After several more seconds where she continues to silently consign me to hell and back, she whips around and stalks out of the room toward the marble staircase leading up to the second level of the apartment. I couldn’t tear my starving gaze from her slender back and plump ass, rippling with every angry step, if I wanted to. And fuck if I want to.
As soon as she disappears, I exit the living room, walking past the elegant dining room with its wall of glass-block windows and long, gleaming ebony table with matching chairs. The area, with its brick fireplace, formal serving buffet, and bar, was designed for family and friends—a particular group, aside from her lab rats and Sam, Ember had neither.
I made sure of that.
If I couldn’t have her—couldn’t get close to her, be inside her, fucking have her—then no one else would either.
Call me an asshole, a bully. I really don’t give a fuck.
I’ve been called worse and deserve every one of the names. I own them. Don’t give a fuck about them either.
My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors as I make my way into the kitchen toward the refrigerator. I open it, grab a cold bottle of water, and close the door. I’d be a liar if I claimed tobe surprised at the beautifully appointed room. Top-of-the-line appliances. Freestanding indoor grill and separate island. A bar, large double oven that wouldn’t have been out of place in a restaurant, range and hood, warming drawer, gorgeous stone counters. Huge breakfast nook with a cedar table, chairs, and sitting area looking over the covered patio, fire pit, and pool. It’s a kitchen for someone who enjoys being here. Someone who loves cooking, creating.
“You really have no boundaries. Marcus leaves you the kingdom, and you walk up in my shit—illegally, I might add—and act like you own it, too. This is what happens when muthafuckas never hear the wordno. Spare the rod, spoil the child, and all that shit.”
I turn around, eyebrow raised, careful not to exhibit any expression other than that as Ember strolls into the kitchen. It’s a struggle though. Because she’s trying me. I swear to fuck, no one pushes me like my stepsister. Yeah, I’m a violent man, and I embrace it. Fuck, I love that shit. Everyone else goes out of their way to avoid inciting that side of me. But Ember? She does it like the government is handing out mu’fucking stimulus checks for the shit.
This woman. I twist the cap off and lift the bottle to my lips, swallowing water along with a harsh, sarcastic chuckle.
The dark blue, ankle-length, sleeveless dress should be modest, boring even. And on someone else, it probably would be. But this isn’t “someone else.” It’s Ember. And there’s not shit boring about her.
She’s gon’ make me order her to take her hardheaded ass back up those fucking stairs and change—again.
Gorgeous, thick thighs and those sexy-as-fuck, round hips press against the thin material, stretching it to the max. Even though she’s facing me, I can still see the spread of her ass, and my fingertips tingle, desperate to dent all that juicy flesh as I grab all on it while delivering death strokes from the back. My stomach knots,my dick lengthening, hardening behind my suit pants with just the thought. With the hunger to have my hips slapping against her as that undoubtedly tight, gushy pussy drowns me.
Fuck.
The dress clings to the small pooch of her stomach and to the thrust of her full breasts. She’s not a small woman; the thin straps are damn near fighting for their lives holding up the weight of those titties. Still, they’re sitting up pretty, stirring a deeper, gnawing ache in the pit of my gut. Imagine me sitting in a doctor’s office trying to explain an ulcer from hungering to be face-deep in titty and balls-deep in pussy.
Wait.
I narrow my eyes on her chest…
Nah.
Can’t fucking be. My dick jerks, and shit if I’m not seconds away from cummin’ in my gotdamn pants.
“What the fuck did you do?” I growl even though it’s quite fucking obvious what she did. Yeah, I sound like a rabid animal. Fuck, I feel like one.
I pride myself on being aware of Ember’s movements, of keeping tabs on her. So this…
Ember mimics my gesture from moments ago, arching an eyebrow. “What’re you talking about?”
Instead of replying, I slam the bottle on the island, not caring about the water erupting out of the top and splashing across the spotless surface. I stalk across the kitchen, not stopping until she’s caged between my body and the grill. She leans away from me, and a sibilant voice warns me to back off, give her space. But the hungrier, much louder part of me ignores all whispers of caution. It just needs to feed, and I surrender to it. My hands curl around the edge, and I grasp it like it’s the only thing saving me from falling ass-first into a pitch-black pit.
“Is this what we’re doing?” I chuckle, and though she recovers quickly, it’s not fast enough to conceal her slight flinch. I don’t blame her. Wasn’t shit humorous about the sound. Andain’t shit jokey-jokey about the lust tearing at my insides in great, greedy, bleeding handfuls. I shake my head, loosing another low, mean laugh. “You out here sounding like a broken record with all the shit I supposedly put you through—”
She snorts, mugging me. “Supposedly. Muthafu—”
I crush a finger to her lips, pressing so hard, the ridge of her teeth lightly scrapes my skin.
“Unh-unh. Watch yourself, little sister. I let you slide, but disrespect me again, and I will choke you up in here and hang you on that fucking wall right next to those pots and pans like a gotdamn coatrack. Try me if you want to.”
She snatches her head to the side and drags her hand across her mouth as if wiping away the taste of me. Anger wraps around my rib cage in red-hot barbed wire, and maybe her father is down on his knees sucking Satan’s dick as a favor for his little girl right now to keep me from going upside her fucking head.
“I’m not your sister,” she snaps, voice dripping with derision.
“Ma, you don’t need to remind me.” I lean back, staring into those narrowed honey-colored eyes that glare back at me with so much contempt. Yeah, if she understood how all that hatred is like fucking photosynthesis to me, she’d at least attempt to hide it better. “If you were my sister, I wouldn’t do this.”
