by K. I. Lynn
My stubborn kitty clenches her jaw and shakes her head.
A denial.
So be it.
I nuzzle her mound, the slick soaked material of her panties making me groan deep in my throat. Gripping her hips, I bring her closer, pressing my tongue flat against the source of that delicious scent.
She fights it, but there's no hiding the shifting of her body against the door, the way her toned legs part for me. I swirl my tongue across her panties, sucking softly on each pussy lip.
Her hips jerk, offering me more of that luscious cunt.
My teeth bare on a snarl and my head snaps around so I can latch onto her inner thigh. Biting her. Sucking on her.
Marking her.
Fucking mine.
Sliding my thumb into the crotch of her panties, I pull them to one side, baring plush, pink, swollen flesh. She's glistening for me, her clit throbbing.
“I missed this pussy, baby. You have no idea how much.” I'm fucking panting with hunger.
Kira says nothing. Her eyes burn with anger and need as she glares down at me. Pink cheeks. Parted lips. Panting just as hard as I am.
This is our truth. The only truth I've ever known, even back when I did everything in my power to deny it to myself. Neither of us can escape the electric pulse that connects us on the most primal fucking level.
I'm hers. She's mine.
And our bodies know it. Knew it long before our minds could comprehend it.
“This is my pussy to love. To lick.” I flick her clit lightly with my tongue. “To suck,” I groan, tugging on it with my lips.
She cries out my name, fisting my hair so she can pull me right where she needs me.
My cock leaks. I moan right into the wet core of her body, losing control. My tongue laps slow and thick into her dripping pussy lips.
She chokes back a loud cry, pulling on my hair.
I snarl, sucking her harder.
I'm going to fucking make her scream, whether she wants to or not. Drive her so wild with the need for my cock that her shouted pleas will be heard all the way downstairs, above the pumping music that's currently shaking the walls. I don't give a fuck if we get caught anymore. My only purpose in life in this moment is to make her drench my tongue.
“All I've thought about for years is this little pussy,” I confess, using the tip of my finger to tease her entrance. Her whole body trembles for me, telling me every single thing she refuses to tell me. Her walls suck my finger right in.
Tight.
Unbelievably hot.
Her eyes roll back, her body arching along the door again. Help me God, she's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Felt. I'm losing control, sanity being vaporized with every sweet breath and dick-twitching moan that leaves her.
She's so ready to be fucked. It takes every bit of my willpower to ignore the painful throbs of my dick. I press my open mouth between her legs, lapping at her clit slowly and add another finger inside her.
“Oh God. Brayden.”
Fuck. She clamps down around them instantly, her pussy so greedy. I look up at her as I eat her. She's lost, unseeing eyes and a body moving, searching, needing just a little more. I start pumping my fingers into her, slow and hard, exactly how I plan to fuck her with my cock at first.
Another whimpering moan leaves her as her head falls back on the door. Her sexy sounds are growing in volume, intensity. Muscles strain against me, the walls of her pussy tightening so much I can barely move my fingers. Her legs are shaking.
So close. So fucking close to having her all over my hand, my tongue, then all over my leaking dick. “That's it, baby. I want you to come for me.” I speed up, driving it home.
Her head falls forward, and I'm hit with that beautiful, blissed-out expression. Her gaze holds mine. Broken little moans seep out of her parted lips.
“Yeah, baby. That's it. Look at me when you come.” I suck her clit back into my mouth.
She freezes up on me, the orgasm breaking through her so hard she can barely move. My name crashes out of her lips, a broken litany that leaves my hips rocking, almost shooting off right there.
She's still coming when I blast up to my feet and wrap my arm around her, thrusting my fingers into her as the tremors continue drumming through her walls. Her teeth clamp down on my neck, silencing her helpless cries, but they reverberate through my body.
Her teeth bite down, marking me, whether she knows it or not.
I love it.
Her body goes limp against mine, all the fight drained out of her. The walls of her pussy are still fluttering around my fingers.
She missed this—needed the contact—as bad as I did.
Her head's tucked into the crook of my neck. I feel every panted breath that leaves her.
My bed's behind me. My old bed. The same one I spent countless nights imagining her on. I promised myself I wouldn't fuck her here, in this house, where anyone can hear us, interrupt us. That's what the room I rented is for. But I'm not making it out of this house with her. My cock's raging, ready to burst.
This time, I'm staining her walls with me. Not her dress, her skin. She's taking every last drop I can give, into her.
I tighten my arm around Kira, squeezing her. Her walls tighten around my fingers in response, ripping a hiss out of me. I swirl them around inside her, loving her small high-pitched gasps, that I can hear how wet she is. She moves against me, her body languid in my arms.
And this, right here, the utter surrender of her body, almost makes all those years of bullshit worth it.
I nuzzle her hair, using my face to move it out of the way, and start licking up and down her delicious throat. “Fuck, baby,” I murmur, sucking wetly on her earlobe. “I wish I could get you out of here, back to the room I rented for us tonight.” She shifts. I grab her arms, my hips rolling into her. “But I can't wait to fuck you. Need you. Now.”
I don't recognize the sound I hear at first, almost confusing it for a moan.
Another roll of my hips, my body seeking any sort of friction for my aching dick.
That sound again. Low.
Sad.
Kira shifts one more time.
She wants me to let her go.
That sound . . .
She's fucking sobbing.
My arms go slack with shock. I let her go, not because I want to, but because I can't remember the last time I actually heard her make a sound like that.
No. I've seen Kira cry before in the past, but I've never heard that specific sound from her before. Not that one.
My fingers slide out of her. She's in front of me now; another sound leaves her, making my fingers twitch at my sides because it's wrong, so fucking wrong.
One lone tear leaks out of her eye, and I stand here like a fucking moron, eyes fixated on the path it makes down her cheek, unable to stare at the source of that tear because it's starting to dawn on me what I'm going to find there.
“Don't you get it?” Kira's voice is raspy, trembling. She angrily wipes away the tear. “You can make my body come against my will, thousands of times if you want, but that doesn't change anything.”
It’s a gut punch, my stomach twists inside me, ripping me apart. Her words . . .
The tone of her voice is also different than any I've ever heard from her. There's no anger. No pain. It's just a dead intonation. A mere stating of facts.
I'm shaking my head before she even starts speaking again, because I know what she's going to say. I've heard it before, but never in that tone. It'll make it too real, and I won't fucking accept it . . .
“It's too late, Brayden. Too. Late.”
I clench my jaw and shake my head harder. “No.”
“It is. Even if I give in and sleep with you, you'll never have any actual piece of me.”
I step toward her. “Then let me sleep with you. Have me, Kira. Let me prove to you how wrong you are.”
She laughs, the sound bitter. Jaded. There's an ugliness inside her, too old for someone of her age. An u
gliness I put there. “Give the almighty Brayden Hunt another notch on his bedpost? No thank you.”
I shake my head again. “No. You're not another notch. Never you. I told you, I love you, Kira.”
My face doesn't even register the pain of her slapping me.
“You have no fucking clue what love is, Brayden, so don't give me that bullshit.”
I can't argue with that, because we both know my history. My dysfunctions when it comes to love are the real reason my girl's turned into this bitter, heartbroken woman before me. Not the fact that she's my stepsister.
It was all about me and my stupid fears.
“You might be right about that, but I also know that it's the only word that even comes close to describing whatever the hell it is that suffocates me every time I think of you. See you. Hear your name.”
She looks like she's just barely holding herself back from hitting me again.
“Do it,” I whisper to her. “I told you, hit me all you need to. Hurt me. But stop pushing me away.”
“You want that, don't you?” She narrows her eyes, studying me. “You want me to hurt you because somewhere in that sick mind of yours, it'll mean I still care.”
“You do still care,” I grind out, but that little voice of uncertainty is awakening, whispering dark doubts into my mind. Her eyes are too dead. Unfeeling.
Cold.
Kira gives me a small, mirthless laugh. “Keep lying to yourself. How could anyone still care after everything that's happened? After everything that you did?”
She has to be lying. She has to. I know I messed everything up, but fuck if I'm going to accept that it's over.
“Get it through your thick head, Brayden. I have no interest in being with you. We would never be able to work it out. Move on with your life, and get out of my way so I can do the same.”
“There's one little problem with what you're saying, Kira.” I flex my drenched fingers at my side. “You still need me as much as I need you. You're all over my fingers. My mouth. You would've been all over my cock if I'd given you that instead.”
“I told you, it's only my body! Lust. Nothing more!”
Ah, the sweet undertone of denial.
My hope reawakens once more.
“I'm not giving up on you, little liar. This isn't over. It never will be, if I have a say in it.” Let her make of that last part what she will. It's the truth, anyway. Maybe I'm not meant to have her tonight. That's fine.
It's clear now that I won't be getting anything from her until I prove my love.
So be it. Challenge accepted.
Kira adjusts her dress and huffs. “Well, it's a good thing you don't have a say in it.”
Oh, but I do. She can deny it—fight it—all she wants, but I really, really do.
When she storms around to exit the room, I'm tempted to block her path.
I don't.
Watching her over my shoulder, I wait until she's opened the door and is almost out into the hall before I speak. “The hell I don't, baby. You're mine. And I'm going to do anything necessary to prove it.”
She slams the door closed on her way out.
Her walls may be up, to guard herself against me and all the shit I put her through. But I’m a mother-fucking wrecking ball, an unstoppable force, and I’m going to tear them down.
I’ve already made up my mind.
And I don’t give a damn if she thinks she’s made up hers.
Exclusive sneak peek of
“What the fuck were you thinking when you decided to wear that?”
It’s one of those moments when someone’s audacity just leaves you utterly speechless. That’s me right now. Jaw completely unhinged. Anger skyrocketing to a whole new level.
Who the hell does he think he is asking me that? Did he see himself before leaving his damn apartment?
His pirate costume was obviously put together last minute, probably with clothes he already had in his closet, but that only makes it look more rugged. The light beige shirt he’s wearing has a wide open collar and he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, leaving his forearms exposed. The black leather vest he threw on top of it has gold buttons and adds the perfect touch, and matches the leather combat boots on his feet.
Mussed-up hair, light jeans, the thick leather bracelets encircling his large wrists . . . the eyepatch covering one of his gorgeous eyes. The exposed eye is narrowed and glaring at me.
He looks just as dangerous as he is.
No, his costume doesn’t show nearly as much skin as mine does, but it’s just as bad. I heard him walk into the house—and by that I mean I heard the collective sighs that left the mouths of every female within eyesight of him.
He knew damn well what he was doing when he put on that costume.
“You have a lot of nerve asking me that.”
“You’re wearing a bra!” he snaps, his expression hard. Vicious. His jaw twitches, and he takes a step toward me.
It requires every ounce of strength in me to step back. “It’s not a bra, it’s part of the costume—”
“I saw your ass in that fucking tutu while you were walking up the stairs!”
“And?” I knew how short the black tutu was when I decided to buy it, but it matched perfectly with the black and pink cat ears on my head.
Brayden’s hand shoots out, latching onto said tutu. He yanks me into him, pretty much growling in my face.
My heart beat drops between my legs, pounding, sending blood rushing to my clit.
“If I saw it, everyone else did,” he says, enunciating each word slowly, his breath sliding between my lips. His scent is too strong now that he has me so close.
Oh God. “I . . . and?” Speech has left me and that’s all I can give him, because I can barely think clearly. It’s a fog—a hot, needy fog. I’m suffocating. I . . . fuck, I want him, and he hasn’t let me go.
His fist tightens around my black tutu. He pops his jaw and leans down into me, lips right there. So close. “How many fucking times am I going to tell you that you’re mine, Kira?” His eye flickers up to my cat ears and back. “My Kitty. No one gets to see what’s mine but me.”
My heart gives a wild kick.
No. No.
I can’t be excited about this. I refuse to admit just how turned on it makes me when he gets possessive like this. I am not his. Never will be. He has no right.
“You’re going home right now and changing.”
Motherfucker. “Get off me,” I hiss, anger mixing, churning, reminding me that I can’t have him no matter how much I fucking want him.
He doesn’t answer for a beat, that single, emerald eye glinting in the dim light of the hallway. Then he shakes his head one time. “No.”
I grab his stupid, sexy shirt and push him back, right into the wall. “I told you—”
Holy fucking shit.
I stop mid-sentence, eyes locked on what I’ve accidentally exposed, my brain misfiring. Brayden’s heart races under my hand, but the rest of him remains still. So still. I yank the shirt further aside, fully exposing the left side of his chest—
And the stylized K tattooed right onto his left pectoral.
What. The. Fuck?
“Brayden, there you are!”
Brayden tenses and lets go of my tutu as if burned.
All the while, my eyes are locked on that stupid, beautiful K.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Jennifer says, coming closer.
I bet she has. She, like every whore in this house, wants him.
She, like almost all of them, has had him.
That K on his chest seems glaringly bright, making it almost impossible to pull my attention away.
But I do, somehow looking away and letting go of his shirt. For the same reason that Brayden rushes to cover his chest—because he’s my fucking stepbrother, and no one can really know what’s going on between us.
Especially a jealous skank like Jennifer, who will run to tell everyone in town.
; “What do you want, Jen?” he asks her.
Her eyes light up as if he’s straight up told her he wants to drag her into the nearest bedroom and have sex with her. Giggling, she twirls her hair and bites the corner of her lip, eyes eating him up just as mine had earlier. “There was something I wanted to show you.”
Translation: she’s ready to bare her crotch and let him have at it.
I should be immune to this by now. It shouldn’t matter.
It does, and I want to fucking tear her eyes out.
I can’t.
So I clench my fists and stand here, seething, hating myself because I still care.
“I’m busy talking to Kira.”
Jennifer blinks as if surprised and finally realizing I’m here.
Bullshit. She knew. But like everyone else, she suspects something and therefore has no qualms about blatantly laying a claim on Brayden. She knows she can and I can’t, and she’s rubbing it in my face.
“Oh . . . well, as soon as you’re done talking to your sister, can you please come find me so I can show you?” The almost innocent way she stares at him, eyes wide, makes me sick to my stomach. But not as sick as what Brayden says next.
“Sure.”
What?
Jennifer giggles and gives him this flirty little smile. Her eyes cut in my direction, and I don’t miss the way they flash with malice. Nor the way she seems to be silently gloating.
Like I give a fuck. Oh, no. She can gloat all she wants. That’s not what I’m focused on right now.
My initial is fucking tattooed onto his skin, and he just agreed to go find her after he “finishes” with me?
Jennifer turns at the end of the hall, heading down the stairs.
“Kira—”
I snap.
Later on, I’ll probably look back on this moment, and hate myself for the way I lose all control, but nothing matters right now except the obvious.
This man has spent months of his life trying to convince me I’m his. He’s marked his body with symbols of me. Which tells me he knows the truth.
