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“No,” I mumble as I squirm under his body, desperate to get his fingers where I want them.
This isinsane. Just a couple hours ago, I was video-chatting with Drake and now I’m halfway to having sex with my stepbrother. What is happening?
Then, without warning, his body is off the couch and the weight of him on top of me is gone. I sit up in a rush and gape at him. “What?”
He laughs and then shrugs. “If you want something, you have to be able to give something.”
Anger burns through me so hot that I grab the throw pillow and chuck it angrily at his face. “You jerk!”
Jumping off the couch, I storm away toward the stairs. I was putty in the palm of his hand, and he had me moaning and salivating for him like a cat in heat. It’s humiliating.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“If you change your mind, I’ll be down here waiting,” he calls after me, but I’m already halfway up the stairs. My body is still buzzing with exhilaration, but I won’t be going back down to him. He’s never getting me like that again.
RULE #8: AN ASS IS AN ASS—WHETHER YOU’RE BEING ONE OR ADMIRING ONE.
Garrett
My run was hard this morning. Harder than usual.
Getting out of bed. Putting on my shoes. Walking out the door.
Hard, hard, hard.
But I did it. I shoved away the gross lurking gloom that sometimes rears its ugly head, and I went for a run despite feeling like shit. And it didn’t matter that it was nearly an eleven-minute mile or that I wanted to stop seven times. I made it clear around the nine-mile loop, and that’s something.
The events of last night—or was it this morning—keep replaying in my mind. During my entire run, my mind was on an endless shame-regret-disgust loop. Did I go too far? This is new territory with Mia, but teasing her is all I really know. I don’t want to scare her, though, and I sure as fuck don’t want to hurt her. I shouldn’t have forced her down like that, but in my defense, I really thought it was just playful wrestling. How was I to know my dick was going to get so excited?
One thing is for sure…that physical attraction I wanted to investigate is definitely alive and well.
I shove the shame and disgust thoughts away for a moment to remember how soft her body felt in my hands, how quickly I got aroused with her against me, how good she smelled, and just howbadlyI wanted to let my cock slip inside her and make her mine. Truly mine.
Whoa. Where the fuck did that come from?
When was the last time I had that thought or urge? Longer than I’d care to admit.
I resigned myself to being broken long ago. The drive to fuck was gone, and I became easily content to stay on the sidelines and just watch. Sex has been a spectator sport for so long. So why now? And why the fuckher?
Maybe Emerson and Charlie are getting inside my head. The way they look at each other, touch each other, constantly leaning on each other as if they actually fucking complete each other. It’s just screwing with my sanity. Making me want something I’ve always sworn I didn’t. And that’s still true. The idea of dating has absolutely no appeal to me.
So why does the idea of doing that with my own fucking stepsister not sound half bad? What sort of twisted psychosis shit is that? I’d rather go back to feeling the shame and regret honestly.
My head has been so fucked this week.
There’s motion off to the right as I turn the last corner back to the cabin and see a bikini-clad Mia doing yoga on a stand-up paddleboard in the middle of the lake with my mother. They’re both trying to maintain serious, calm expressions, but each of them break out in giggles at the slightest wobble in their form.
I feel better seeing Mia smile. I didn’t see her this morning, and I was honestly afraid she would be sulking all day or allowing my shitty behavior to ruin her relaxing summer. But she looks good out there. Which means I should definitely get the fuck out of here before they see me and I ruin their time together.
“Garrett!” my mother calls, and I grimace. “Get over here!”
Reluctantly, I jog down to the bank and wave at my mom. Then, I brave a glance in Mia’s direction, and our eyes meet for a moment. She doesn’t look as angry as I expect her to; instead, she looks nervous as she glances back down.
Yep, I definitely made shit weird when I dry humped her into the couch last night. I’m an idiot.
“How was your run?” Mom asks.
“It was good.”
