Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“I need to run. Something came up. Family business,” I lie.
“Oh, no! You’re serious?” Her smile vanishes. She leaps up and grabs my arm, and I hear her breath catch. “...did I do something wrong? Don’t tell me it was the spill.”
I push her away gently and start walking, only stopping to look back over my shoulder and say, “Duty is one demanding bitch in my line of work. Sorry. I’ll pick up the tab.”
Trying to let her down easy doesn’t do much to sweep away that scolded look in her eye.
I take care of the bill like the anti-gentleman I am on the way out, grateful she’s too tipsy to come begging for my number.
On the drive over to home, unsweet home, I pound my fist on the wheel, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
Did I just give up guaranteed easy pussy for a teary-eyed talk with my prissy little stepsister?
I sigh, wondering if this cartel threat is digging deeper into my head than I feared.
At the gate, Jeeves gives me the same shitty sneer he wore the first time he saw me. I glare back until he punches the button to open up, then floor it up the long, hilly driveway.
Hell, even the entrance feels just as pretentious and alien as it was the first time.
Soon, I’m inside, standing under the big glass chandelier that looks like it was designed by Dale Chihuly himself when I text her.
Here.
Delia comes sailing down the wide marble stairs about a minute later, and my eyes pop out of my fucking skull.
Gone is the sleek, conservative crap I’ve seen her dressed in before. She’s traded it for a short pomegranate-red dress, cut low in all the right places to show off skin.
Perfectly grabbable tits foaming out of her top like cream on a latte.
An ass crafted to fight over.
Honey-brown eyes so bright and nervous.
My dick throbs, begging for release in her tight, wet warmth.
For a split second, I don’t know whether to throw on the only suit I’ve got and take her out or just rip that shit off so I can fuck her right here in our parents’ entryway.
She lights up with a smile when she sees me staring too long.
If I was a robot, right now I’d be stuck on a blue screen error with steam shooting out my ears.
When she finally stops next to me, I can’t help it.
I reach out, grab her around the waist with a spin, and fling her against the wall.
“You said you want to talk?” I growl, breathing on her neck.
“Um, yes?”
“And you come down here looking like that? Fuck. You’re not dressed for conversation. I think you know it, too, princess,” I rasp, slowly inhaling her, trying like hell to pull myself away from her hair.
She whimpers with surprise before I let up, and then she shimmies out from under me, an annoyed look on her face.
“Dude. I don’t even know what you mean. Would a hello kill you?” she asks.
I shrug.
“Would it? I’m giving you fair warning right now, Miss Delia—head games and cockteases do not jive with me. So unless you want to head upstairs and let me shred that dress into confetti, you’d better start talking now. That’s the only reason I’m still standing here and I’m not already in my room.”
She flushes cherry-red and holds up her hands.
“I’m not that kind of girl and you—you know we can’t.”
“Yeah?” I shoot her a dirty look. “If it’s so wrong, why can’t I peel my mind off it? And judging by the way you’re dressed, neither can you.”
She’s not entirely wrong.
I just wish I knew what she’s up to.
“Oh, please. I don’t just jump into bed with anyone. Definitely not you,” she insists.
Liar.
Devious, honey-eyed sex-on-a-stick liar.
“Whatever, sis. You want to talk? Maybe drop the paper good girl act first. I see right through it even easier than I see your tits through that thing.”
We stare each other down, silent for several seconds.
My eyes drop to her chest and soak in the view. I don’t even try to hide it.
That only makes her flush harder, paints her redder, a new kind of self-torture I never knew.
Call me crude.
I never hide what I want, especially when it’s right in front of me, beckoning.
I half expect her to turn around and flee, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame her one bit.
Delia’s a smart girl. That’s probably the wisest decision she could make right now.
“Will you just come outside?” she says finally, her eyes darting away.
She starts moving before I can answer.
I follow her like a hungry dog, watching the round globes of her ass bobbing in that skintight dress.
We stop off in the kitchen.
Her ass taunts me even more as she bends over, opening the thick glass door to daddy’s refrigerated liquor cabinet. She pulls out a bottle of something white and expensive.