Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Good. She needs to do what I tell her to do and nothing more.
The city’s a slab of mirrors, haze, and gridwork out beyond the windows, but I don’t look at it. Not when there’s this much beauty at arm’s length. I’m in a mood to enjoy things slowly.
She’s nude, every inch as flawless as the pictures suggested: big, creamy tits made to bounce, areolae the color of fresh lipstick; a belly with just enough curve to mark her as real; a pussy so pink and clean it’s like a page ripped out of a fantasy. And the nervous flush on her cheeks, the way she can’t keep her hands still, the way her breath catches every time I look at her—those, too, are part of the spectacle. I savor them all.
She starts talking before I can stop her.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Kayleigh blurts, voice so brittle I’m afraid she might crack open and spill onto the carpet. “It’s—it’s insane. We’re step-siblings, Trevor. It’s illegal in, like, a million states. And it’s so wrong—”
I let her wind herself up. I like seeing her in motion, how the apprehension and the want cancel each other out in her face.
“You want to tell me why you’re trembling, then?” I ask, calm as a snake. “Or why you called me at five in the morning, and not someone else?”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her eyes cut away, and she’s silent for a moment. Then she shakes her head, a tiny, panicked flick.
“I just—I panicked. I wasn’t thinking.”
I stretch my arm along the back of the sofa, lean into the velvet and let my legs sprawl. “You don’t look panicked. You look aroused, sweetheart. I’ve been with a lot of women, and it’s obvious.”
The compliment makes her gasp. She sucks in a breath, her whole chest rising, the upper slopes of those huge tits catching the pale light and casting faint, soft shadows. Her nipples are stiff and utterly delectable. They look ready for a suck, but she’s not ready yet. Kayleigh needs to be softened a bit before I go in for the kill. Sure enough, my stepsister tries to fold her arms over her breasts, but aborts the attempt, settling for tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Trevor, please,” she whispers. “This isn’t me. I’m—I’m not like Stella, or Cassie, or those other girls you date. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never even—” She clams up, color rising from her collarbone to the tips of her ears.
“Never what?” I prod, my voice low and unhurried.
She’s staring at the coffee table. “Well, I’m a virgin, actually. I’ve never been touched. I was going to wait until marriage, or at least until I was engaged, so I’m innocent, Trevor. So we can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
Her last words are so timid I have to lean forward to hear them. She has her arms crossed tight over her breasts now, hugging herself, a little girl in a hurricane.
I let the silence bloom between us. It’s a hard, perfect thing. Then I break it.
“No one saves themselves for marriage anymore, Kayleigh,” I drawl, letting the sentence roll out slow and deliberate. “And if you’re worried I’ll ruin you, I can promise you: it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you.”
She makes a tiny sound—a high, wet gasp—then covers her mouth with the back of her hand.
The urge to push her down on the sofa and fuck her until she can’t remember her own name is so sharp I see stars. But this isn’t the moment for that. I’m in a patient mood, and she deserves to be taken apart piece by piece, not all at once.
“Besides, I want to check for myself,” I say in a deliberate tone like it’s no big deal. “You know the whole ‘trust but verify’ theory.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. She blinks once, twice.
“What do you mean?” she says, and her voice is so small I barely catch it.
I don’t move. I just smile, the slow smile of a man who’s already won and knows the rest of the match is just performance.
“You know what I’m talking about. No one’s that naive. Now stand up,” I say. “Face me.”
She hesitates, then uncurls from the sofa, feet padding silent on the soft, fluffy rug. She stands in front of me, knees a little bent, both hands at her sides. Her big breasts are right in my face and it takes everything out of me not to lean forward and lick a delicious pink nipple.
“Turn around,” I rasp.
She does, her hair swinging across her naked back, the line of her spine as delicate and pale as a child’s. I can see her body start to tremble, but she holds perfectly still.
“Bend over. Touch the floor.”