Wearing Him Down

No guts no glory.

I reach up and thread my fingers into his hair, twisting a little in his lap. “I got your present,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His fingertips drag lightly up and down my thigh, coming dangerously close to my mound. “Just don’t get used to owning one of those.”

“How can I get used to my present when I don’t know how to use it?”

“You don’t know how—” His mouth snaps into a grim line. “Sienna.”

Okay, so he’s skeptical. But I’m not one hundred percent fibbing. Until I read the instructions, I didn’t even know the function of the gold wand. So I give my stepbrother the most innocent, wide-eyed look I can muster and continue to toy with his hair. “Is it a back massager? I mean…I suppose that might help me sleep, but—”

“You know damn well what it is.”

I shake my head, sending blonde hair curling around my breasts and shoulders. He watches it arrange itself in rapt fascination, his shaking fingers creeping ever closer to the juncture of my thighs. “No, I don’t. Will you show me?”

Perspiration is begging to break out on his brow and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Grant Foster—the overlord of Wall Street—so ruffled. His arousal is so stiff now it’s wedged up in between my butt cheeks and the position is so much more pleasurable than I would have expected. I wiggle on it and he growls. “You’re killing me, little girl.”

For some reason, when Grant calls me “little girl,” something hot and delicious coils up inside of me, like a snake getting ready to strike. He’s never used that endearment with me before. It’s always “princess.” I love him calling me “princess.” But the term “little girl” makes me feel small and cherished and girly. I want him to say it again and again.

“I don’t want to try on more clothes. You spoil me so much already,” I murmur, laying my head on his shuddering chest and playing with the buttons of his shirt. “You give me almost every single thing I want.”

Grant stiffens. “Almost?”

Peering up at him, I nod. “I want kisses. From just you.” Hot moisture presses behind my eyes. “When I don’t get them, I feel sad.”

“No.” Some of the color leaves his face. “No, princess. Don’t be sad. I can’t stand it.”

Against my will, more moisture wells in my eyes.

He makes a harsh sound. Without taking his attention off me, he calls to Janice. “She’ll take one of everything. Shoes to match.” Finally, his fingertips brush across my sex and I jolt, sucking in a breath. “Leave us,” he shouts.

We stare at one another as Janice gathers her things and clicks from the room in her high heels. In the distance, I hear the apartment door snick shut and then we’re alone. Grant leans in, his gaze rapt on my mouth, but instead of bringing our mouths together, he lays me down on the couch and stands. He lets me look over the thick ridge in his pants leg, stroking it just once with his big hand before turning to stride across the room. My mouth falls open when he plucks the vibrator box off the bookshelf and returns to me.

“I’m aware of your movements at all times, Sienna,” he drawls, planting one knee on the couch and the other between my legs. “Remember that.”

I should be embarrassed over getting caught smuggling in sex toy contraband, not turned on over my stepbrother’s awareness of me.

My bad.

Grant watches me through narrowed eyes while opening the box, taking out the gold wand and tossing the packaging aside. Then he sets it down beside my thigh and loosens his tie, removing it and dropping it on the floor, leaving him in the white shirt with rolled up sleeves and black dress pants. His virility, power and masculine beauty keep me pinned to the couch as he leans over me, half-covering my body with his own. “Now you know, Sienna. All this time you could have broken me with tears.” He presses me down into the cushions with his weight, groaning when our lower bodies lock together. “I would tear down my empire and sell the parts for scrap to stop you from crying.” His mouth comes to a rest against mine and a thrill blows down my spine. “How do you plan to use your weapon against me, little girl?”

There’s that endearment again. It turns over new soil inside me and I find my thighs spreading wider, my voice emerging in an innocent purr against his partially open lips. “To make you play with me.” I rub the arches of my feet up and down his calf muscles. “To make you kiss me.” Without breaking the contact of our mouths, I pick up the gold vibrator and press it into his grip. “To make you teach me what I need.”