by Kane, Jessa
“I have a plan to run by you, Tristan,” Rebecca says, forcing me to rip my attention away from Cate’s chewing mouth, the sexy slopes of her tits.
“What is it?” I ask, taking a drink of wine, wishing I’d stuck to whiskey.
Rebecca claps her hands together. “Since our Cate has made such great strides, we thought we’d have something of a soft opening. Maybe invite a few dozen people over to your home on Friday night—including some discreet members of the press—and see how she does?”
No.
It’s selfish to want to keep Cate under wraps, especially after all her hard work, but dammit, I can’t seem to stave off the greed when it comes to her. Did I ever truly believe I’d want to show her off? Expose her to the vultures of the political scene?
They could hurt her, malign her.
I can’t stand the thought of it.
Furthermore, it would take very little to pick up on my feelings for my stepsister.
It’s getting harder by the moment not to be obvious about my need. My obsession.
“Of course…” my father says, picking up where Rebecca left off. “We wouldn’t allow any pictures to be taken in our home. I’ve arranged for a professional photo shoot for Cate tomorrow. With Andre Bisset. That way, we can control the image they print.”
“A lot of plans have been made without my knowledge,” I say tightly.
My father matches my hard stare. “You’ve been so busy with the reelection bid.”
He knows.
Of course he knows. A blind man could tell I want her.
A possessive beast is prowling inside me, ready to strike. Ready to dig my teeth into the next person who tries to take responsibility for Cate when that job is mine. I’m done neglecting it. Being away from her has been torture. The ninth circle of hell. Needing to wrest back control now—needing everyone to know who holds the reins when her safety and happiness are on the line—I reach sideways beneath the table and lay a hand on Cate’s thigh. Squeezing. “We’ll have the party. Keep it small and send me the guest list ahead of time. Press included.” I slide my hand inward, using my middle finger to tease the crotch of her panties through the skirt of her dress. “I’ll supervise the photo shoot tomorrow.”
“Will you?” drawls my father, lazily twisting his wine glass.
I press my fingertip to Cate’s opening and her thighs shoot together, flexing around my hand. Her breathy whimper is just loud enough for my ears. “Yes. I will. Send me the details and I’ll be there.”
Before I move my hand away, I cup the entirety of Cate’s pussy.
I mold it roughly in my hold and meet her lust-fogged blue eyes, silently letting her know that a lot more than her picture is going to get taken tomorrow.
If I can make it that long, it’ll be a miracle.
Good thing that—since meeting Cate—I believe in those now.
7
Cate
My knees are knocking together in the back of the limousine.
One second I’m nervous, the next I’m excited.
Underneath both of those emotions is a bedrock of self-disgust.
Two weeks. Not counting our illicit FaceTime call, he didn’t come to see me for two weeks. Yet how eagerly I opened my thighs underneath the dining room table last night, letting him massage my sex until I was wet and clenching. I’m still not sure if I managed to hide my arousal from our parents. Surely they noticed my red cheeks and one-word, breathy replies throughout the rest of the dinner.
The look of dark promise Tristan gave me before Rebecca and I left, so she could drop me back off at the apartment I now call home, is burned on my memory. It burned me all night, in fact, leaving me physically frustrated. Cursing me with puffy eyes and totally unprepared to have my picture taken. Thankfully, the lady from the spa left me a goodie bag that included under-eye patches for swelling that helped some.
Nothing is going to prepare me for Tristan, though.
I should have refused the idea of him supervising this photo shoot. I should have ignored him last night the way he ignored me. If it wasn’t for the regret, the desire, the longing I witnessed in his green eyes when I walked through the door last night, I might have. It would serve him right, making me depend on him and then disappearing.
Truthfully, though…I don’t want to be mad at him.
I want to be in his arms. It’s the only time I’m not nervous about this major transition I’m making from the backwoods of North Carolina to the rich Connecticut spotlight.
I miss him.
I ache for him.
So I couldn’t form the right words to reject his help today. I simply wasn’t capable of missing a chance to be in his reassuring presence. To have his hands on me again.
There’s a chance…I might be in love with Tristan.
Doesn’t two weeks of pining for him, to the point of nearly breaking in half, prove it?
The limousine stops in front of a glamorous hotel and I search the manicured sidewalk for him, my heart swimming up into my throat. Beating, beating faster. My hands twist in the hem of my dress, the one Rebecca picked for the photo shoot. It’s black, form-fitting, elegant but fun. There’s a low, sweetheart neckline and a skirt made from a dozen layers of tulle.
When I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, I likened my appearance to a mischievous ballerina, but Mama knows what kind of image the Garners want to present to society, doesn’t she? I have to trust her.
The driver opens the door for me, offering me his hand.
I can’t help but notice the interest in his eyes, the way they skate down over my breasts, his breath turning short. Worried I’m not wearing the dress correctly, I tug my hand out of his grip and cross my arms, hurrying toward the building. There is a long row of glass doors leading to the lobby and I pull one open, throwing myself inside—
And I run headfirst into a suited, put together Tristan.
“Sweetheart.” He steadies me, concern drawing his brows together. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, giving in to the urge to lay my cheek against his tie, inhaling his signature cologne, before remembering we’re stepsiblings. In public. Lord, can I do anything right? With a sound of frustration, I pull out of his hold.
Tristan’s jaw clenches, hands flexing at his sides. Like he wants to haul me back. He starts to speak, but whatever he’s going to say freezes on his lips. His gaze voyages over my face, down my neck and breasts, a soft exhalation puffing from his mouth. “Goddamn it, Cate. You are too beautiful for this world.”
Pleasure and awareness and relief wash over me. Instantly.
“I’m wearing the dress the right way?” I ask, hopefully.
My question seems to baffle him. “Yes, of course you are.”
“Oh good. I thought maybe I put it on wrong. The driver…he looked at it funny.”
His right eye twitches. “Did he now?” He turns, guiding me through the humming lobby with his hand on the small of my back. “I’ll just have to address that with him, won’t I?”
“What do you mean?”
“Shit,” he mutters, dropping his hand away. “Smile, Cate.”
I do as he says just in time for several flashes to go off.
Two reporters with cameras step into our path, calling questions to Tristan, snapping picture after picture of us. Remembering what my etiquette instructor taught me about life in the spotlight, I fold my hands at my waist and attempt to appear serene.
“You know where I’m going to be before I do,” Tristan jokes with the reporters, signaling for me to precede him toward the bank of chrome elevators.
“Who is the mystery woman, Governor?” One of the reporters asks in a suggestive tone, waggling his brows. “Interesting afternoon plans?”
My stepbrother gives them a look of censure. “We’re here for a corporate photo shoot with Andre Bisset. You’re welcome to confirm.”
“Is she the new policy advisor?”
“Look over this way, miss!�
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“Excuse us, please,” Tristan practically growls.
The elevator doors open and he shepherds me inside without actually touching me, his breath releasing in a hiss when we’re enclosed inside. “Are you all right, sweetheart? You did very well.”
Pleasure floods me. I can’t help it. “Thank you.”
Tristan pulls out his cell phone, speaking into it almost immediately. “You’re going to be called for comment about my presence at the hotel. The official line is a corporate photo shoot with Andre Bisset. Say no more than that. If they push for details, explain that there will be a press release on Friday evening, given to a select few, and if they want to be privy to the information, they might want to refrain from posting pictures.”
He hangs up, irritation in the hard line of his shoulders.
“I didn’t really understand before. Not completely,” I murmur. “About why you need to stay away from me.”
“The press has wild imaginations. They also have an uncanny sense for knowing when something is real.” His hungry gaze pins me to the wall of the elevator. “The best among them can interpret body language, read lips. Judge intention.” He touches his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never needed to fuck anyone as badly as I need to fuck you. Not even close. So I have no experience trying to hide it. But sneaking in and out of your apartment wouldn’t even require them to use any guesswork. They’d know exactly what I was doing.”
There’s a delicious tug between my thighs, brought on by the bold, blunt way he speaks to me. “Sleeping in my bed,” I whisper, swaying toward him involuntarily.
Tristan shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, indicating a mounted camera with his eyes. “We’ll be alone soon, Cate. But not yet.”
I swallow. Nod. “What happens when we’re alone?”
His chest expands along with his pupils. “We’re going to finish what we started on the couch in your apartment. I can’t live another day without getting my cock inside you. I can’t live another day without holding you. Kissing you. Calling you my sweet little girl.” My breasts are fairly swelling over the neckline of my dress, I’m becoming so aroused, emotional, my breath coming fast, fast, fast. “If you can keep our secret, I’ll find ways to get you alone. I’m a bastard for asking. You deserve better than some clandestine affair with your older brother. A governor. Someone who should have control over themselves. But I don’t. I’ve become obsessed with you, Cate. I can’t fucking sleep. Can’t think straight. I need between your thighs.”
Oh my lord.
His intensity shakes me to my toes—and I can’t deny him.
I can’t pass up a chance to have Tristan all to myself. To have him tune the instrument of my body so it plays correctly. This is the man I love. The man who makes me feel safe and wanted. “I can keep a secret,” I vow fervently.
“Good girl.” His eyes are aflame. “Soon.”
* * *
Tristan
I can’t tear my eyes off Cate as she walks into the hotel’s penthouse.
She’s a glowing drop of sunshine with a direct line to my heart, making it rap relentlessly against my ribcage. She takes in the view from the top floor, the lavish furnishings, her expression one of awe. In the corner of the massive living space, in front of an antique fireplace, there is a chair arranged. Lighting.
Andre, the photographer, fusses with his camera, but turns at the sound of us approaching, doing a double take when he sees my stepsister.
Teeth grinding, I check the urge to yank her back against me. Maybe lick my tongue up the side of her sweet neck so he gets the picture. Mine.
But I can’t do that. I can never do that. And the lack of privileges with her kills me.
Makes me insane.
“Bonjour,” Andre sings, bowing over Cate’s extended hand. “I did not realize I would have the honor of shooting such a lovely subject this afternoon.”
Really, it’s ridiculous to be jealous of this happily married man in his fifties, but there is nothing rational about how possessive I am over my stepsister. It defies logic. “Perhaps you should begin,” I suggest, an edge to my tone.
“Oui. Very good.” Wisely, the Frenchman steps away from Cate, an amused smile playing around his mouth. “Mademoiselle, if you please. Have a seat and we will begin.”
Cate perches on the plush, royal blue chair. “Thank you.”
Jesus, her feet don’t even reach the floor.
I take a seat a short distance away and watch Andre like a hawk, making sure he uses his hands appropriately when tipping her chin toward the light, adjusting her shoulders, arranging the skirt of her dress. And dear God, she’s beautiful. Her smile is innocent, sparkling, demure. Approachable. Society is going to eat her up with a spoon and it’s exactly what I asked for. It shouldn’t make me so fucking miserable.
It shouldn’t make me so fucking anxious to get her beneath me.
To impress upon her who she belongs to. Who she will belong to, even when she becomes Connecticut’s society darling. An object of lust and admiration, alike.
She’ll be mine. Always. Every day of her life.
It doesn’t take long for Andre to get several amazing shots.
“You are very photogenic, mademoiselle,” he croons, scrolling through the camera. “Flawless. I will have very little editing to do!”
Cate beams, looking to me for approval and I smile back, though it’s more a feral baring of teeth at this point. I’m so close to having her all to myself. On her back. I’ve arranged for the photographer to stay in the hotel and immediately begin editing, so we can have an official publicity shot by day’s end. That means he won’t be leaving the premises, thus tipping off reporters that the photo shoot has ended. That buys us time in this room. Alone.
It occurs to me that this is going to be my life.
Finding loopholes and creating opportunities to fuck my stepsister.
So be it. She’s more than worth every second of plotting and scheming.
I need her.
Andre packs up his equipment and leaves the room. There is a funny expression on the man’s face on the way out, as though he senses the tension between me and Cate, but he doesn’t comment. As I’m paying him a considerable amount of money, I’m secure knowing he won’t make any unwise speculations about my relationship with my stepsister.
The door closes behind him.
“Is it safe now?” Cate asks.
“Yes,” I say thickly, rubbing at the bulge in my pants. “Get the dress off.”
Her cheeks turn pink, but she stands, reaching back to lower the zipper of the dress.
It drops into a heavy heap around her ankles.
“Fuuuck,” I growl, my hips giving an involuntary thrust off the seat.
She’s a masterpiece. Perky, supple, sun-kissed little tits, courtesy of spending countless hours in the sun wearing precious little clothing back in North Carolina. Her all-over tan is a reminder that underneath her new polished exterior, she’s still wild, untamed. And if that wasn’t enough proof, her wet pussy would be. She’s soaked clear through the pink silk of her panties, the material glued to her tiny cleft. Such a horny little thing—and I’m finally going to satisfy her.
But I want to hold this image with me forever.
The day she became mine. Irrevocably.
I want it documented. I want this feeling with me when I can’t have her there.
“We’re going to have our own photo shoot now, sweetheart.”
She shifts in her high heels. Nods.
“Go sit on the bed.”
Watching her walk across the room is pornography in itself. Her tits sway, drawing my eye to her puckered nipples. And as she passes me, her ass cheeks work deliciously, up and down on either side of the pink thong. She sits down on the bed and pulls the clip from her long, blonde hair, shaking it out around her shoulders. “Like this?”
“Yes, baby. Just like that.” I stand and strip off my jacket and shirt, noticing the way her
eyes brighten, her breath accelerating when I’m bare chested. In nothing but my pants. “Do you like the way I look, Cate?”
“Yes,” she breathes, reaching up, almost unconsciously, to finger her nipples. “You’re so beautiful. So much bigger than me.”
I unfasten my belt buckle. “I’m your big brother. It’s right there in the name.”
My belt hits the floor and she whimpers, squeezing her thighs together.
“No, we’re going to keep those spread at all times, sweetheart. Do you understand?”
After a moment, she bites her lip, easing her legs back open.
Showing me all that wet, pink silk, almost shyly.
“Remember our FaceTime call, Cate?”
Her nod is vigorous. “Yes.”
“I want to look at pictures of you naked…while I’m touching myself like that.” I lower my zipper, groaning when my cock is given room to stretch inside my briefs. “Pictures of you will make me hard. Make me come.” Before I step out of my pants, I extricate my phone from the pocket and kick them aside. I open the camera app and hold up the device. “Show me where I touched you under the table last night.”
Only a beat passes before her nimble fingers trail up her inner thigh, hesitating, then pressing to the damp spot on the front of her panties. “H-here.”
Groaning, I snap a picture. “That’s right, baby. Right there. You were so sweet and juicy for me, weren’t you?” I walk closer to the bed. “Now stand up and pull your panties down.”
Cate makes a halting sound, her lips parted on shallow breaths. And she stands on unsteady feet, wobbling on her heels briefly before tugging down the pink silk, revealing her freshly waxed pussy. I have to grip my cock to keep from ejaculating at the sight of it, so innocent and fuckable at the same time. Smooth and moist and luscious.
I drop down to my haunches and take a picture of her, knees pressed together shyly, panties round her ankles. And I already know I’m going to beat off endlessly to the image. Reaching out, I gently separate her knees by a couple of inches. “What did I say about keeping your thighs spread?”