by C. M. Owens
His jaw gets tense, and my back arches up as he hits a spot deep within. His vicious pace sends me spiraling, my mind goes foggy, and something between a scream and a praise falls through my lips unintelligibly as fever sweeps my body. The wild explosion starts at my core, and it spreads to every nerve on my body.
He grunts harshly as his rocking slows down, and his head drops back as he grits his teeth, silently following behind me. I pant for air, hoping the feeling in my legs comes back soon so I can leave.
He grins, keeping himself inside me, and leans down to kiss me again.
“Welcome to Sterling Shore, Salem,” he mumbles against my lips, his voice husky and a little tired as he drops to the bed beside me.
I just laugh, and then I take a deep breath. Usually, either regret or surreal excitement spikes my blood, but instead, I’m just…calm. So calm. And tired. Very, very tired.
It’s a first.
“Just let me go take care of this, and I’ll welcome you from a different position,” he crudely announces, kissing me again before lifting his muscular, toned body away from mine and heading for the bathroom off to the side.
It’s just now that I take in how massive and lavish his room is. Judging by the car and this one room, I understand the bartender’s warning about him being part of the elite. This is far more elite than anything back home.
As the light comes on and the door closes, I debate staying for another round. It’d be incredible—no doubt about it—but staying would mean eventually we’d talk. If we talked, I’d like him or hate him.
Neither of those seem like a good thing. Liking him would lead to me wanting more than the fun night I promised myself. Hating him would suck the air out of the wildest, most exciting night I’ve had in a really long time.
There’s only one option.
Chapter 4
MAVERICK
“You look grumpy,” Corbin points out, taking a seat across from me as I idly scan the faces at Silk. I can’t believe I’m fucking looking for one particular girl.
“Not grumpy,” I lie.
I’m pissed. All because of that girl I met two days ago. The girl was smoking hot, definitely into me, and she was fun as hell. I told her I wanted to have another round, and she disappeared while I was in the bathroom.
Salem. What kind of name is Salem? It doesn’t matter what her name is; she shouldn’t have just bolted without telling me what the hell I did wrong.
“Any reason why you’re a thousand miles away?” Corbin prompts, waving his hand in front of my face.
Because I’m an idiot. Not even sure why this is irking me.
“Ever have a girl walk out after the warmup without saying a word? And I’m talking about after she got hers.”
He snickers, apparently understanding. “No. Usually I was the one doing the leaving. What’d you do wrong? And what’s a warmup?”
That’d be nice to know.
“Beats the hell out of me,” I grumble. “And a warmup is the sex before the actual sex. You know, to get that first one out of the way.”
Ruby mocks a gag, popping up out of nowhere and sliding into the booth.
“Didn’t you plan on sending her on her merry way when you were finished anyhow?” Ruby taunts.
How long has she been listening?
“Yeah. But not until I was finished with her,” I say, shrugging.
Jade or Mandy or… hell, I don’t know her name, comes up to us, grinning as she leans over the table.
“You look like you could use some cheering up,” she tells me.
This is the same girl who told me she’d never touch me again. I do remember that. She got pissed on Corbin’s birthday after she propositioned me, and I did exactly what I promised. But apparently I’m an ass for being honest.
“No thanks,” I state dismissively, looking back at the sea of faces, searching for the one in particular that is driving me crazy.
“Seriously?” Corbin asks me as whatever-her-name-is walks away, rolling her eyes and shaking her ass.
“Not in the mood,” I tell him.
Chicks walking out apparently makes me cranky. Maybe that makes me a dick, but usually they leave happy—and after I’ve excused them. No one has ever just left.
This is just my ego. Has to be.
“Well, while you’re searching for Cinderella’s glass slipper, I need to talk to you about that—”
Corbin’s words are cut off when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My dad’s name flashes across the screen, and I quickly answer it, wondering if he’s still on his honeymoon.
“Dad?”
The static on the other line makes all of his words almost indecipherable. Where the hell is he?
“Beach… for… help… house…”
The fuck?
“Dad, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
It sounds like someone is playing white noise over his words, but he tries again. “Beach house… go… help…”
Shit. The call drops, and I groan.
“What’s up?” Corbin asks me.
“Something about his beach house. I should go check it out and see if I can figure out what he’s talking about. I’ll see you guys later.”
“Want us to let you know if we find the girl?” Ruby asks, seeming genuine.
“Yeah. Call me if she shows up. But do not tell her I’m pissed about her exit.”
Corbin snickers while I walk away, and I head out to my car. I never even had a sip of my beer tonight because I was too intensely focused. Why is this driving me crazy?
Ruby’s right; I would have just dismissed her shortly after, but I still prefer not to feel as used as I was. I know she told me that was the plan, but—
Great. Now I sound exactly like all the women I leave after we’re done.
I have to stop obsessing.
It takes only a few minutes to make the short drive, but I’m confused when I see lights on inside the house. Dad keeps this place locked up tight. I bet that’s why he called. Someone probably tripped the alarm while trying to squat here.
It happens all the time—squatters finding homes on the beach that are not in use. The cops should have already come after Dad was called to confirm he wasn’t home. So why the hell aren’t they here yet?
A jacked-up pickup truck with Georgia plates has me inwardly groaning. Great. A redneck. I better not see a fucking shotgun.
Heading down the side, I start looking through the windows, trying to see how many I might be dealing with. I’ll handle it myself if it’s just one or two.
Suddenly, I’m tripping, slapping the side of the house to catch myself from falling, because through the window, I see something that has my mouth watering, my eyes widening, and my blood pumping.
A girl with purple streaks in her otherwise light brown hair is standing in my father’s bedroom with her back turned, and all she’s wearing is a lacy thong and a matching bra. I lean in closer, watching as she opens the drawer, pulling out what appears to be shorts, but I’m too busy searching the tan lines near her ass to be certain.
This is one squatter I might not kick out. She’d definitely be good to use after the shot my ego took the other day.
And this is a bitch-slap from reality. I’ve gotten so damn bad lately, that I’m considering fucking a hot squatter who just broke into one of my family’s homes. It’s like my standards just keep sinking.
I need to take a break from damn women.
Never thought I’d say that.
Still, I watch, somewhat entranced, as she moves through the bedroom, her face hidden by her hair. But then she disappears into the hallway, robbing me of the view.
My eyes keep searching, waiting for her to come back, but as the seconds tick by, nothing happens. Just as I’m about to turn around, I’m yelping, stumbling, and landing hard on my ass, as a blast of cold waters pummels me in the face.
“Take that, pervert!” a feminine voice yells.
I gargle on the water, using my han
ds to shield my face from the stream that is shooting me relentlessly.
“Fucking stop! I’m not a pervert!”
Well, that’s not entirely true.
The water assault ceases, and I try to see into the darkness as the girl holds the garden hose on me like a gun, her finger itching to pull the trigger again, but it’s too dark to see her face. The moonlight is behind her, facing its beam on me as I continue to shield myself from the possible attack she could unleash at any moment.
She has on shorts now, but it doesn’t look like she ever pulled on a shirt.
“Only perverts stare through windows while women change clothes,” she hisses acidly.
“Perverts fog up the window with their hand down their pants, damn it,” I growl, lowering my hands. “I was—”
“You,” she says, sounding shocked the second she sees my face. Just as she moves farther away from the house, the security light finally comes on, shedding light on her face, and my jaw drops.
It’s her. But no…
Her hair had red streaks, not purple. Right? Definitely right. I took my time taking her in the other night.
Before I can say anything, she continues, “Are you stalking me?”
Everything falls into place, and suddenly I get very fucking pissed. “Stalking you? At least now I know the reason you ran out of my house the second I left you alone. What’d you do? Sift through my shit and find my properties?”
Her incredulous expression is almost convincing. At least she has the grace to play dumb, but it’s annoying.
“What the hell are you talking about? This is Ian Sterling’s house.”
My anger dissolves and morphs into utter confusion. “Yeah, doll. This is Ian’s house, and I’m his son. This is my place, too, considering I’m the one who maintains it and paid for half of it.”
Her face pales, and her eyes widen to the point where I realize she really isn’t faking this. She honestly had no clue this was my place. But why—
“You’re Maverick?” she asks in a rasp whisper. “Maverick Sterling?”
Well, shit. I never did give her my name.
This is the reason I need a damn break from women. I don’t even bother giving them my name anymore, because I just assume they know who I am.
“Yeah. Now who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?”
And why the hell did you leave my house if you weren’t trying to get something? That question can wait.
She groans long and loud, and then she pushes the heels of her palms into her eye sockets the second she drops the garden hose. That thing was meant for washing sand off boards and shit. Not for assaults on me.
“I’m Salem Wright. Oh, no. I’m going to be sick. No. No. No. This can’t happen,” she says, sounding truly horrified.
“Salem Wright? Is that name supposed to mean something?” I ask, completely and totally confused.
She pulls her hands away, and then she nibbles her bottom lip nervously. That’s a distraction I don’t need right now.
“Seriously? Your father hasn’t mentioned my name to you?”
“Pretty sure I would have remembered it if he had,” I mumble, now letting my eyes roam down her chest to where the black bra has my full attention. Her chest really is a work of art. Maybe we can—
“My mother is Kelly Lane—well, she’s Kelly Sterling now. I’m Kelly’s daughter, Maverick.”
That has my eyes snapping up and my head tilting to the side. Then my jaw fucking drops when she adds, “Your new stepsister.”
Chapter 5
SALEM
How the hell did I manage to completely fuck up this bad? Maybe I’m being punished or something. The universe does love punishing me, after all. I’m its own little punching bag.
“No,” Maverick says, shaking his head after several long minutes of stunned silence. “My father married a woman named Kelly, but he didn’t mention a daughter, so this is a mistake.”
Figures I wouldn’t be mentioned. I bet Sean, Connor, and Tyler weren’t mentioned either. Maverick has no idea what the hell his new family has become.
He’s still on the ground, and he’s still soaking wet. I knew I heard a noise, and then I saw him out of the corner of my eye while I was moving around in the bedroom. But I had no idea this was what I would find.
I really hate the universe sometimes.
“I’m definitely her daughter,” I assure him with a tight smile.
Shit. Of all the men in this damn city, I chose my stepbrother? Yeah. I’m not chalking that up to coincidence. There’s a conspiracy going on against me.
He groans while dropping his head back, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed in just my bra. When he saw me naked, he was a random guy from a club. Now he’s my mother’s new husband’s son.
“I need a drink,” he says, his sigh possibly layered in the same frustration I feel.
“I need something stronger than a drink,” I mumble, sticking my hand out to help him up.
I ignore the unbidden shiver that runs through me the second he touches me. That’s really not good.
As he climbs to his feet, he releases my hand, trying and failing not to let his eyes drop to my chest again.
Time to put on a shirt.
“I’m pretty sure we need to talk,” he tells me, looking away from me completely and focusing his attention on the side of the house.
“Obviously,” I scoff, turning to lead the way as he follows behind me. This is going to be a long night.
As soon as we’re inside, he walks toward the kitchen, and I move toward the bedroom to quickly toss on the first shirt I come across. It’s one of my random high school band shirts, but it’ll have to do. And no, I wasn’t actually in the band.
Deciding my shorts are far too short, I also grab a pair of yoga pants and toss them on.
When I head back into the living room, he’s already on the sofa, and there is a large bottle of whiskey right in the center of the coffee table. He’s already drinking a glass, and there’s another one poured and ready for me.
Considering what happened two nights ago, I opt to sit on the other side of the large sofa—far away from him and his body that I’m overly acquainted with.
“What happens now?” he asks, acting as though I’m the resident expert on fucked-up situations.
I’m going to have to play this cool or look like an ass. Those are literally my only two options.
“We drink this whiskey, you call for a sober ride to come pick you up, and then we forget this ever happened,” I state hopefully.
He snorts derisively. “You expect me to forget that we fucked. Just like that. And then see you at family gatherings?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.
Bristling, I nod. Then take a long sip of the whiskey, coughing and cringing afterwards because I can’t drink whiskey straight.
A little smirk plays on his lips as I force down another sip and set the glass down.
“It shouldn’t be a big deal. It was a hot quickie with—”
“It was a warmup,” he interrupts, eyes narrowed on me.
“I’m sorry, a what now?” My tone is incredulous. But seriously, what?
“A warmup. It wasn’t the main event. You left before we got to that.”
A slow grin curls my lips as he continues to glare at me. His ego is a lot bigger than I initially realized.
“I said it was a hot quickie. I wasn’t insinuating you were a minute man or anything.”
His lips twitch. “I’m definitely not a minute man under normal circumstances. But I’d been hanging with my hand a little too long, and warmups are sometimes needed during those times. It wasn’t a quickie.”
He’s really sexy when he’s trying to redeem his manhood.
Nope. Not sexy. He’s my stepbrother.
Yay! I love complicated shit…said no one ever.
“Anyway,” I say, trying not to smile as he leans back, eyes on me as he casually sips his whiskey, “it’s not lik
e we’re some star-crossed lovers who can’t possibly move forward after our…warmup. We’ll just pretend it didn’t happen.”
“After, of course, we have the main event,” he goes on with a shrug.
I stare at him like he’s an idiot for a full five seconds, waiting on him to tell me he’s joking.
He doesn’t.
He just continues to smirk at me.
“I want a redo,” he finally says, only confusing me more.
“A what?”
Completely relaxed, as though we’re talking about something as mundane as chicken or fish, he explains, “A redo. You caught me on a night when my game clearly wasn’t on point. I want to start over, and this time, you’ll be less inclined to run away before I’m finished.”
I just blink at him. “Absolutely not.”
He mutters something about that line apparently only working for Wren.
“Who the hell is Wren?” I ask.
“Not important. What is important is us trying this again.”
“You’re kidding, right? You heard the part about me being your stepsister?”
“We’ve already fucked once. Damage is done. The least we could do is have a—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, because I see what’s going on here,” I tell him, holding up a hand.
“What’s that?” he asks, clearly amused and enjoying this for some reason.
I stare directly into his warm, chocolatey eyes. “You’re still in hunter mode.”
I’m not sure if he looks amused or confused right now “Hunter mode?” he asks.
I nod slowly. “Yes. Like back at the club. I saw it in your eyes that you wanted to do some hunting, since it was abundantly clear you had too many options coming to you. You wanted a little chase. I gave you that. Let you come to me.”
His lips twitch again. “You let me come to you?”
“Part of the game, Maverick. You give a guy what he wants, and he’ll rarely let you down. Now you see this as more chase, when really, it’s a brick wall.”