by Shayla Black
For fuck’s sake, I need to keep my distance. But how, especially today?
Tiptoeing across the back patio, I sneak up behind her, cover her eyes, and whisper in her ear, “Happy sixteenth birthday, Whitney.”
She whirls around and flashes me rosy cheeks and a flirtatious grin. She might still be too young, but nothing about the way I want her is innocent.
I’m twenty-one. I know better. I shouldn’t make a move on my best friend’s little sister, especially before she’s grown. But during the past two months, she’s been just beyond my reach, wearing next to nothing to combat this heatwave and tossing me come-hither glances. My impatience to have her under me chafes. I’m almost beyond caring what I “should” do.
It’s bad, like masturbation-in-the-shower-twice-a-day bad. Still, I can’t not wish her a happy birthday, right?
“Thanks! Is that for me?” Her gaze falls on the fluffy cupcake on the nearby patio table.
“Of course.” I retrieve the pink-frosting confection and hold it out to her.
Unlike Whitney, I didn’t grow up with money. Despite having five dollars left to my name, I used half of it to buy her something I hoped would make her happy.
I watch as she plucks it up. She licks her way through the frosting before taking a delicate bite. “Mmm… So good.”
I swallow back a groan. It doesn’t matter that I jacked off not an hour ago. I’m harder than ever for her.
“Thanks for remembering, Jett,” she murmurs.
I try not to focus on the way her pretty pink tongue peeks out as she licks residual frosting from her plump lips. “Yeah. Sure.”
“It means a lot to me. I’m pretty sure my brother forgot. Tell me again why you’re friends?”
Despite knowing she’s teasing me, I’m still tongue-tied. “We’re, um…going into business together.”
She knows that, dumb shit.
Whitney smiles. “I remember the spiel. You’ve got the brains, Vance has the connections, and you’re both ambitious as hell. You’ll succeed. How’s it going? Almost done?”
“Yeah, almost. We’ve logged in a ton of hours, but I’ve nearly finished the coding, and he’s been writing up the business plan and making lists of people to contact. We should be ready to launch before we go back for our senior year. So just a few weeks now…”
Her smile dims. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“You will?” She’s always been flirty, but this is the first time she’s stated her feelings outright.
“Sure.” She backs up and gives me a suddenly nervous, nonchalant shrug. “It will be so much quieter when you and my brother are gone. Who will I nag about hogging the TV late at night while you play Xbox and refuse to share your tequila? Who will play Monopoly with me until four a.m. when I can’t sleep?”
Maybe that’s true…and maybe she’s saying that in case she thinks I don’t like her that way. But I have—from the moment I met her eight weeks ago, when I first stepped foot onto the Chancellor estate. Everything around here is ornate, too traditional. Stuffy. Perfect.
Except Whitney. She’s all the beauty, but she’s also a new spring breath of fresh air.
Vance would have my ass if he knew what I wanted to do to his little sister. He’s protective. But the way she’s looking at me proves her thoughts aren’t a little girl’s. They’re a woman’s.
“I hope that’s not all you’ll miss about me.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sure going to miss more than that about you.”
“Yeah?” She bites her lip and sends me a flirty glance through her dark lashes. “If I wanted something for my birthday, would you give it to me?”
“I’d give you the world if I could afford it.” But I can’t.
I hate that I wasn’t raised rich, like her. I barely have two nickels to rub together. She deserves better.
Whitney sets the rest of the cupcake aside and eases closer. She looks nervous as she shakes her head. “I don’t want you to buy me anything. My parents have already given me tons.”
That’s true, but I admire that she’s not a typical spoiled little rich girl who doesn’t see her good fortune.
“Then what can I give you, princess?”
“A kiss.” She looks so earnest. “Please. You’ll be the first.”
My heart stops as I stare at her tempting mouth. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Whitney.”
I manage to get the words out, but my protest is weak. How can it be anything else when I want her so badly?
“Maybe not, but I think you want to. I see the way you look at me.”
It would be easier to lie and tell her she’s mistaken, but I can’t crush her. “I want to, but Vance…”
“He has nothing to do with us. In case you hadn’t guessed, I…like you. I just want a kiss.”
It’s wrong, and I know it, but I thread our fingers together for one simple reason. “I like you, too. I think about you a lot. But you’re underage.”
“I’m not a child.”
She’s really not. She’s actually pretty mature. God knows her body has filled out in all the right places, like a full-grown woman’s.
“You have no idea how badly I want to say yes.”
A new smile brightens her face. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I admit roughly as I stare at the three stories of windows that make up the back of the vast house. Vance could be watching us even now. “But we can’t. Not here.”
I drop Whitney’s hand.
“Definitely not here,” she agrees. “I’ll be in my room, Jett. Waiting.”
Then she takes her cupcake and her music and disappears inside. I heave a deep breath as I watch her go, the tiny triangle of fabric revealing more of her ass than it covers.
God, I want her. I crave her so badly I’m shaking.
I shouldn’t give in. I should stop myself from even laying a finger on her.
But she’s giving me the chance to kiss her, be the first man to take her lips. That does something to me. Lights my possessive fire. Makes me want to growl that she’s mine.
It’s wrong and it’s dangerous and I should have my fucking head examined. Knowing the feel of her will only make my lust burn a million times hotter.
But I don’t care. I’m going to do it.
I’m going to kiss Whitney Chancellor.
Dragging in a breath, I push my way into the house and look around. It’s empty. Her dad is at work. Her mom is out getting stuff for Whitney’s party tonight. Vance is in the study, on a conference call.
It’s now or never.
Resolution firing up my veins, I march upstairs. Whitney’s door is cracked. I see her pacing.
I ease in, heart pounding, and shut the door behind me.
She stops and blinks up, meeting my stare. “Jett?”
Am I going to kiss her? That’s the subtext of her question.
I nod and stalk across the room, every move clipped. As if I need to leave all my doubts behind. As if I can’t reach her fast enough.
Finally, I cup her cheek and slide against her body. My free hand palms her nape. Willingly, she tilts her head and meets my stare. It’s not merely that she’s looking at me, but the way she’s doing it, like she’s completely open to me.
Like she’s completely mine.
“Whitney…”
There’s nothing else to say when the candy lips I want are so sweetly parted just inches under my own.
I bend to her, dragging my thumb across her so-soft cheek, and watch her wide hazel eyes slide shut.
Fuck, this is surreal. But it’s the best dream imaginable. Princess Whitney wants me, and all I have to do to please her is take her mouth with my own.
Yes…
Finally, I touch my lips to hers. I hear her little indrawn breath. She tenses against me, fingers digging into my shoulders. But the way she’s wriggling to get closer tells me she’s every bit as nervous and eager as I am.
This means something to her. Every bi
t as much as it means to me?
I sink into the kiss. She puckers, and it’s sweetly unpracticed. I regroup and redouble my effort until she’s less hesitant. Then I nudge her lips apart. She offers no resistance, shyly softening and conforming herself to me.
Need and impatience claw at my restraint. I’m slipping.
A groan tears free when I slide inside Whitney’s mouth. She welcomes me. And she’s like sugar on my tongue. I clutch her tighter as I deepen the kiss.
She’s with me, pucker for pucker, tongues stroking, lips clinging, breaths harsh.
Suddenly, she’s sinking onto her bed. I follow her down, wholly unwilling to stop kissing her, especially when her body is under mine, we’re alone, and she’s so obviously consenting.
As if my hands have a mind of their own, my palms wander her curves, skating the valley of her waist, cupping her hips, clutching her thighs. Then her legs are around me. I’m pressing my unflagging erection against her damp bikini bottoms, and our bodies are moving together as one.
Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot.
Whitney gropes until she circles my wrist, then lifts my hand.
Suddenly, I’m cradling the tender weight of her breast in my palm. I groan. The subversive part of me needs to know just how aroused she is, so I thumb her nipple.
She breaks our kiss to toss her head back and cries my name. “Jett…”
“Oh, princess. You feel amazing.” I squeeze her mound and close my eyes, letting go for this one moment. I haven’t done anything irrevocable to her. I can stop any time.
Right?
Under me, she shimmies and rocks. Pleasure jolts me with every move. The minute I realize we’re going through all the motions of sex with our clothes on is also the moment my hand seems to get its own ideas and shoves aside the little scrap of pink covering her breast. My mouth gets on the bandwagon and sucks the pretty dark nipple I just exposed, tonguing it until her back arches and her whimpers fill my head.
Jesus, I’m going to come.
“Princess…” I pant. “We’ve gotta stop.”
She shakes her head, trembling when my exhalations fall on her straining nipple. “We don’t. Please. I want you. I want all of you.”
Whitney doesn’t give me time to think, just wraps herself around me—arms, legs, lips—and wordlessly begs me for more.
I shake. The thought of being inside her nearly sends me over the edge.
Sure, I’ve had sex. Hurried-high-school sex. Drunken-frat-party sex. We-just-met-in-a-bar sex. Friends-with-benefits sex. Even screwing-an-ex-girlfriend’s-mother sex. But I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want Whitney.
I’m in love with her. I think I have been half the summer.
“Princess…”
But what am I saying? I know what I should do, should say.
With Whitney, none of that seems to make much difference.
“Please don’t say no.”
I filter through all my arguments. Vance, her age, what’s right and wrong… I’ve already hit those. They don’t matter to her. I’m not even sure how much they really matter to me.
“You’re a virgin,” I finally say.
“So?” She blinks up at me, looking somewhere between earnest and tearful. “I love you.”
“Oh, fuck.” I hold her tighter. In all my wildest dreams, I never imagined she was feeling what I was. “I love you, too.”
Whitney’s smile lights up my world. Then she tosses off her bikini top. “That’s all that matters. Make love to me.”
“I can’t give you anything.”
“All I want is you.” She clings to me and presses a kiss to my lips. “Please.”
“I have to go back to college in a few weeks.”
She nods. “I know. But I’ll still be waiting here for you next summer. And I get that you’re worried about Vance, but—”
“He’s my best friend. He’d kill me for touching you.”
She presses a finger over my lips. “It will be our secret.”
There’s a no perched on the tip of my tongue, but she muzzles it by lifting her hips to me and closing her eyes with a moan.
Shit. I’ve got to stop this.
Soon.
Just one more minute…
Then I lose myself in her kiss again, in the feel of her slender body undulating beneath me, in the way her gaze clings to me with love when I take her nipple in my mouth. She’s all cotton-candy sweetness and sweet-sixteen perfection. I want her so badly, every fucking part of my body hurts.
Is going behind everyone’s backs and rushing into this good for her?
No. I’ve got to stop this now.
I sigh. “Whitney—”
Behind me, the door to her bedroom slams open. “You son of a bitch. Get the fuck off my sister!”
Vance.
I jump to my feet and block his view of Whitney with my body. “It’s—”
“Not what I think?” he sneers.
No, it’s exactly what he thinks.
“Get out!” Whitney screams at her brother.
Neither of us budges. I won’t leave her alone to endure her brother’s wrath, and he won’t leave me alone with temptation.
“I would never hurt her,” I promise.
He snorts, silently admonishing me that it’s too late. “When did you start fucking her?”
I hold up both hands. “Dude, I didn’t—”
Vance silences me with a cross to the jaw.
“What are you doing?” Whitney screeches. “Stop!”
“Don’t touch my sister again.” He points a finger in my face. “Ever. I fucking trusted you…”
He did. He invited me into his house and let me stay with him so I would have all summer to write code instead of heading back to my hometown in Nowhere, Colorado, to make minimum wage shoveling horse shit or whatever my dad says “builds character.” Don’t get me wrong; I need the money. But if this app takes off like I think it will, money won’t be a problem anymore.
“I can’t believe this is how you repay me!” Vance gestures to Whitney, who’s got her arms crossed over her bare breasts.
“I’m sorry.”
Vance grunts. “You will be, asshole, once I take it out of your hide.”
At the time, I thought he was just lashing out. I thought he’d get over his anger and we’d go back to normal. I thought Whitney would believe me when I told her at the end of the summer that none of my feelings for her had changed, to give her brother time, and we’d work things out between the two of us somehow. I believed her when she kissed me one last time and said she’d be waiting.
But I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I learned that weeks later when Vance, with an LLC he created alone, launched our app without me. My idea, everything I’d spent months innovating and coding, my one chance at being someone and crawling out of the blue-collar middle class I’ve always despised—all stolen from me. My best friend left me with nothing.
And when push came to shove, Whitney backed him up by taking his side in my lawsuit.
She ripped out my heart, too. I’ve never been the same.
After that humiliation, I launched my own creation the following spring. Over the next half a decade, I amassed a tech empire that far surpasses anything Vance has accomplished. But I’ve spent eight long, terrible years waiting for the day I could finally have my revenge. I waited for this day.
I smile coldly. Now, it’s here.
And this time, when she’s broken, when I’ve fucked her out of my system, it will end on my terms.
Chapter Two
Present day
* * *
Whitney
As I watch the hands of the clock tick away the last of my freedom, I wonder if I’ve gone insane. That’s the only answer that makes sense.
I should have refused Jett’s insulting proposition. I should have spit in his face.
I don’t have that luxury. While I can criticize my brother for this financial mess, I was away at schoo
l when he needed me. Some of the blame rests on my shoulders.
For the next seven days, I have to let Jett Dean use me in whatever way he wants and hope he doesn’t destroy me.
Bitterly, I laugh. Every time he touches my life, it explodes into a fiery, horrific inferno, then leaves me standing in a heap of ash.
It took me years to pick myself up after he left the first time. How much harder will it be this time after I share his bed? After I take him into my body?
And what about the secret I’m keeping from him?
A glance at the clock on my mantel tells me it’s eight fifty-eight. A pair of headlights slow, turn into my driveway, and stop. The driver doesn’t honk. I don’t walk out right away. I have two minutes to decide what to do. On the table in front of me is my phone. Beside it sits the burner device.
Which am I going to pick up?
But I already know the answer.
With a trembling hand, I grab my phone and hit the button to reach the person I call most.
“Whit,” my brother answers. “What’s going on?”
I look at the clock. Eight fifty-nine. I have less than sixty seconds to give Vance an excuse. It’s too late to explain the truth.
“I’ll be gone for the next week. I’ll call you when I get home next Saturday night.”
“Where are you going?” He sounds confused.
“I can’t say.”
“Who are you going with?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What the fuck is happening?” Now he sounds alarmed. “I’m coming over there.”
“Don’t. I won’t be here. Just…trust me.”
“I do, but this isn’t like you.”
“I’m doing what’s best for both of us. Please try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone. Please. Don’t do anything. Don’t sign anything. Don’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to hound me.”
Yes, I do, and we both know it.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally. “I’ll talk to you in a week.”
