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But I also feel a low hum of warning vibrating in the pit of my stomach, telling me to run.
Wyatt takes my silence as further invitation, dropping my hair to palm my breasts through my halter top. I arch into him with a startled gasp, and he moans in reply. A raw and dirty sound. “You know how many times I’ve jerked off imagining blowing my load all over these big milky-white titties?” He squeezes my breasts like they’re sponges, and I shake my head, eyes slamming shut. “Too many times to count, honey.”
Oh God.
The alcohol is making my brain feel fuzzy, my body teetering until I stumble back against a dresser. My heart is thumping frantically in my chest but I can’t decipher its beats.
And then he’s kissing me.
Hard, wet, demanding. Wyatt shoves my jaw open, stabbing me with his tongue until I almost gag. “Mmm,” he groans, slipping one hand between my legs, sliding it upward until he’s palming my inner thigh. “You know what this body was made for?”
Words feel unattainable. Only a squeak breaks free.
He replies anyway. “Me.”
Wyatt grabs me by the hair and shoves me to my knees, his opposite hand deftly loosening his belt buckle and unzipping his jeans. The denim falls to his ankles while he jerks himself free of his boxers, stroking hard through a groan, still fisting my hair as I remain rooted to the musty carpet, completely frozen.
I’m not sure why, of all moments, Brant’s face spirals to mind.
My lashes flutter, my breath hitching.
I picture the look of disappointment in his eyes when he finds out about this. The betrayal. He hates Wyatt. Of all people this could happen with, this almost feels like I’m twisting a knife into Brant’s perfect heart. Shame floods me, and I flinch as Wyatt thrusts his hips at me.
“Swallow my cock, Juney,” he says with a moan. “I want first dibs on this pretty little mouth.”
No! Nausea curdles in my gut when the head of his penis nudges between my lips, and I lurch back. “I–I can’t… I’m sorry. I just…” Flustered, I fall back on my bottom, pulling my skirt down as far as it will go, then scamper to my feet. “I changed my mind.”
I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.
Wyatt sniffs. “Yeah, I figured you might.”
Pacing backward on shaky legs, I readjust my bra then fold my arms over my chest like a protective hug.
“That’s the thing about good girls,” he drones, stuffing himself back into his boxers, still fully erect. He tugs his jeans up his hips and finishes, “It’s a bitch to close the deal. But fuck…it’s so damn sweet when you do.”
My jaw aches from grinding my molars together. Tears threaten to spill, so I spin around and stalk toward the bedroom door.
He stops me.
He stops me dead in my tracks.
“Think he calls you Junebug when he fantasizes about pumping his cock into that sweet hole of yours?”
I freeze.
My blood freezes, everything freezes.
Color drains from my face, and my stomach pitches. I turn to him slowly, my eyes wide and volatile. “What?”
He shrugs.
He just shrugs.
“Are you insane?” My voice trembles with slow simmering outrage. “He’s my brother.”
“He ain’t your brother, Juney.” Wyatt zips his jeans back up, then fastens the belt buckle. “Trust me—he’s all too aware of that fact.”
“You’re sick.”
