Wearing Him Down

Desperate to be held by Grant, I rush through opening the second envelope. This one, I understand on sight. It’s the legal documentation naming Grant Foster as my guardian. The term begins the day we met and… “It ended when I turned eighteen.”

Grant confirms with a gruff sound. “Sienna.” He turns me around, his brow furrowed as he searches for words. “You were mine the day we met. When I found out how carelessly you’d been raised by your mother…I couldn’t believe anyone would treat you so poorly. You’d been pawned off on strangers your whole life and there she was, about to do it again. I couldn’t allow it to happen, so I became your guardian. I intercepted your mother at the airport and called in a favor, refusing to let their plane take off to Paris until the paperwork was signed. I needed you to be mine, in every single sense of the word. Except one.” His mouth interlocks with mine. “I knew I had to wait to be inside you.”

My stepbrother cups my backside, boosting me up and I wrap my legs around his waist with a whimper. “Why?”

Again, he struggles for the right words. “My guardianship over you ended when you turned eighteen, yes, but the contract dates kept me in control of your assets and trust fund from your mother until yesterday. I couldn’t sleep with you when you were financially dependent on me, badly as I wanted to. That would have been taking advantage. And I’ve had a lot of dishonorable thoughts about you, Sienna. Far too many to name. But I couldn’t allow my actions to match those thoughts. The day we met, I vowed to treat you with care. Like you’ve deserved all along. It’s why I stayed away for the last five days. I didn’t trust myself anymore—and I’m so sorry I hurt you in the process.” He turns and walks us back into the hallway, toward the bedroom. “I want my future wife to know I acted with as much honor as I could. Your assets are no longer in my control. They’re yours. You have independence if you want it, but I’m asking…no, I’m begging my future wife to choose me all on her own.”

“Future wife?” I breathe. “Aren’t you worried what people will think when you marry your stepsister?”

“I only care about your judgment,” he says. “And thankfully, I have enough money to tell anyone who runs their mouth to fuck off.” He searches my face. “Choose me, Sienna. Out loud.”

“I choose you. I want to be your wife,” I whisper ardently, nuzzling his neck. “And…”

“Yes?” he prompts hoarsely.

I hide my face in his shoulder. “Take care of me like I’m your little girl.”

A fierce rumbled passes through him. “Until death, Sienna.”

We reach the balcony doors of Grant’s bedroom and he throws them open to reveal a fireworks display happening over the Hudson. Pinks and whites and purples—just for me. All the buildings along the skyline are lit up with pink lights in their windows and it’s the most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen.

“It’s all for you, princess.” He slings a forearm under my bottom, freeing his left hand to produce one final item from his jacket pocket. A pink diamond ring set among several smaller stones. “Be mine forever.”

I start to shake as he slides the heavy engagement ring onto my finger. The reflection of the fireworks goes off in its depths and a tear rolls down my cheek. “Yes. Yes.”

Before the final yes is spoken, Grant’s mouth finds mine in a voracious kiss. Both of his big hands find my backside again and mold me roughly. “I’m going to make love to you now, Sienna,” he rasps, striding toward the bed. “And I don’t know if I can be gentle after waiting this long.”

When he throws me down on my back and shreds my uniform skirt in his hands with a growl, I have to agree. But I don’t want gentle. “I’ve been waiting as long as you have,” I say, watching him unbutton his shirt and strip it off to reveal hard-packed muscles—and my name in black, block-lettered ink across his rigid stomach. “Grant,” I whisper in awe, trembling when he drops his dress pants and kicks them aside, climbing on the bed and aligning his hard, hot body with mine.

Before he can kiss me, he stops, a mere breath away from my lips. “Is that really what you want to call me, Sienna?”

“No,” I admit on a rush of breath, writhing beneath him on the soft mattress. “What does it mean that I want to call you Daddy?”

“It means you sense what I’ve always known.” He angles his body to the side and trails a hand down my shuddering stomach. “You’re my little girl. Your pussy belongs to one man…” With two fingers, he gathers wetness from inside my slick folds and starts a slow, circular massage of my clitoris. “And that man keeps you safe and buys you pretty toys. He kisses you every morning. Makes sure the boys stay away. And at night, he comes to play.”