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“No,” I reply, still not trying to disguise my voice at all. This is when I should stand up, move toward her, take her in my arms and dip her in front of the seaside window, let the moonlight expose me for a second before I seal my mouth to hers and show her why we’re both here.

I should.

But I don’t.

I tug off my necktie, her eyes on me through the shadows.

I feel them on my hands, watching, studying, waiting.

“Turn around,” I tell her. When she obeys, I get to my feet, not touching her as I come to stand behind her.

I pull my tie down over her eyes, tying it at the back of her head, swiping gently at the pieces of hair that try to get tied up in the silk.

When the blindfold is on, I spin her to face me .

“Can I take off your dress?” I ask her, my cock already hard and heavy between my thighs. This is wrong on so many levels. I should tell her it's me. I should tell her how I feel, I should tell her we could go to our parents.

But I don’t.

She nods, and I unzip her dress, exposing a laced bodice corset beneath. Was she wearing this for him? Does she normally wear this under fancy dresses? Jealousy renders me motionless for a minute as I hold her zipper in one hand, staring at her lingerie covered back.

“Is… everything okay?” she finally asks, snapping me out of my fog. I smooth my knuckles down her bare back, then over the delicate filigree of her corset. A shiver rolls through her, and I bring my hand to the side of her neck, placing a kiss at the top of her spine.

“Perfect,” I finally reply, taking my time sliding each strap of the dress off of her shoulders. When the dress is between her feet on the floor, I spin her to face me, falling breathless at the sight.

The tips of her nipples, hardened with desire, poke against the lace fabric, the white color only reminding me of her age and innocence.

I deflowered my step sister, I took her virginity, and I’m about to have her again.

The first time she didn’t know who we were to each other, and neither did I.

But this time? I know it’s her and she doesn’t know it’s me.

It’s unfair but it’s the only way I can have her. It’s the only way she’d let herself have me, for that matter.

It’s wrong to keep going, but I don’t know how to stop.

I bring my hands to her breasts and squeeze, the crotch of my tuxedo growing exceptionally tight as her soft whimper feathers against my chin.

Carefully I drop to my knees, dragging my hands along her curves on the way down.

Holding her hips, I bring my nose to her pussy and inhale her scent.

Tangy and sweet, I can almost guarantee she’s wet.

This is how I remember her smelling that night on the beach.

Glancing out the window, I catch sight of the ocean lapping at the shore, the white foam curling the dark sand, the moon glowing high in the onyx sky.

So much of this night is like the first night, with just enough things different to make it wrong. To make what I’m doing wrong.

“You smell so good,” I groan, my glasses fogging, my face suddenly hot, sweat littering my hairline.

I take my glasses off, and toss them across the floor, where they’ll remain safe. I tug her black thong aside, exposing a patch of soft blonde curls, which I run my fingers through a few times before replacing my fingers with my lips.

Her hand comes to my head, filtering her long, lean fingers through my hair as I root around between her legs, tasting any part of her my tongue can reach.

I lick her pussy lips, swipe between them, suck her thigh, tease her clit.

I keep my head planted there until her legs grow wobbly and her breaths start coming faster, more erratic.

Then I get to my feet and help her onto the bed.

The silk tie around her eyes taunts me, reminding me that while I’m going to be inside her again, it’s not the same, it’s not the way I want, it’s not going to cure the need.

It will only make it worse. Doing this–having her–it will only sink me that much deeper in the unending abyss of my desire for Vivienne Beaumont.

Her phone dings from her purse, which she left near the door, thankfully. Probably her friends checking to see if their guy wanted them to wait naked in the room, too.

Carefully, I take off my shirt, draping it over the back of the chair, adding my pants and socks next. My cock strains against my boxers, and I discover a dark spot where my head pushes angrily against the cotton.

I was supposed to have fun tonight, but because I’m not a one-night-stand with a rich girl from Clear View kind of guy, I didn’t bring a condom. I don’t want to use a condom, either, though.

We didn’t use a condom on the beach a month ago, either, and it was a mistake then. I won’t fuck her tonight, because I can’t willingly put us at risk again that way. And she doesn't know it’s me. Sex feels too far, under those circumstances. But making her come? I have to.

I try not to think of the fact that Vivienne believes she’s in this room with another guy, that she’s trying to forget me by having sex with someone else.

It’s not a pleasant thought–that she was stronger than me, and was able to go through with her plans to find someone else while I, on the other hand, spent my night orchestrating a way to get to her.

Instead, I crawl onto the mattress, tug her panties aside, hold her legs open, and feast.