Raiden stares at me like a creepy spider. Not that I see eight legs or a poop pile of eyes, but he has that you’re a fly in my web look, which sends chills racing up and down my spine. And also straight to my pussy. Pussy chills are a new thing for me, and it turns out they produce a sort of awakening that makes the rest of my body heat up.
Who knew?
“Y–you…come…no…produce…er…yes, come…no! You…” Why am I still trying to explain this?
“I produce first? That’s not true.” Raiden slowly shakes his head. “We did it at the same time. Technically, if I went first, you’d be able to see what I was making, and you would have changed your mind to beat me. So, no. That’s not possible.”
“After then.” Amazingly enough, I find my tongue. It feels as thick and hot as the rest of me.
“No. We did it at the exact same time.” Raiden’s eyes narrow. “Tell me. Why are you so absolutely sure you need to quit? I won’t even be around. I have other things I need to be doing.”
“Of course you do. That’s part of the whole conquering process.”
“So, you’re just pissed that it’s me? If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t even think of quitting.”
“Yes.” Why am I telling him this? Why is he sitting so close to me? Why are the hairs on the backs of my arms standing on end? And why do my eyes keep tracking back to his groin region?
I swear on my freaking life that I never found Raiden hot before. I might have noticed he was good looking when I saw his photos start surfacing a few years ago, around the time he started making a name for himself, but it was never before that. I’m not a pervert. I never had designs on my stepbrother back when our parents were married. He truly was just like my best friend.
Not like a brother.
The realization slams into me like a dang bus I didn’t see coming down the street before I decided to scurry across the crosswalk, and yes, I know. Sometimes, I make very bad, risky decisions.
I never saw Raiden like a brother. He was a friend. A very good friend, a confidant, and a companion, but he was never a brother.
That tattoo on my hip starts burning furiously like it’s a brand, and like the skin remembers the fiery hot iron that emblazed it onto my body.
“Yes, you would, or no, you wouldn’t?”
What was the question again? Maybe I’m not buzzed on the whisky. Maybe I’m actually buzzed on Raiden. Is that a thing? Can pheromones be that strong?
“What’s the real reason you hate me? You didn’t before. We made a promise to each other through blood and ink.”
“You didn’t keep it.”
“Neither did you. I think we’ve already established that. Time passes, shit happens, blah, blah, blah. We could blame each other for not keeping contact, or we could be adults now. You could work for my company, do well, and take the extra training. You could be a great manager because you care. I can see that. You’re passionate, and you want people to be treated fairly. You’ve always been a good person. The best person.”
“And you’ve always been a shithead.”
Raiden’s lips twitch again, and my mouth goes completely dry. I tell myself it’s because I just swore, and even though shit is pretty mild and some might not even consider it a vulgar word, I’m not proud that I went there, but really, I think it’s because there’s so much moisture gathering in my lady bits. Moist. I hate that word. Seriously, I think everyone does. But it’s what’s happening to my lady cave. It’s getting moist. And so are my panties, by default.
“We both know that’s partly true, but not true enough.”
“Now you’re playing mind games? Have you gone to some expensive therapy over the years?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, you should. You clearly need it.”
“Now, that’s just unkind.” Raiden’s eyes trace down my body in a way that isn’t at all sexual but feels like the most sensual caress. His gaze stops at my hip, and my stomach does a barrel roll.
He knows. He knows I never got it removed.
“You’re unkind, and I’m done. I’m quitting.”
“No, you lost. You were never a bad sport before, and you never went back on your word.”
Great. Now he’s guilting me again. He knows me. He knows me too well. He knows that just the thought of breaking a promise or going back on my word makes me want to break out in hives like I’m allergic to it. If there’s anything I hate in life, it’s people who go back on stuff like that, even if it’s just tiny things they think won’t really matter.
“You’re squirming.”
“Only because I really want to get away from you.”