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I want to not think of her with the full backlog of my knowledge.
I want to see her as just this: a woman who wants to fuck me.
I wish I could separate this Astra from the Astra I know intimately in every way. The Astra I saw grow up, the Astra I adored when she was a child and came to lust after when she was a teenager and burgeoning into a young adult. The Astra I can’t get out of my head.
‘And whatever I want you’ll do it?’ I prompt, surprised that I can sound so commanding and calm when my cock is hard and my pulse is thready.
‘I’ll do anything.’ She nods, her expression determined despite the soft tone of her words.
She closes the distance between us, her fingers toying with that strap, and I hold my breath, silently willing her to push it lower.
‘You want to see me,’ she declares, her eyes challenging me to admit it.
‘I’m seeing you now.’ I shrug, as if I’m not gagging to feast my eyes on her beautiful flesh.
‘And that’s enough?’
She pouts, her lower lip jutting out, begging me to drag it between my teeth. Fuck.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ I make one last-ditch effort towards sanity.
Her smile shows she knows it. ‘I’ll go if you ask me to.’
There. It’s easy. Just tell her to leave. Just tell her she’s your stepsister and you meant what you said in Manhattan—that it shouldn’t have happened. Tell her to put a fucking coat on or something, so no one else can see what you do: those beautiful pert breasts straining at the silky fabric of her dress.
‘Or…’ she purrs, pressing her fingertips into my chest and walking them lower, her eyes holding mine.
She teases me, dragging them down until they’re at the buckle of my belt.
‘Or I’ll get on my knees for you right here. You can choose what you want more.’
I groan—a sound of complaint and compliance. Fuuuuck. I have dreamed of this all my life. No, not all my life, but for a very long time. I have thought of her bent down in front of me, taking my cock in her mouth. Even that night in Manhattan we didn’t do that. That night was about pleasing her. About making her mine.
If this night is about what I want, then she sure as hell knows me to a tee.
I don’t say anything but she pulls at my belt, daring me with her eyes to stop her. Telling me to say no.
I’m not going to. I’m not fucking crazy.
‘Not here,’ I say.
If she’s going to blow me, I want to see it all. I stalk through the apartment, knowing she’s right behind me. There are mirrors along the hallway. I stop, leaning back against a wall, and eye her sardonically.
‘Well, baby… What are you waiting for?’
CHAPTER FIVE
I CAN BARELY CONTAIN my pulse. It is raging inside me like a waterfall, or a tornado, so fast and impatient it thrums in my ears. Everything resonates at a high pitch. The sound of his breathing as I drop to my knees, the shaking of my fingers as I unzip him, the feel of his thighs as my fingertips graze him, the smell of him so hot, so like I remember, that I would crumple to the ground, my knees giving way, if I wasn’t already kneeling before him.
The knowledge that he’s watching me in the mirror fills me with power and I pull my hands away, my eyes holding his. I see his displeasure, as though he thinks I’m going to change my mind, as though he thinks I don’t have the nerve to go through with this.
But he’s wrong.
I’ve never done it before but I’ve dreamed about doing it to Manning, and I’m going to be the best he’s ever known.
My fingers catch the bottom of my dress, at the level of my thighs, and I lift it slowly, my eyes locked to his. I see the very instant the dress lifts over my arse and his eyes fall to the black thong I’m wearing—lace, revealing all of me to him…the curves of my butt, the small of my back, everything.
Higher the dress goes, to my breasts, and then, impatient, he reaches for it and lifts it the rest of the way, pulling it to his nose and breathing in my scent.
