Hot For My New Stepbrother

Chase slid his fingers out of me slowly, deliberately, letting me feel every inch of the loss.

Then he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean with a low, filthy hum that vibrated straight through my bones.

The wet sound of it, loud and shameless, it sent fresh heat rushing to my face.

Embarrassment and shame slammed into me like a tidal wave. My body was still humming from the orgasm I never had, and all I could think was how badly I needed to get away from him before I did something stupider than letting him touch me in the first place.

The second his grip loosened, I jerked sideways, trying to slip past him toward the bed, toward anywhere that wasn't pressed against his sweat-slick chest.

"Chase, sweetie? Are you in there?" His girlfriend's voice came again from outside the door.

She sounded irritated this time, but he didn't even glance at the door. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around my upper arm like a steel band, yanking me back against him.

My bare thighs hit his, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of his still-hard cock pressing against my stomach through his low-slung sweats.

His eyes bored into mine, dark and dangerous, lips still glistening from my taste.

"This is just the beginning of what I can do to you, Little Lamb," he said in a gravelly voice that caused my pussy to clench, every word a promise carved in fire. "Stay out of my way if you want to survive this house."

He leaned in, mouth brushing the frantic pulse at my neck, then opened his lips and bit, teeth scraping skin before his tongue soothed the sting.

I hissed, not from pain, but from the bolt of pure pleasure that shot straight between my legs, making me clench around nothing.

He felt it, the way my body betrayed me again, and his grip tightened, a dark chuckle rumbling against my throat.

"The next time you cross me," he whispered, lips grazing the spot he'd just marked, "I'll drive you straight to hell and back from pain and pleasure so twisted you won't know which one is saving you."

Then he released me. I stumbled back a step, unable to believe what we'd just done.

My skin burned where his hands had been. My neck throbbed with the imprint of his teeth. And lower, God, I was still dripping, aching and empty.

Another knock, sharper this time. "Chase? Seriously, open the door."

He finally turned his head toward the sound, irritation flickering across his face like she was an annoying fly.

But when he looked back at me, the smirk returned.

"Better cover up, stepsister," he murmured, his eyes dropping to my hardened nipples, then lower to the wetness he'd left on my thighs. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing what's mine."

He walked to the door without another word, unlocked it, and pulled it open just enough to block her view inside.

"Hey, babe," he said, his voice suddenly smooth, lazy, like he hadn't just had his fingers buried deep in his new stepsister. "She had trouble with the bulbs in her room."

I stood frozen in the shadows, watching the easy lie roll off his tongue.

She bought it, of course she did, and I heard the soft sound of her laughing, her hand sliding up his bare chest as she pressed against him.

I hated how much I wanted to rip her away. I hated how much I wanted him to slam the door in her face and come back to finish what he started.

And most of all, I hated that he knew it.

Because as he stepped into the hallway and pulled the door almost closed behind him, he glanced back one last time.

Those grey eyes locked on mine through the narrowing gap. And he mouthed, silent and deadly: Next time.

The door clicked shut, and I slid down the wall all over again, thighs pressed tight, my body shaking.

The next day, the afternoon sun beat down on the driveway as I slung my bag over my shoulder, pretending my stomach wasn't in knots.

I was dressed for an evening lecture, simple jeans, oversized hoodie, with my hair twisted up in a messy bun like armor against the world. Against him.

My mother's voice floated from the living room archway, syrupy and intrusive.

"Where are you off to?"

I didn't stop walking. "Evening lecture."

She stepped into view, arms crossed, lips pursed in that fake-concerned way that made my skin crawl. "Have you told Chase? You can't leave this house without him. I told you yesterday."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "I can, and I will."

She had no idea what he'd done to me in his car yesterday, pulling me over his lap, spanking me until I was wet and shaking.

No clue that last night I'd let him shove his fingers inside me. The absolute last thing I needed was another ride with Chase Hunter, trapped in his car with his scent, his heat, his control.

"Try me, Aurelia," she warned, her voice sharpening.

"I already am," I shot back, pushing through the front door like her threats were just wind.

I ordered a Bolt on my phone the second I hit the gravel drive, refusing to think about how my body still felt strung tight, aching and unsatisfied in a way only he seemed able to fix.

I hadn't come last night, and it left me restless, on edge, like a guitar string pulled too taut.

The car pulled up twenty minutes later. I slid into the back seat, gave the driver the campus gate address, and stared out the window the whole ride, forcing my mind blank.

When we reached the massive wrought-iron gates of Underwood, I paid quickly, climbed out, and slammed the door.

Sweet freedom, even if it was just a ten-minute walk to my lecture hall.

I'd taken maybe five steps when a sleek black Ferrari screeched to a halt behind the Bolt, blocking half the road.

The driver's door swung open, and out stepped a guy who screamed money and entitlement, blond hair perfectly styled, designer sunglasses covering his eyes even though the sun was dipping low.

With the expensive smart watch flashing on his wrist, he was definitely a student. Definitely trouble.

He strode straight toward me, pointing like I was an item on a menu.

"Let me give you a ride into campus," he said, his voice dripping with that rich-boy arrogance that made my teeth grind.

"No thanks. I'll pass." I didn't even look at him, just kept walking.

He stepped into my path, grabbing my arm hard enough to bruise.

"Do you know who I am?" he sneered. "I'm Dayton Lakewood. You don't want to mess with me. Get in the car. Now."

My heart slammed against my ribs, anger and fear twisting together. "I'm sorry, but you need to let go of my arm and get away from me."

He didn't. His grip tightened, and he started pushing me backward toward the Ferrari.

"Get in the car."

"No, I won't. Let go!"

I dug my heels in, scanning the area for anyone, students, security, literally anybody, but the gate was quiet this time of evening.

Of course it was. This entitled prick had probably timed it perfectly.

He shoved harder, and I opened my mouth to scream.

A motorcycle roared up like thunder, slamming to a stop so close the back tire kissed the Ferrari's bumper with a metallic crunch.

The rider swung off in one fluid motion, helmet yanked free, dark hair wild from the wind.

Four long, furious strides. I knew that walk. That lethal confidence. The black leather jacket hugging broad shoulders.

Chase.

His eyes locked on Dayton's hand clamped around my arm, and something cold and deadly flashed across his face.

Dayton turned, annoyance shifting to confusion.

"The fuck-?"

Chase didn't speak. He just grabbed Dayton by the front of his pristine shirt, lifted him clean off the ground with one hand, and slammed him back against the Ferrari's hood hard enough that the car rocked.

Dayton's sunglasses flew off, clattering to the asphalt.

"Touch her again," Chase said, voice low and arctic, "and I'll break every finger you used."