s quickly losing her patience.

Ethan.

My brother.

“Your fiancé.”

I take another drink to wash away the bitterness the words leave behind.

“He’s not my fiancé,” she reminds me carefully. “Not anymore.”

“ Did you see him?”

It takes her a few seconds to answer me. So long I’m sure she’s going to lie .

“Yes.” She says it quietly. Temper bled dry because she finally understands what this is. This is me, falling apart because I think I’m not good enough for her and she feels sorry for me because she knows it’s true. “He was there… I take it you’re still jealous.”

Her careful tone makes me want to put my head through a goddamned wall because I’m not jealous.

What I am is something else entirely.

“Did you talk to him?”

What did he say?

Did he tell you about his lowlife, convict older brother who’s so worthless that he can’t keep a woman, even when he’s shoveling money at her and groveling at her feet ? That she’d much rather suck his dick on camera, just for shits and giggles, than be my wife.

“No.” Her tone is firm. Decisive. “I didn’t even know he was there until I got up to leave.”

I don’t know if I believe her.

All I know is that I want to.

“Come here.”

I don’t want to play twenty questions in the dark anymore.

I want to see her.

Here.

Now.

Not in my fucked-up head where she’s on her knees in front of my brother.

I want to see her with my own two eyes.

On her knees in front of me.

I listen to her drop her keys on the counter and wait for her to tell me to go to hell. I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen next and I’m just drunk enough to wonder what I’ll do if that’s the path she puts us on but there she is, standing in front of me like a dream.

Maybe that’s what this is.

Maybe I’m dreaming.

Testing the theory, I lift my glass of icy cold tequila to my mouth and take a drink before issuing my next command.

“Take off your underwear.”

This one changes her breathing. I listen to it go from slow and steady to fast and shallow.

Watch while she hesitates… but only for a moment before she’s reaching under the skirt of her designer dress to do as I say.

Working silk and lace over her hips and down her legs, I watch quietly while she lifts one foot off the floor and then the other to step out of them.

Panties in hand, she stands in front of me and waits.

I’m dreaming.

I have to be dreaming.

“Give them to me.” This command is issued on a quiet growl that sounds like a warning but she holds them out for me to take without question.

Taking them from her, I can feel how wet they are. I already know what’ll happen if I smell him on her.

I’ll go crazy.

So crazy that I’ll have to fuck her to death to get the image of my brother between her thighs out of my head. That afterward, I’ll have to find him and kill him, just to be sure that he’ll never try to take what’s mine again.

Lifting them to my face, I breathe deep.

I don’t smell him .

I don’t smell anyone else.

All I smell is her.

My perfect little Peach.

I’m so relieved, all I can do is sit here, my hands shaking so hard I can hear the ice rattling around in my glass while I look up at the dark shape of her, standing in front of me but I’m not done.

Not yet.

I’m still dreaming.

Taking a drink from my glass, I set it next to the bottle of Clase Azuel on end table next to my seat on the couch. The same bottle Sera served her from this afternoon before she left.

“Get on your knees.”

She sinks to the floor in front of me without question.

Without hesitation.

If I really am dreaming, I’ll kill the motherfucker who tries to wake me up.

“Do you know what I can’t stop thinking about, Peach?

” Dropping my hands to the waistband of my jeans, I work the button loose, giving it a hard, impatient yank.

“I can’t stop thinking about the first time I fucked you.

” Waistband open, I give it another yank, ripping the zipper open.

“I sat up all night, driving myself bugshit because I was sure you called the cops afterward. That I was going to prison for something I didn’t do— again .

That letting me fuck you was just a part of the plan you cooked up with my brother to fuck me up. ”

This isn’t news to her.

I’ve told her this before.

“I don’t even know your brother,” she says it softly, her tone full of hurt and confusion because she thought we were past it.

I thought we were too.

Yes you do.

Pushing my hand past the waistband of my boxers, I wrap it around my stiff cock, rough enough to pull a groan up the length of my throat.

“I sat on my couch until I couldn’t take it anymore.

” Pulling the hard length of it free, I stroke myself from root to tip.

“When I finally went over the edge, I came back here. I told myself it was to get my T-shirt but that was a lie. That’s not what I came back for. ”

I thrust my hips into my grip, working my cock in my fist on another groan because I can feel her gaze on me.

Watching me fuck myself in front of her.

“I came back for you. I wanted…” Another stroke, this one tightening against the base of my spine.

“I needed to see you and there you were…” Fuck.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tell myself to stop but I can’t.

I can’t stop. I don’t want to. “Asleep on the couch, in my T-shirt and nothing else. I could see your pussy. My cum covering your thighs… still dripping from your?—”

Suddenly, Sloane moves toward me.

Over me.

Wrapping her slim, cool fingers around my wrist to pull my hand away from my cock so she can replace it with her mouth.

“ Fuck .” Barking it out on a rough shout, I push my hands into her hair, wrapping and tangling my fingers around its strands so I can hold her head in place while I fuck her throat, every hard, deep thrust I give her followed by a choking moan, the vibrations of it spiraling up the length of my shaft and rolling my eyes into the back of my head while she sucks, swirling her tongue around it’s engorged head.

Her fingers gripping my thighs. Nails raking across my skin with every hard thrust of my hips.

Not fighting me. Urging me on. Begging for more. Begging for me . Only me.

This is it.

Exactly what I wanted.

Exactly the way I dreamed.

And suddenly, it’s not enough.