Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
We both knew we were dancing to a song that had disaster written just on the other side.
Jesse pulled back too soon, his dark eyes flirting with madness. I arched my hips up to meet his and felt his hardness pressing firm against the fabric of his jeans. I felt that desperate pain of longing all the way up into my chest.
“Kat…God, we... can’t.” His eyes closed, but the throbbing between my legs was hell-bent on our destruction, and all I knew was I didn’t want it to stop.
I pulled Jesse’s face back to mine, and spread my legs wide, inviting him to do whatever it was that men do.
Rub, rub, rub as the friction built to a crescendo. If he had wanted, he could have stripped me in an instant, and taken anything and everything. I would have welcomed it. I was silently begging for it.
But he didn’t.
I listened as he groaned into my mouth with such ferocity, for a moment he frightened me. I was just a young woman, barely legal and still growing into myself. Sure, I had the curves. I'd faced the teasing earlier than any of the other girls, but I was nothing special. And yet, here I was, laying with the man of my girlhood dreams and feeling every thrust of his cock through the fabric of our clothes.
As the tension built like a runaway train, I groaned into his kiss, sparks of pleasure creating a delirious vortex inside. My hips rose to ride him with each pulse of his own, praying he wouldn’t pull away and my ravenous virgin lust broke open like a religious experience.
Jesse felt the wave crash over me, and he broke our kiss to watch, his eyes locked on mine as I thrashed and rode out the storm. My first orgasm, at the hands of a man I thought of as my brother. I couldn’t stop the noises, need driving me to moan and whimper and scream his name as the warmth spread between my legs. I clutched Jesse’s hard back, pulling him down, down, down, wanting more, wanting this.
“God... Kat…” His voice was full of his own desperation, his eyes locked onto my face as I wrapped my legs around him and drew him in, wanting to know what it felt like to be his. “I can’t stop—"
“What the fuck? Get the fuck off my sister!” Kent’s screams ended it all.
Suddenly Jesse was torn from me, and I watched in horror as my brother drew back and threw a punch so filled with rage, it could not be put back.
I screamed, and screamed, and told him to stop, but Jesse just stood there and took it, and took it until Kent wore himself out against his solid muscle. My brother was built like a quarterback, but Jesse was a linebacker, and when the beating was over he walked away without a word.
The rest was history. I couldn't ignore the fact that Kent must have heard my moans. We never discussed it, but each of us had a broken heart that day. And the next, and for a long time after.
What we did broke what we had. All of us and nothing was the same after.
Eventually, Kent and Jesse made peace in some far off conversations filled with apologies and promises, and I knew deep down Jesse knew it was a mistake. Not just in touching his best friend's little sister, but in bothering with someone like me in the first place.
Hormones and deployments can drive you to do things you would never consider in the cold light of day, and I was one of those things. I could never hope to be anything to someone like Jesse, and since he was the only one I wanted I was doomed.
So I'd turned to anything that might dull my senses. I drank a horrible Miller Lite the day after Jesse shipped out for that first tour with the Marines. Then another, and another.
I hid it better back then though. After Kent died, well... I didn’t really care about hiding it anymore. I just needed something to take the pain away.
Especially when I started working alongside the man I knew I'd never touch again.
Each hour became less and less focused as the vodka began to overtake my brain. By 3 am, we were clearing everyone out, and I knew I better get my shit together before Jesse saw me. He tended to confiscate drinks if he noticed me with them, whether they were from his stock or not.
“Where’s my purse…” I mumbled as I tried to remember which hiding place I used when I arrived sober over six hours ago.
I found it inside the empty box of ‘Diamond Rocks’ tank tops the waitresses were obliged to wear. Waitresses, but not the bartender. I had a uniform all of my very own, on account of the fact my body wouldn't squeeze into the revealing outfit and Jesse told me point-blank I was never to wear one.