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“Get out of my room!” I yelled, jaw clenched. I hurled my phone onto the bed and slammed my hands into his taut chest. “Get out.”
After closing my door, he grabbed my hands and stepped closer to me. “Maybe I should teach you some respect, some manners.”
My cheeks flushed ever so slightly because part of me wanted to know how he would teach me. Would he push me into my bedroom, bend me over the bed, and take me finally? Two years. Two fucking years, and this hadn’t changed between us.
“You’re gross,” I said, watching his jaw twitch.
He growled under his breath, pushed me onto my bed, and stalked toward me. My eyes widened, heart pounding against my chest. His muscles flexed under his shirt, and his cock pressed hard against his gray sweatpants.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
“Jace,” I said, voice shaking.
I hated him, but I made no move to stop him. I didn’t push him away. I didn’t scream at him to stop looking at me with those sinful brown eyes. I didn’t want him to stop. Maybe I was fucked up, but I wanted my stepbrother to finally give in after two years of torture.
