I claimed him as mine when I was only seven years old.
It would end up becoming the most painful thing I’ve ever done in my life.
The boy who became my best friend grew up into the damaged, turbulent man that owns me.
He’s been cruel.
I’ve lashed back.
For years we’ve been trapped in a toxic whirlwind of back and forth heartache.
Because he’s no longer my best friend.
Years ago, he became my step brother.
Now… He’s the self destruction I desperately need to run from. And the one thing in the world I can’t live without.
He’s a whore and I break, letting him in.
One hit is a gateway drug, and I’m suddenly unable to stay away. So I take what I need from him.
I hate him.
I love him.
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I crack the window and light up a joint. I hit my limit of time around her for today and need to get away, even on a quick high. Something to calm my ass down before I act on what I almost did years ago and just fucking run off with her. Tell the world to fuck off, she’s mine and start a life somewhere else, where no one knows us.
Why is she torturing me? Walking around in two tiny scraps called a bikini making me fucking harder than I’ve ever been. I’m not even going to bring up her skirts, or the damned shorts she wore to the theater.
I’ve beaten it more times than I can count in the last few weeks. So much, I’m surprised there’s anything left to come out.
My foot taps against the floor, my body a live wire of pent-up energy and frustration. A five-mile run and an hour of weights plus one small joint isn’t enough to calm me down. I light up another. A couple of puffs in, the mind-tingling, weighted body, time-slowing takes effect.
I slip down to lie on my bed, letting the pot take it all away. It does the job, with the exception of my hard dick, but it’s been hard since I got within a hundred miles of her. Just knowing I was going to see her gave me a semi.
I’ve been good. I haven’t touched her the way I really want, an incredibly hard thing to do after having kissed her.
Her nipples haven’t been against my tongue; her pussy hasn’t been in my mouth, the way I’m dying for it. It’s so wrong thinking of her this way, but when I imagine how it would be, remember how it felt to kiss her and rub against her—it feels so damn right.
No guy in the universe has ever wanted a girl as much as I want her. I’m sure of it. Denying myself that sweet little body is taking more effort than anything I’ve ever done in my life.
I can’t help the hug that lasted too long or breathing her in; that shit will never go away. She was the one who put my hand on her thigh at the movies—and thank God Ryan interrupted us because I’d been so close to sliding it up and palming her pussy. I would’ve found it wet for me. I know it. Her eyes told me.
The kiss in the hallway is the one thing I take the full blame for. Yes, she was teasing me all night, but that wasn’t the only reason I lost it. It was about my jealousy. The rage I felt at the fact that her pretty, big eyes had been on Austin that night. The fact that his eyes had been eating her up.
I can’t take her, or how beautiful she is, or the fact that every living, breathing male out there is going to want a piece of her. She’s the fucking perfect package of looks and personality. So I’ve kept away the last week. Locked myself in my room. Refused to speak to her.
I keep a wall between us because I have to. Being near her tests my sanity and willpower. Being near her wearing nothing but a bikini on her fine as fuck, sinfully curved, petite little body that begs for me to touch it?
I’m surprised I’ve kept myself in check this long.
Every damn cell in my body that makes me a man is screeching at me to claim what’s mine. To fuck it so hard no one else will ever be able to have it, because she’ll never be able to think of anyone else but me.
That’s why I need this getaway. If I don’t get high, I’m going to fucking maul her. Throw her into the pool, rip her bikini off, and fuck her until all the water has splashed out.
I sigh and melt further into the mattress, letting my mind shut down.
I watch the smoke blow out, and as it dissipates, Kira appears in front of me. She’s standing at the door, staring at me, then she’s beside me, grabbing for my hand and the joint.
Mmm, my fantasy begins.
I pat next to me on the bed, begging my mirage to stay, continue. I blink, and when my eyes open, she’s hovering over me, taking another drag.
Did I put her on my lap? I have no clue, but she looks great there. Her skirt rides up, and I can see the flower print on her white panties resting over my cock. I groan and press up into her, my eyes closing, soaking in the feeling. I grab onto her hips, taking the dream, because it has to be a hallucination, in a direction I’ve always wanted it, wanted her.
I cup her face with my free hand, pulling her lips down to mine, then tangling my hand in her hair, fisting it. Her lips are succulent and delicious, soft against mine. She tastes so fucking good and I want more. I want her clamping around my cock, crying out my name. I rock against her, harder with each thrust. Her little hands are hot against my skin, burning me as she tugs my shirt up. I shiver, hot and excited and never wanting this high to end.
I have to adjust my cock, free it before my jeans strangle it. It’s so tight and hard, and I shove my hand under the waistband to cup it, soothe the ache.
“I want to see it.” Kira’s voice is just above a breath, and I can almost feel her pulse speed up against my lips.
“What do you want to do with it?” I groan as she pops the button. I can have it, what I want, all I have to do is take it. She’s practically begging, but that’s always how she is in my fantasies.
The zipper moves down, and I let a out choking breath before I take another drag. I don’t want to lose it, can’t have it all fading away. I set the joint down on a plate next to the bed, then turn back to her. Heavy-lidded eyes gaze back before her lips press to mine. Fuck, I could come. It wouldn’t take much. I reach between us, dying to feel how wet she is.
I groan again, twitching so hard I feel like I’m going to bust through my jeans before she can get me out—she’s soaking through her silly little panties. Wet, purring above me, nails scratching on my skin. I rub her in time with my cock; her hands are still on the band of my boxer briefs as her breath catches. The head of my dick peaks in and out as her hips rock against my fingers and she stares down in fascination.
I grab onto her ass, shifting her forward. “Pull.”
She does, exposing about half of my eight inches, sucking in a breath before I slam my lips to hers. One hand on her hip, the other on my cock, I run her wet panties up and down my shaft, pressing into her pussy, hitting her clit, thinking about tearing them from her, then pushing her down on me.
I hiss, sitting on the edge. I want to come. I want to come in her. She’s mine. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
Mark her insides.
I can’t take anymore. I need to taste her before it all ends, before the mirage fades away.
I yank hard on her hips, and she stumbles up my body until I have her right where I want her. Her thighs straddle my head, her pussy inches from my mouth. The panties have slipped back over, hiding what I want. My nose runs along the fabric that’s damp from what I’ve done to her. She smells perfect—all woman, heady, and musk.
My cock pulses and my hips thrust, searching out friction, searching out skin, begging to release. One of my hands squeezes her hip while the other moves the cotton away.
She’s the softest shade of pink, puffy lips glistening with her want. I groan and lean in for my first taste. My tongue starts at the bottom and swipes up.
She gasps, loud and melodic, fingers gripping my hair and pulling when my tongue flicks her clit.
It’s too much. It’s just enough.
My hand digs into her thigh with what I’m sure is a bruising grip, my hips jerking as I latch onto her clit.
And I’m gone.
My cock explodes all over my stomach and I don’t give a shit except for the pounding pleasure. Everything is white, empty, serene, if just for a few seconds.
But when I come down, my dream continues. Kira’s still here, pussy on my lips. My cock twitches, the last drops oozing onto my abs. I start eating her out, needing to taste her come, feel her come. I want her thighs shaking around my head as I give her what no other has.
“Shit! Shit, oh my God, Brayden.” She’s panting, begging, riding my face. Her fists clench my hair harder, pushing me deeper. I lick everywhere, nip and taste and devour all of her.
I’m so deep in she won’t let me flick her clit anymore; all I can do is etch myself into her walls with my tongue. I need her to come, so I take control back, growling against her as I grip her hips and pull her down. My teeth graze against her clit and I bite.
A choking, screaming sob erupts from her as all movement stops. All but the thigh quaking, body-convulsing, pussy-pulsing of her coming into my mouth.
The taste of her on my lips, on my tongue, swallowing her slick juice, and the pain of her lasting grip on my hair makes me realize that it’s not a dream.
Kira’s pussy really is on my mouth.
In my high, I don’t give a shit that it’s wrong, that I vowed to stay away from her, that she’s my stepsister. None of it matters, only that my name spilled from her lips in a moment of ecstasy I gave her.
And the world has never been more right.
She releases me, panting, unable to move, unwilling to leave.
If it’s not going to end, I need more.
So much fucking more.
I need my cock deep inside her, claiming that sweet little pussy of hers.
Claiming what’s mine.
K.I. Lynn is the USA Today Bestselling Author from The Bend Anthology and the Amazon Bestselling Series, Breach. She spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn’t until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.
Since she began posting stories online, she’s garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination…or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain… Usually it’s cheese.
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N. Isabelle Blanco
N. Isabelle Blanco is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the Allure Series, the Need Series with K.I.Lynn, and many others. At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
That is, until coffee came a long and took over everything else.
Nowadays, N. spends most of her days surviving the crazy New York rush and arguing with her characters every ten minutes or so, all in the hopes of one day getting them under control.
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