Page 32 of The Perfect Wrong


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Scared out of my damn wits to turn around and look at her.

My knees feel like lead.

Bruce stares at me awkwardly like I’ve lost my mind and I can’t blame him. Forcing my legs to work, I do a slow pivot, my jaw pinched so tight it would horrify my dentist.

The second I see her, I don’t know whether to laugh or scream or just charge the nearest wall headfirst and knock myself out cold.

Thank fuck for Navy discipline.

It’s the only thing that stops me from making all three bad decisions.

Somehow, I walk toward her, grinning defiantly through the shock like I’m not looking at a laughing curse from this twisted joke of a universe.

“Delia. Hot damn, you’re cuter than I expected. I’ve heard a lot.” I extend a hand.

She has one foot in the room, staring like a deer in headlights.

Yeah, baby. The feeling’s mutual.

For a second, I wonder if she’s going to fall over. I widen my stance to lunge and catch her just in case.

Her father clears his throat, though, reminding her to greet her new stepbrother like a civilized human.

Fucking hell.

If only he knew how uncivilized we’ve already been.

If only he had any inkling I’ve kissed her, swallowed her moans, and made her come in her panties so hard they may have melted.

A handshake or a hug should be nothing after what we did on the beach.

When she shakily takes my hand, it’s pure devastation.

Hot and clammy and sick with surprise.

Worst of all, my body doesn’t want to vibe with the nightmare realization in my brain. My blood runs molten as I close my fingers around hers, my first brush with known forbidden fruit.

“It’s really, um...it’s...it’s great to meet you, too!”

Goddamn.

That faint tremor in her voice just has to remind me of how she sounded on the beach, doesn’t it?

My dick mutinies, throbbing as I throw one arm around her back, pulling her in close.

From behind, I know it looks like a friendly hug to our parents.

Up close and personal, it’s too familiar.

Too much like the way I threw her against the wall and shoved my hands between her legs.

Shit.

If I move one more inch, she’ll feel I’m hard enough to drive nails, a sin I can’t take back.

The world might’ve just dealt us a shit hand, but it didn’t kill my need to have her under me.

When I feel the heat of her skin and inhale her, that breezy perfume mingling with her pheromones, my balls are doused in fire.

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