Rock Hard

“Stepbrother, Gwennie,” he whispered, and for once I didn’t entirely hate that name. The way he said it made my entire body shudder. “We’re not really related and I know that you don’t really have much of a care.”

“Tristan, I—”

He pressed a finger to my lips gently, halting my thoughts as he turned me over and pressed his lips softly to mine. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, fireworks bursting behind my eyelids as my entire body relaxed.

“We can’t do this,” I repeated, my eyes shut tight against the sensation of his hands sliding across my body.

“I think speaking is the last thing either of us need to do right now,” he whispered softly as I gave a surprised gasp, his rough hands cupping my breast, his thumb brushing across my pert little nipples.

My entire body shuddered, feeling my hips squirm back against his body of their own accord. I loved the way he touched me, how alive it made me feel. Every caress was like a drug in my veins, spreading its effects from fingertip to the ends of my toes. It was so hard to resist those exploring hands as they made their way between my thighs.

After last night and the dreams that promptly followed, my pussy was soaked and more than ready for a second round with my stepbrother. Just the thought of that piercing sliding inside of me made me squirm, recalling the way that it so perfectly rammed against my spot. I’d almost came from that feeling alone, my body writhing as I recalled the way my climax had overwhelmed me.

“I think it’s time we had another go,” Tristan whispered into my ear before slipping those soft lips against my own in a slow, steady kiss. I was in absolutely no place to argue whatsoever, and my body made it clear whose side it was on as I involuntarily moaned in pleasure.

Still, I had to make an effort. “You know we can’t. We’ve already crossed a line. If we go there again, things will get… complicated. I love what you do to me, Tristan, but we can’t continue on like this. Not if we want to make it out unscathed. Not if you’re going to get…” I swallowed thickly and averted my gaze so he couldn’t see the wet sheen in my eyes. I’d scared him off like that once before, back when I was a stupid girl who believed we could be together in a way that meant more than physical bliss. “…married.”

“Where does that leave us, then?” he asked me, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching my face. “I’ll leave it up to you this time, Gwennie. Do you want to go, or stay? Whatever you choose, I’ll protect your reputation. Keep you safe from any of the fallout, should it ever come to that. But I want you to choose. Go, or stay?”

I wet my lips. They were suddenly dry, cracking. My mouth was parched. I knew Tristan’s kiss would sate it, quench the deep thirst rising up inside of me.

But I didn’t know the answer to his question. Go, or stay?

My stepbrother was trouble. Clearly. Always had been. Maybe always would be. He had a knack for making a mess of things, but that was, in some sick way, part of his charm. He was so careless, yet his touch was so gentle. He was so arrogant, so damn cocky, and yet now here he was humbling himself to me, letting me choose.

Letting him go would rid myself of a complication I didn’t need, one of the biggest ones there was. Letting him go would be playing it safe, would ensure that I didn’t get tangled up in my heartstrings again, that I didn’t fall head over heels for a man I could never, ever have, except in secret.

But staying with him would be paradise. At least, for my body. And maybe I could pretend that there was something more there, that we had a future together, until we didn’t. Until it came time to accept that I was never going to be the woman to tame Tristan Wolfe.

And then what? A mental breakdown? Would I become the wino cat-lady, the newest incarnation of all women spurned by their true loves who had come before me? Weren’t there enough of those in the world already?

Either way, it seemed this couldn’t end well. When taken to their natural conclusions, neither option seemed appealing. But maybe, somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, there was a third in there somewhere. My heart leapt at the prospect. I wanted there to be. I wanted a version of me and Tristan that worked out okay, a version I could talk about with our grandkids someday.

I wanted it all. Him. Us. A future worth having. But was it in the cards?

Tristan grazed his thumb across my lower lip. “Go, or stay?”

“Tristan,” I whispered, pulling back. He pursued me, moving with me, his body lithe and powerful against mine, so warm beneath these soft sheets.

“Tell me you want to go, Gwennie,” he murmured, the words oozing from his mouth like hot molasses. “Tell me you want to leave, and I’ll let you.”

I couldn’t. But I moved back again. And again, Tristan moved with me. There was no escape. My pulse was pounding. My sex was burning. My thighs ached to spread.

“Tell me no,” he said as I teetered on the edge of the bed. “Tell me no, Gwennie, and I’ll stop. For good. Once and for all.”

I stared at him helplessly. I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.

He bent his head, and when his lips devoured mine, I surrendered. No more fighting. I’d been doing that for years. No more struggling and seething and holding on to the worry and anxiety inside me. It was time to let it all go. Start something new.

However long that might last.

I reached up to put my arms around him, lacing them around his neck as he held my waist. Slowly he moved his hands to my hips, cupping their supple roundness, brushing his thumbs against the bones until I gasped and squirmed. I could feel his cock hardening, coming to attention between us, prodding into me. The cold steel of his piercing was a wordless desire, a command: Fuck me, Gwennie. Fuck me.

I drew in a shuddering breath through my nose and let go of it in a whimper. Tristan growled in reply, and as I arched against him, he took the opportunity to dip his hand between my legs. I let my pussy reply in silken, sopping tones: Yes, Tristan. Yes. Anything you want. Anything…

Tristan plunged his fingers between my slick folds, into my opening, his thumb positioned firmly on my clit. He stroked and rubbed and thrust his fingers in and out of me, and I tilted my head back and moaned, digging my nails into his back, his shoulders, his neck as the sheets fell away from us to reveal our naked, entangled bodies.

Everything that had happened over the past few days was crazy. Insane. And yet this, this one thing, felt right. Good. Peaceful. But like it would tear me apart at the same time.

I welcomed it. Only Tristan knew how to do this to me. We fit together so perfectly. How could it be wrong? In my haze of lust, all I could think was that I was made for this man—his status as my stepbrother be damned.

Tristan teased me, pleasuring me yet depriving me of what I wanted, what I needed: his enormous cock. I whined and pulled at him, hands shaking as I stroked his hard, muscular flesh. “Please, please, please…”

“You want my cock, Gwennie?” he asked. God, how I hated that name, and the frustration that boiled inside me only made me want him more. I bit down on his shoulder in reply, and he chuckled. Always the master. Always in control. “I suppose that’s what I’ll give you, then.”

“Yes,” I hissed, waiting for that sweet sensation of being completely filled.

But the bastard—the literal bastard—fooled me. Instead of plunging inside where I need him most, Tristan slid his cock up into my slit, letting his piercing nudge and flick against my wet clit.

“Oh, God,” I grunted, moving my hips, falling into a rhythm. I locked my legs so hard around Tristan’s waist I was sure I’d break his ribs. “No chance this thing vibrates, does it?”

Tristan brushed aside my auburn locks and looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “Not this one,” he said, looking impressed. “But that could be arranged. If I’d known…” He sawed back and forth, tantalizing my most sensitive spot, filling me with such an ache I almost sobbed. “…that you would want it so badly…” I cried out and he grinned, lessening the pressure, pulling me back from the edge he’d just taken me to. “…then I would have prepared.”

My eyes rolled back. I was so heady with desire now that I’d become some sort of wild animal, clawing and beating at Tristan’s back, whining like a whore, desperate to have him inside of me when I came. If he even let me come—the way he was torturing me, I wasn’t so sure.

Just when I thought I’d reached the brink of madness, Tristan pulled me onto his cock, my knees high around his hips, toes curled, ankles crossed.

And then he was inside me. Oh, God, he was inside me. He filled every space, every nook, every inch of me with his hot, royal prick, and yet all I wanted was more, more, more…

Tristan pistoned into me, his fingers leaving little welts in my flesh while he pounded away. I held on for dear life, shrieking and wailing my ecstasy. He kissed me, hard. His lips were like fire, bruising and violent, making my mouth swollen and sore. His kisses were like acid. Like a hit of X in the dark. He was the brilliant strobes of a nightclub. The laser lights. The thrumming bass. He vibrated through me and shook me to my bones.

My breasts heaved against the last remnants of the sheets between us. He liberated me from them. My back spasmed and arced. He pressed me harder, closer to the edge of the bed behind me. I screamed his name and scratched long trails of desire over his body. He gave me more.

And when the bomb detonated inside me, he made the explosion go on and on and on…