LUST (A STEPBROTHER ROMANCE)

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…

I writhed and wiggled as he picked me up and dropped me over and over onto his rigid dick, spearing me, impaling me, sending me into rapturous torment. I slapped and clawed him, my inner muscles pumping around him, begging for that seed he’d given me before so carelessly. We didn’t stop to think about the consequences. I wanted his c

um the way he’d taken mine from me. And I was going to have it, too. He wouldn’t deny me. Not now, when I needed him so badly.

“I want you!” I gasped. “Oh, please, Tristan. I want you!”

And sure as the sunrise, Tristan let go inside me, snarling into my shoulder and holding me tight as rope after rope of his sticky jizz pooled in my womb. I bit his lower lip and kissed him, wiped the sweat from his brow with my hands, and pulled his hair back from his face so I could look into his eyes, the brilliant eyes of my Tristan, my stepbrother, my lover.

His whole body was shaking. His jaw was clenched. His pale skin was flushed. And there was an undeniable smirk upon his lips, especially when he said:

“We can make this work, Gwendolyn. Do you trust me?”

I nodded lazily. It was the only thing I could do.

How could I say no to Tristan ever again?

As it turned out, that question was answered for the moment my stepbrother opened his stupid mouth.

“Well, I suppose there comes a time in every young, royal man’s life where he must take his first mistress…”

Then he laughed. The arsehole actually laughed. And he kept laughing as I stared at him, jaw sagging, in utter disbelief of what he’d just said.

“Your mistress,” I said. It wasn’t even a question, just a hollow repetition of the words that had just dropped out of the mouth that had kissed me. “You… you think I’d ever agree to that?” I said, my brow furrowing so hard it made my face hurt. “You think that I’d ever stoop that low—that I have no respect for myself?”

“Oh, come on, Gwennie,” Tristan said, that petulant smirk still on his face. “All the royals have them. Why not me?” When I didn’t share in his good humor, he tried to pull me close. “Come now, don’t get yourself all in a tizzy…”