Well, tonight I’m repaying that favour. I’m going to make him feel better than he’s ever felt and then I’ll leave him.
‘Tonight’s about what you want, Manning.’
CHAPTER FOUR
IF HER STRAP DROPS another inch I’ll see the top of her breast, and suddenly I need to see it more than I can say.
I have to ask her to leave. To throw her out on that perfect arse of hers.
Proximity is danger; but do I care?
‘Is it?’ The question is gravelled and gruff, my words showing my frustration. But it’s not frustration with her so much as how wrong this is and how incapable I seem of avoiding it.
She nods slowly, the simple movement a sensual promise, her hooded eyes latched to mine. ‘Tell me what you want.’
I want her to go; I need her to stay.
I want her to not be my fucking stepsister—my dad’s adopted daughter.
I want to not think of her with the full backlog of my knowledge.
I want to see her as just this: a woman who wants to fuck me.
I wish I could separate this Astra from the Astra I know intimately in every way. The Astra I saw grow up, the Astra I adored when she was a child and came to lust after when she was a teenager and burgeoning into a young adult. The Astra I can’t get out of my head.
‘And whatever I want you’ll do it?’ I prompt, surprised that I can sound so commanding and calm when my cock is hard and my pulse is thready.
‘I’ll do anything.’ She nods, her expression determined despite the soft tone of her words.
She closes the distance between us, her fingers toying with that strap, and I hold my breath, silently willing her to push it lower.
‘You want to see me,’ she declares, her eyes challenging me to admit it.
‘I’m seeing you now.’ I shrug, as if I’m not gagging to feast my eyes on her beautiful flesh.
‘And that’s enough?’
She pouts, her lower lip jutting out, begging me to drag it between my teeth. Fuck.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ I make one last-ditch effort towards sanity.
Her smile shows she knows it. ‘I’ll go if you ask me to.’
There. It’s easy. Just tell her to leave. Just tell her she’s your stepsister and you meant what you said in Manhattan—that it shouldn’t have happened. Tell her to put a fucking coat on or something, so no one else can see what you do: those beautiful pert breasts straining at the silky fabric of her dress.
‘Or…’ she purrs, pressing her fingertips into my chest and walking them lower, her eyes holding mine.
She teases me, dragging them down until they’re at the buckle of my belt.
‘Or I’ll get on my knees for you right here. You can choose what you want more.’
I groan—a sound of complaint and compliance. Fuuuuck. I have dreamed of this all my life. No, not all my life, but for a very long time. I have thought of her bent down in front of me, taking my cock in her mouth. Even that night in Manhattan we didn’t do that. That night was about pleasing her. About making her mine.
If this night is about what I want, then she sure as hell knows me to a tee.
I don’t say anything but she pulls at my belt, daring me with her eyes to stop her. Telling me to say no.
I’m not going to. I’m not fucking crazy.
‘Not here,’ I say.
If she’s going to blow me, I want to see it all. I stalk through the apartment, knowing she’s right behind me. There are mirrors along the hallway. I stop, leaning back against a wall, and eye her sardonically.
‘Well, baby… What are you waiting for?’
CHAPTER FIVE
I CAN BARELY CONTAIN my pulse. It is raging inside me like a waterfall, or a tornado, so fast and impatient it thrums in my ears. Everything resonates at a high pitch. The sound of his breathing as I drop to my knees, the shaking of my fingers as I unzip him, the feel of his thighs as my fingertips graze him, the smell of him so hot, so like I remember, that I would crumple to the ground, my knees giving way, if I wasn’t already kneeling before him.
The knowledge that he’s watching me in the mirror fills me with power and I pull my hands away, my eyes holding his. I see his displeasure, as though he thinks I’m going to change my mind, as though he thinks I don’t have the nerve to go through with this.
But he’s wrong.
I’ve never done it before but I’ve dreamed about doing it to Manning, and I’m going to be the best he’s ever known.
My fingers catch the bottom of my dress, at the level of my thighs, and I lift it slowly, my eyes locked to his. I see the very instant the dress lifts over my arse and his eyes fall to the black thong I’m wearing—lace, revealing all of me to him…the curves of my butt, the small of my back, everything.
Higher the dress goes, to my breasts, and then, impatient, he reaches for it and lifts it the rest of the way, pulling it to his nose and breathing in my scent.
My gut lurches.
His eyes are glued to my reflection and I purposely lean forward, so he sees more of my arse. He groans again. Power ripples inside me.
I wrap my fingers around his cock—so hard, so hot—and tentatively trace its tip.
‘I’m an oral virgin,’ I say, knowing how the words will affect him, seeing the way he surrenders to desire. ‘You’ll have to tell me what to do.’
‘You want me to teach you what I want?’
‘Yes.’ More than anything. ‘What should I do first?’
I know he’s getting off on this, but so am I. I’m so turned on that moist heat has slicked my thighs. I want him to fuck me, but first I want to make him crazy. I want to give him so many memories that when I walk out that door he’s driven almost crazy with wanting me, knowing he can’t have me. Knowing I’m gone for good.
All his weight is on the wall behind him. ‘Open wide, angel.’
Angel. He called me that in New York. On our night together. My heart flips.
Go away, heart. You’re not wanted here.
I do as he says, my bright red lips parted, my mouth dry.
‘See how much of me you can take,’ he grunts.
I lean closer, drawing him in slowly, so painstakingly slowly that I wonder he doesn’t thrust forward and take over.
I know he’s big. I mean, I have no point of reference but his cock is huge. He feels so good in my mouth, better than I imagined. But I want to tease him, to torment him.
I take him as deep as I can, only halfway, and then draw back slowly, my eyes watching him watching me.
‘Like that?’
‘Like this.’
His fingers curl in my hair, holding me still, and now he pushes into my mouth, watching me, giving me a chance to say something. But I don’t. I kneel in front of him and take him all the way back, until his tip hitches at the back of my mouth. I moan with the fullness of him. He pulls out slowly and then takes me once more, moving my head up and down his length, letting me adjust to more of him each time, until finally my mouth claims him.
I taste his pre-cum at the back of my throat and I moan—this time with a desperation to climax, a need to come with him.
This night is about what he wants, but it’s what I want, too. It’s about what I need.
Manning Brown-Hadden eating out of the palm of my hand…
CHAPTER SIX
HER FINGERNAILS ARE PAINTED bright red. They call to me like a beacon as she pushes them lower, running them from the lace cups of her bra down her flat stomach to the elastic waist of her thong.
And lower still.
My hands tighten in her hair unconsciously as she touches herself, moaning around my dick while her fingertips work her clit hard and fast. I am close to coming, close to exploding. Her mouth is so hot and wet and tight, and her little noises as I thrust into her are like a drug to which I am addicted.
Moans of pleasure, moans of need, and as she touches herself they get louder and I feel their urgency reverberating at my tip. I wa
tch her bent over, her arse jerking as she moves, writhing in time with our sensual need, her body matching mine in every stroke and flame.
I am so deep in her mouth I convulse, the first hint of my explosion at hand. I don’t want to come in her mouth; I don’t want to come now. Not yet. I want to savour this, to make it last. I want to live in her mouth like a fucking lollipop.
I grip her hair hard and pull her head back. She looks up at me, her cheeks bright pink, her face as familiar to me as my own from memories and dreams and all that we’ve shared.
‘Lick me,’ I say, needing to slow it down. ‘Lick me slow.’
She is disappointed, greedy to take all of me again. That knowledge is its own source of desire. Her eyes show how she feels clearly, but she does as I instructed. She runs her tongue from the base of my cock to the tip, tracing it slowly, licking around it and then back to the base again. Cautiously, as if she’s never done this before—which she hasn’t—she runs her tongue around my balls and I almost sob at the perfection.
I wanted this to slow things down, but every touch from her is bringing me closer and closer.
I need to fuck her.
I want to fuck her.
No, I want to taste her.
I groan as I sidestep the wall, leaving her where she’s kneeling, and suddenly I want to tie her up like that, with her hands behind her back so she can’t pleasure herself, so that I am completely in charge of her. I want to play out every single fantasy I’ve ever had about my stepsister.
‘Was it not good?’
The question breaks through my desire and punches me right in the gut. Her insecurity is adorable because of how unusual it is. Astra is sassy confidence from the tip of her elegant nose to the toes that are always painted a bright colour.
‘It was good, baby. Very good. But you asked me what I want and I’m going to show you.’
She licks her lips slowly and my gut clenches.
‘Show me what?’
I pull my belt from my pants, watching her the whole time. She is looking at me like a woman who is half-vixen, half-virgin.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ I reassure her, in acknowledgement of her innocence.
‘I know.’ A husky response.
I weave the belt around her wrists, behind her back, pulling it tight enough to pinch just a little. And then, satisfied with her restraints, I stand once more.
‘Lie down.’
‘Here?’ She looks at the tiled hallway dubiously.
I jerk my head. ‘Here. Now.’
‘Like this?’ She moves her arms as much as she’s able.
‘Oh, yes. Like that.’
Her eyes are defiant as she does what I say, wriggling as elegantly as she can into position on the floor.
‘Good.’ I nod my approval. My cock jerks in agreement.
I crouch down at her feet, pushing them wide, splaying her legs to give me access.
‘You don’t need to tell me what you like. I remember just fine, angel.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE PULLS DOWN MY PANTIES painstakingly slowly—payback, perhaps, for the way I took him in my mouth. He draws them down my legs, bending my knees as he goes and pushing me wide when I am naked.
I am not self-conscious. Not even a bit.
His head drops forward and it’s my turn to enjoy the view the mirror offers.
His tongue runs along my seam—just a hint, just a whisper, just a taste. I arch my back, digging my fingernails into my palms.
‘Manning!’ I hear myself cry, already so wet and turned on, so close to climax.
His stubble is rough against me. My flesh quivers.
‘You taste like I remember,’ he says, the words breathed across my clit until I can take no more.
I want to touch him. I ache to touch him. But my restraint holds no matter how hard I pull. It hurts my wrists, but it’s a hurt that I like, that I welcome.
I want him to teach my body all its pleasures…even the ones that hurt a little.
I want him to fuck me.
I want him.
I push that last thought away.
I can’t want him beyond this. I can’t want him beyond this one night—a night of recompense and renewal, a night that will teach him he shouldn’t have left me. A night that will haunt him like the night we spent together has haunted me.
His tongue lashes me and my skin prickles with goosebumps. My breath is burning in my body as stars dance behind the lids of my eyes. I am trembling unstoppably, so close I can taste the release in my mouth. Adrenalin fills me.
He pulls up, though, watching me, and with his eyes locked to mine slides a finger inside me, deep, slow, so he can feel my muscles convulsing.
‘Have you missed me, angel?’
Have I missed him? Have I missed him?
I have missed him with all that I am, every minute of every day. I have missed him as my stepbrother, my friend and, yes, as my lover.
He disappeared into thin air, leaving a void too big to be filled. Too big to comprehend. Like the galaxy sucked clean of stars, he left just black emptiness on the horizon.
‘I’ve been busy,’ I say through gritted teeth, pleasure spiralling through me, making thought difficult.
‘Have you thought about that night?’
He pushes another finger inside me and I groan. It’s not enough. I need him. Just him. All of him.
‘I’ve thought about how you left with just a shitty note,’ I say, the words tight, my lips pushed together.
His laugh is rough. ‘Better than no note at all.’
He is nonchalant and seemingly uncaring, as if he has no idea how he’s hurt me, no idea how devastated I was. It renews my intent. My certainty that this night is not a prelude to a relationship but a single weakness, an exploitation designed to make him hurt like I was hurt. And I’m okay with it.
He moves his fingers inside me, fast and deep, like he’s fucking me, and I moan, angry and enraged but weakened by his touch.
I cry out as I come and then he brings his mouth back to my seam, tasting me, kissing me as pleasure tips me over the edge of sanity…
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’M SO HARD AND so desperate to plunge myself inside her, but the room is still heavy with her orgasm, the sounds of her pleasure surrounding us like a blanket. A prickle of doubt begins to run across me.
What are we doing?
What have I done?
It took me months to get over what happened in New York. Months to accept that we’d crossed a line we both knew we shouldn’t have. God knows, I’m still not over wanting her, needing her, craving her like the rarest drug in the world.
What happens after this? And do I care?
‘You sound so fucking good when you come, angel.’
She smiles up at me, a slow unfurling that spreads across her face and makes my gut twist. There is so much history between us, so much past. I have to blot that out. Live in the moment.
Her, me, our bodies, this crushing need.
I lift her easily, cradling her against my chest. Her bound arms drop behind her. Maybe I should be strong and tell her to go now, before anything else happens. But I’m holding her almost naked body against me and my hands are curved around her butt. I know I’m not going to do that. I can’t send her packing. Not before I’ve taken what I want—what I need to keep going.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ I growl. ‘Do you want that, angel?’
Her eyes skid to mine and she nods, her throat working overtime.
‘I want to fuck you again and again.’
In my bedroom I stand her up, taking a step away from her just so that I can look at her. She looks back, those huge eyes so trusting, so… what? Why does she look at me like that?
Like I’m the most precious person in her world…like I’m all she has.
I push that thought aside. I don’t want to soften this into more than it is—into more than it can be.
I prowl towards her again, and reac
h behind her for the belt. But she shakes her head.
‘I like it.’
‘The belt?’ My question is thick.
She nods slowly, biting down on her lower lip, and then her eyes drop. As if she wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
‘What is it?’
She pierces me with her gaze. ‘I…’
‘Yes, angel?’
‘The belt.’ The words are strained, nervous. ‘Are you…is that… something you’re into?’
My lips twist. I don’t want to admit that I haven’t been into anything since our night in New York. That only memories of Astra can get me hard and no other woman can keep me that way. That I haven’t fantasised about anyone since Astra. Haven’t slept with anyone either.
But before her…? ‘Yes,’ I say simply.
She swallows. Nervous. So sweet. So innocent.
‘And what else are you ”into”, exactly?’
I laugh—just a soft sound. ‘You don’t want to know, baby. You’re too sweet for what I’m into.’
Her eyes are loaded with courage. With curiosity. ‘I want to see. Show me.’
My cock jerks hard in my pants. Show her. I think of the toys I have in a drawer across the room—toys that I bought brand-new when I moved to Paris, determined to push Astra out of my head. Toys that have sat unused, tempting, distracting…
Toys that call to me now, loud and clear.
‘Wait here.’
CHAPTER NINE
A FINE BEAD OF perspiration runs along the back of my neck. I watch him as he walks—so animalistic, so powerful—across the room to a sleek black bureau against the wall. He stares at it for a moment and then lifts his hands to his shirt, unbuttoning it all the way down and removing it. There is something almost clinical in his movements—something cold and determined.
Something that makes my insides swirl with renewed desire.
His trousers follow, and then his boxer shorts, until he is naked. And I gasp—I can’t help it. He is so beautiful…a work of art. Darkly tanned all over, with not an inch of spare flesh on him. He is all sculptured muscle, strength, power, virility.
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