Wicked Stepbrother (Book One) by Lila Price

Author:Lila Price [Price, Lila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Favor Ford Publishing
Published: 2017-03-07T16:00:00+00:00

8

We’re all over each other: hungry kisses, me fumbling with his shirt and trying to pull it up so I can grope the skin and muscles of his stomach. But then he lifts me, backing me up until I feel a table under me. Folders smack to the ground as he pushes me over the surface.

His mouth is hard and demanding, and he’s wedging my thighs apart with his fingers. I open my legs, asking him to go on without even saying a word.

Touch me again, I think as tiny, insistent taps of lust pelt against me. My need for him is heightened by the thought that, if someone walks in, this is over. My reputation will be assassinated all over social media, my shame gone viral.

I urge him on with a moan.

He toys with me, stroking the inside of my bare thigh, inching toward my pussy then drawing away. It’s as if he’s dishing some revenge right back at me for how I allowed that blond customer to ogle me at the bar, how I let Brent put his hand on my back, and how I hoped Tristan was dying a little during every single bit of it. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing, because he bunches my hair in his fingers, stopping the kiss and bringing me away from him so I can look into his blazing gaze.

“You’ve been playing with fire ever since you got back,” he whispers.

“You’re the one who can’t keep his hands off me.”

He grins, and it isn’t a nice one. “Didn’t you dream last night of having your hands on me, Cherry? After you creamed for me?”

Why lie about it?

We’ve gone too far to keep on with these games, and at the same time, not nearly far enough.

As his fingers once again get closer to the spot between my legs that’s throbbing for him, I make myself slow everything down. I want whatever happens between Tristan and me to be special, so I calm my breathing, and my pulse follows. I comb my fingernails up one of his arms toward his yin and yang tattoo.

As I trace the circular black-and-white symbol, he lets go of my hair. “Tell me what your tattoo means, Tristan, and maybe I’ll let you touch me like you did last night.”

“Looks like I’m already doing just that.”

He brushes up the center of me, skimming the seam of my hot pants, and I flinch. But he doesn’t give me any more than that.

I can see a vein in his neck straining, and I know he’s fighting himself. Is it because someone might enter the room at any second and he knows we should stop and stay as far away from one another as possible? Or is it because he really does want to share one of his little secrets with me?

Does he ever show anyone the real Tristan?

“Tell me what it means,” I say softly.

He chuffs, like his tattoo is actually no big deal. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone more than halfway through college not knowing what the yin and yang signify.

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