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I know I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. So I trail my fingers upward, sliding under his shirt and along the ridges of his abs to touch his pecs.
He moans and squirms again. I’m getting too bold, but then again…he’s admitted to peeping on me in the shower, so he owes me. Getting a little too daring, I move my hand down, past the hemline of his pajama pants and over the swollen ridge of his cock. My fingers only lightly brush the hard surface before he wakes up.
With a loud moan, he grabs my hand in his and pulls it away from his pants. I panic for a minute, afraid I’ve been caught, but when I glance up at his face, he’s staring down at me with wild lust in his eyes.
“We’re not drunk anymore,” I say in a sultry tone, and for a moment, he lets my hand rest against his morning wood, grinding his hips upward into my palm. Then, before it can go any further, he yanks my wrist away and drops it.
“But youstillare a virgin,” he replies, and I sink into the mattress with disappointment.
Then he runs his hands through his hair with a stretch. It takes him a few minutes to wake up before he turns toward me. “Jesus, Mia. How on earth could you get totwenty-threewithout having sex?”
“Have you met men?” I reply with a laugh. I lie on my side, my head resting on my hand as I stare at him. “Honestly, it just always felt like whoever I was with only wanted to be with me for one thing. I wanted to have sex, but I wanted to connect with that person too, you know? I wanted to feel so comfortable with them that I could tell them what I want and not feel like I was just being used as something to stick their dick into.”
He grimaces.
“Not every guy is like that,” he says, turning toward me.
“I know that…” I say, letting my voice trail off. I never felt that way about Garrett. If only I could tell him about all the naughty fantasies I had about him as a teenager. Sneaking into his bed at night and climbing under the covers so we could touch each other in secret. “That’s why last night would have been perfect.”
“Why?” he asks. “Because you were drunk?”
“Because I trust you, you idiot.”
When he turns his head toward me again, there’s a strange sense of sincerity in his expression, something real that I don’t normally see when I look at Garrett. Nothing between us is ever serious, but telling him that I trust him seems to have triggered a genuine response. Like he might actually be taking me seriously.
Then he quickly rolls out of bed. The stiffness in his pants is gone along with all the fire between us. “Mia, I’m not the one you want, I promise. Not for your first time. You want a guy who’s going to give you more than a one-night stand, who’s not fucked in the head, and who’s not your goddamn stepbrother.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. For the past two days, Garrett has been driving me crazy, teasing me and making me want him, but now that I’ve opened up and admitted that I’m a virgin, I’m practically repulsive to him. Was he just messing with me again? Teasing me to the point of having me begging him for sex.
I’m an idiot.
“Oh my God,” I say, jumping out of bed and staring at him with a smug expression. I quickly grab my phone off the floor, where it must have fallen in our frantic make-out session last night, and I shove it into my back pocket.
“What?” he asks.
“I just realized what this is.” He’s staring at me, waiting to hear what I’m about to say. “This was all a joke to you. Some elaborate prank. Just to get me wet and begging for you, only so you could turn me down.”
“It wasn’t a joke,” he replies, looking offended. “I’m trying to protect you, Mia.”
“Do you have any idea howhumiliatingit is to be turned down by your own stepbrother because you’re a virgin? Let alone turned down at all!”
“Mia—"
“No!” I snap, putting my hand up toward him. “You didn’t want me with other guys like Reese, but thenyoudon’t want me because Ihaven’tbeen with other men. It makes no sense, but the only thing that does make sense is you torturing me, and I’m officially done letting you.”
I storm out of his room and rush up the stairs, praying that our parents aren’t on the second floor waiting for me. Luckily, the house is empty as I continue up to my room, slamming the door behind me as I crash on top of my bed and scream into my pillow.
I hate him. Why are my emotions such a joke to him? I want to cry and yell and just vent about all of the angry things I’m feeling, but I can’t talk to any of my friends back home about this. It’s too embarrassing to admit that I was turned down by my own stepbrother. Plus, none of them are all that great at listening. They’re great friends to have fun with, but I don’t have anyone to really talk to, to share things with, and confide in.
Unless…
I fish my phone out of my back pocket and notice my battery is at two percent. After I plug it in, I stare down at the FlirtyGirl app. I’ve never done this before, reached out to a client like this, but something about Drake tells me that he wouldn’t mind. I believe he really would listen. And maybe it’s just attention I want, but I have a good feeling Drake is more genuine than the rest.
I swipe open the app and find his username. He’s offline. But I could send him a message. If he has his notifications on, he’ll receive it. It’s a long shot, but I’m desperate—and hungover, maybe even still a little drunk, which might explain why I’m actually doing this.
Hey.
I hit Send and then immediately start to panic. That message looks way too creepy, so I quickly back it up with,Any chance you’re online?
