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I lift my hands to his face, cupping him. ‘We’re not related, you know. There’s nothing wrong with this.’
‘Try telling that to Carter.’
I frown. ‘He doesn’t know about us…’
‘No.’
He kneels between my legs, touching my clit possessively, his eyes hooded as they run over my body. He pushes a finger inside me almost as though he can’t help it. As though he’s fascinated by what his touch can do to me. I try to keep a clear head but I’ve been set alight and every touch is a new accelerant. I bite down on my lip.
‘And he never can.’
I look at him for a moment as his words sink in. This is why he left? This is why he’s been avoiding me?
‘But…but surely that’s up to you and me. It’s up to us…’
‘There is no “us”, Astra. Not after this.’
I gasp. It’s exactly what I planned but it was supposed to be my choice. My hurt to inflict.
I blink now, realising that the pain is all mine. I am wounded by his words, his clinical detachment.
I can’t think straight, and it gets even harder when he removes his hand and slides his hard cock inside me, bringing his lips to mine and kissing me.
We have never kissed.
Not even that first time. We fucked again and again, hard and desperately.
Now his mouth moves over mine and his tongue duels with mine, demanding my surrender, my compliance and my agreement, whispering promises my heart tries to ignore.
‘You’re my fucking stepsister,’ he says into my mouth as he thrusts hard inside me.
I spiral over the edge, gripping his shoulders, trying to hold on and failing miserably.
‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
I am in free-fall—and I think I am alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE SQUEEZES MY COCK hard inside her, her legs wrap around my back and I’m falling to earth with the power of her perfection and her possession.
But there’s hurt deep in her fevered eyes and inwardly I wince.
Why the fuck am I doing this?
Wanting her and not having her was hard enough, but having tasted her sweetness I am ruined.
I want this night to last for ever—this secret, illicit, hidden night of pleasure. The stars cover the earth but each is made for her and me. This night is solely ours, hers and mine. No night will ever be like it again.
I drop my lips to her throat, kissing her salty flesh, rolling my tongue over her frantic pulse-point. My fingers hunt hers, lacing through them, spreading her arms wide so her breasts lift up. I drop my mouth to one and she gasps; I feel it reverberate through her chest as her insides clench around me.
I chase the other nipple, my tongue delighting in the glide of her skin beneath me, and my cock pushes inside her, stirring her to a desperate longing.
She calls my name, over and over again: ‘Manning, Manning, Manning, Manning!’ I groan, lifting my mouth to hers, catching her hunger, her flames, her ache. She sobs into me and I understand—I understand the desperation behind that sob.
Her needs are matched by my own.
I have spent years wanting her and knowing I can’t act on it, and now I can’t think of not having her whenever I want. I can’t think of not hearing her cry my name out like this nightly.
