Wrong: A Stepbrother Romance

Abram looked at me. “What favor?” When I hesitated, he smirked and spoke for me. “Making you come all over my hand last night?”

The filthy words off his tongue made me heart pound. “Yes.”

He paused, sizing me up. I could see the instant, animal-like hunger transforming him, making him as intimidating to me as he was so painfully sexy. The way he stood over me emanated pure, primal masculinity and it made my body want nothing but to give. To give him anything he pleased. “You want to make me come, Isla?” Abram’s voice slid over my skin.

“Yes.”

“How would you make me come?”

“However you wanted.” Whatever he wanted, I wanted. I was so desperate to touch him – for him to touch me.

Abram stepped forward so that he was almost on top of me. “Okay.” He dipped his head, his eyes down my shirt. “Go on,” he murmured. “Show me.” It was all he needed to say. With a yank of my shirt, I exposed myself for Abram, making him growl on sight. “Fuck.” He dragged his palm down his mouth, his gaze hard on my breasts as they rose and fell, heaving with my every shallow breath. I gave a soft moan. I was half-naked for him and I wanted his hands on me already. Every second that passed without his touch had me more torturously wet than I could handle.

“Touch me,” I murmured. “However you want.”

He eyes seared into mine. “I don’t think you mean that.”

His words sent a wave of goosebumps over my skin. “Why not?”

Abram shifted his weight. “I don’t think you realize,” he eyed me, “how fucking much I’ve been dreaming about this body.”

Oh God, every word he said sent a pang of aching need between my legs. “That’s good,” I breathed desperately as he pressed me into the wall with his abs.

“No,” he thrust his fingers into my hair, “it’s not.”

“Why?”

Abram’s lip curled as he squeezed my fistful of my locks, his other hand ripping my tank dress down my hips with my panties, till both were puddles of cotton on the floor. My pulse rose again when both his hands cupped my breasts, pushing them up and together as he breathed the skin of my neck. “Because I felt that pussy last night. Wrapped around my fingers. Tighter than anything I’ve ever felt in my life,” he rasped. “And if I do exactly what I want to do to you,” he lowered his lips to my breast, “I’ll be thinking way too often,” he sucked my nipple, “about how fucking good my cock felt inside you.”

My jaw dropped as I gasped for air and begged him. I begged breathily for his touch, desperately, endlessly until he pulled an angry, throaty sound deep from his chest. It electrified me as he finally said the words I’d been waiting for.

“Get on the bed.”

I did, exhaling heat when I immediately felt his weight on top of me, his hands undoing his jeans and reaching for his cock. It fell heavily onto my legs, settling between my thighs as he slid his hands under my back to bring my breasts up higher for his mouth. I arched it, moaning as he nibbled me, his smooth helmet pulsing right against my bare pussy. He thrust lightly on top of me, teasing my aching sex. In need, I grabbed a handful of the sheets. But my palms still raw, I gasped in pain and suddenly, Abram was on his feet again.

His eyes blinked hard at my bruises as a sober look drifted into them. I could see a switch flipping. Fuck. Please, keep going, please. “Abram – ”

“No,” he cut me off brusquely, facing me with a look that made me feel like a child in trouble. “I’m sorry, Isla.” His voice was cold, hard as stone. “But this is not what this is,” he said before disappearing out the door.

chapter nine

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I snuck out of the penthouse before dawn, still without my keys. Not the smartest move but I simply couldn’t be there any longer. Two nights at Abram’s place and I’d already gone through highs and lows so extreme that my mind was effectively fucked. I couldn’t understand how I was feeling, why I’d cried or what had actually happened last night. What I did know was that I mortified and I needed out.

So with no access to home, I reported to Alma’s. Reece agreed to let me work as long I covered up my stitches. “On the bright side, you’re still clearly a gorgeous girl.” He stroked my lower back, never failing to make a harmless compliment feel creepy. “I know it’s dead but I’m happy you chose to work today, Isla.”

Laurel simpered while leaning on the counter next to me. “Same. I had all the best tables during the rush. Must be the whole not-wanting-to-look-at-a-busted-up-face-while-eating thing. Insert joke about how your face wasn’t all that to begin with.”

“Creative.” I faced away from everyone as I married the ketchups. Both my tables had just closed out and I had nothing left to do. It was Memorial Day weekend and as quiet as it got in the city, so with true boredom, I focused on Alma’s condiments while tuning out Reece, Laurel and her two girlfriends, who claimed that they had plans in the Hamptons but gave them up to be with her.

“Well then, you know what? We should all go out tonight. First round of shots on me,” Reece grinned wide as Laurel ran an ice cube down his arm.

“Ooh, sweetie. To a club?” she batted her lashes.

“Yeah. The city’s dead, we’d get in anywhere tonight. Go ahead – name all the hardest doors in Manhattan.”

Please, not this conversation. I waited for it. Only a couple names were thrown around before Reece finally said the most obvious answer.