Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
I make a noise—half whimper, half plea. It's supposed to be a protest. I think. But his hands are everywhere at once, and I'm too busy arching into him to figure out what that sound means.
I'm too desperate to do anything more than cling to him and rock against him like my life depends on it. At this point, I think it might.
He lifts me higher, the hard ridge of his erection pressing right against my clit. I grind down against it, helplessly needy.
"Keep doing that, and I'm going to come all over you," he warns, his voice ragged.
My mouth does that thing again where it speaks without my permission. "Maybe I want you to," I whisper, my voice so breathless I don't even sound like myself. I don't feel like myself, either.
But his eyes, dark and wild, tell me that this version of me has him hooked.
He grinds me down harder, his hands locked on my ass, kneading until I see stars. Until all I can think about is him and how good this feels. It's better than my fantasies. So much better.
Every move of his hips slams me against the ridge of his cock. Between the friction and the way he kisses and bites at my neck, I lose track of every logical objection to this. All my reasons for saying no dissolve.
Every instinct tells me to give in and just take the pleasure he's offering, to glut myself on it until I explode. But…
"We can't," I gasp, hating how desperate I sound. "If our parents ever—"
He silences me with his mouth, his tongue working mine until I'm sobbing against his lips. "They don't matter," he snarls when I'm boneless in his arms, my objection forgotten. "This right here matters. You and me matter. What's between us is just for us. It's ours. No one else ever has to know."
I want to live in his world, where we make the rules, and no one else exists. It sounds lovely.
He slips a hand up to my throat, stroking my jaw. His other hand never stops kneading my ass, pulling me harder onto his cock. "You've been driving me out of my fucking mind for a year," he whispers against my skin like he's branding me with the truth. "So you're going to come on me right now, Ava."
Whatever objections I had left just…unravel. I stop fighting and let myself have this—just one moment where I'm his in reality and not just in my dreams. I can hate myself for it later. But right now? Right now, I need this just as badly as he does.
He rocks me down onto his cock again, harder, faster. My hips move with his, the ache between my legs growing so hot it's overwhelming.
"That's it, sweetness," he groans. "Let your stepbrother take care of your pretty little body."
I cry out in response to his filth, clutching his shoulders so hard my nails dig in. He works my body until I'm shaking, his name spilling from my lips in an endless flood.
I come harder than I ever have in my life, writhing all over him, trapped between his hard body and the fridge.
He buries his face in my neck and groans, grinding into me as he shudders, his whole body taut. I feel the heat as he comes, pressed flush against my stomach.
"Fuck, Ava. Jesus." He kisses my throat, my collarbone, my jaw, moving with careful, hungry gentleness, like he thinks I'll break. "You don't even know. You don't even know."
Except…I do know. I've known every single day for the last year.
We're both shaking, our bodies tangled up in too many feelings and not enough rules. And I don't want it to end. I want to stay right here in this cocoon forever. But I can't.
I try to wiggle out of his grasp. "Dawson, let me down. I have to—"
"No," he says quietly, almost gently. "You're mine now, sweetness. You said yes, and I'm not letting you take it back."
"I wasn't thinking," I whisper, even as I clutch at his shoulders.
"Yeah, you were," he murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek. "You were."
Damn him for being right.
Damn him for being irresistible.
Just…damn him.
Chapter Four
Dawson
Ava is quiet at dinner, lost in her own thoughts and worries. I let her sit with them until she's finished pushing food around on her plate, and then I pick her up, pressing my lips to hers.
"Stop thinking so much, baby."
"Easy for you to say," she grumbles. "You get to pay people to worry for you. I don't have that luxury."
"There's nothing to worry about." I carry her down the hall to her bedroom, dropping her on the bed.
"There's plenty to worry about."
"Okay, then. Name it."
"Floods, earthquakes, tornadoes, spiders, tsunamis, volcanoes, murderers, clowns, home invasions, car accidents, flat tires, getting locked in the trunk," she says, ticking them off on her fingers.