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“Mia, I’m not making fun of you. I just asked what you’ve been up to. I’m proud of you for trying different things.”
“No, you’re not,” I say, turning toward the TV. For some reason, I feel my lower lip tremble and my eyes sting with tears. Why do I even care? It shouldn’t matter to me what Garrett thinks about me.
Except that it does.
“For the record,” I continue, “I really like my job now, and I’m making enough to finally move out of our parents’ basement.”
“Oh yeah? Doing what?” There’s a harshness in his tone that stops me from answering. He’s such a cocky asshole sometimes. The last thing I would ever do is actually open up to him about what I do. He would only judge me more.
“Never mind,” I mutter, throwing the blanket off of me and moving to stand. But his hand is on my arm, pulling me back down. I glare at him, mouth hanging open in surprise. “Let me go.”
“No. You’re being a brat. Just answer the question.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” I argue, trying to get up again. This time his arms wrap around my middle and drag me down onto his lap.
“Why not? What do you have to hide, Mia? Because I don’t believe your lies about being indata entry.”
He’s mocking me and it has my blood boiling. So I take a swing at him, trying to slap him across the face, but he’s too fast, catching my wrist in his hand. I’m struggling against his hold until we’re wrestling, but he’s so much stronger than me that, within minutes, he has me face down on the couch with all of his body weight resting on my back.
“You’re such an asshole!” I yell into the cushion.
“Why does everything have to be a fight with you?” he argues, a hint of mocking humor in his tone. “You’re so goddamn feisty.”
“Me? You’re the one lying on me like you want to fuck me!”
He laughs in my ear, a low gravelly chuckle. “Trust me, brat. If I wanted to fuck you, I would.”
I struggle against him some more. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you can’t stand me, so I don’t have to worry about it.”
I swear I must be imagining things because I feel his hips grind against my backside, and there’s definitely somethingstiffin his pants as he does it. Heat courses up my spine in a flurry of arousal and confusion. Why on earth is Garrett getting hard?
Does wrestling with his stepsister really get him aroused?
“On second thought…a little hate-sex might be fun.” His breath is against my ear and I gasp at his words. Heat floods my belly at the thought. Is he being serious?
I’ve given up all my fight against his hold now. Instead, I find myself pressing my hips back against him. Almost as if I’m searching for the growing erection in his pants.
“Garrett,” I murmur, and the energy between us quickly changes from playful to…something else.
“Do you want me to get off you? Just say the word, Mia.”
But I don’t say a word. I lift my head from the couch, feeling his breath against my cheek, turning my face just enough that his mouth ends up only an inch away from mine. His hands, which were previously holding my wrists in a fierce, painful grip, move to my fingers, so our hands are clasped.
Then he grinds again. And I let out a loud moan, pushing my hips back again.
This is crossing a line. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I still don’t really know whatthisis and there’s no denying how much we both want it, so I don’t say a word.
His lips brush my neck and jaw, then move up to my earlobe before he whispers, “What is this new job you’re not telling me about, Mia?”
“I can’t tell you,” I reply, moving my head in search of his lips.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks as one hand drifts down from my arm, over my body, and squeezes between my belly and the couch. My bottoms grow wet as his fingers graze the sensitive flesh below my belly button. I’m assaulted by a tingling arousal from his touch.
I can barely reply. It’s too strange to vocalize, but God yes, I do want him to touch me. So bad.
So I give him a weak whimper and “Mh-hm.”
“Then tell me. Don’t keep secrets from me.”
