Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Virgin?
Wait.
No fucking way. She can’t possibly be—
My gaze sharpens and I feel drunk from wondering.
Swallowing a growl, I cup her cheek, urging her to look at me before I pop the question.
“Delia, fuck. Are you hinting you’ve never been with a guy before?”
She opens her mouth, but her words catch in her throat.
Shit!
I push her off me, quickly but carefully, hating how radioactive she suddenly feels.
When I’m on my feet again, I almost fall over as my weight shifts.
Goddamn, this is bad.
I need space. Oxygen. Privacy.
Before my dick outruns my heart in the race to short out.
“Delia, what are you doing?” I whisper slowly. “You say you don’t want me; you throw it in my face why we can’t, but then you go and scrunch up in my lap and tell me you’ve never been with a man?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a thousand conflicts invading my head.
She’s bunched up on the cabana chair now, staring while I pace in front of her, trying to process this ludicrous shit.
“It was just a little fun...wasn’t it?” Her voice is barely louder than a mouse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. And I do want to know you, Chris. I just thought a little harmless flirting might—”
“Harmless?” My nostrils flare.
Fuck that.
She looks at me as I circle her, trying to find the right combination of words.
“Flirting doesn’t include having your stepbrother’s hand on your ass, ready to tear your panties off. You know what, I started thinking maybe it was possible, no matter how many times you’ve tried to deny it. Now, I can’t. Not with you. Not in this lifetime. No way in hell.”
I walk to the edge of the pool with its massive white flower tiled on the bottom, wondering if I’m too drunk to drive out of this shitshow again.
Only trouble is, Sexton and the seniors will come down on me like boulders if they find out I’m not staying put.
Orders are orders, and I’ve bent them enough.
Even if these orders get me killed by Cordelia Burr before the cartel henchmen ever find me.
“Chris, don’t be ridiculous!” she yells after me. “We’re just messing around. I’m trying to open up... I never asked you to do anything. Can’t we just be friends?”
“Friends. You think I need friends who tease my cock to hell and back?” I snort at her bitterly. “You’re young and sheltered, Delia, so this may come as a shock. Let me clue you in anyway. I don’t play grabass with friends. I don’t need friends I want to bite, marking them all night. Don’t need any friends who tempt my dick like nobody else when I can’t ever satisfy that craving—and I don’t mean because of the family shit. Fuck that.” I pause, breathing in harshly before I finish. “There’s no goddamn way I can be your first fuck. I’m not screwing you up like that and leaving you hanging, knowing the first man you ever spread your legs for was your own fucking stepbrother.”
I whip around again and start walking, determined not to stop this time until I’m upstairs in my room with the door bolted shut.
“Screwing up? Screwing me up?” She’s got fire on her lips when she chases after me, digging her nails into my shoulder. “What do you think happened the other night? We were this close, Chris.”
She waves her hand in my face, her fingers only a centimeter apart.
“Delia—”
“Nope. You can’t deny it. You’re the first man who ever put his hands down—never mind. But do I look screwed up to you? Do I sound crazy?”
Yes, I don’t say.
But that’s not the point.
It’s my own sanity I’m worried about.
The madman I’m becoming around her.
I don’t know how to even answer that question without breaking her heart.
“We didn’t know. It was a fucked up mistake and nothing more,” I say. “Same for this truth or dare bullshit. Time for me to go, before my dumbass mouth just pisses you off more. Sorry it’s gotta be that way. Good luck on your summer pact.”
I’m moving with my jaw pinched like a vise.
I get about ten steps away when I hear her screaming at me.
“Keep your luck, coward! I’m not the one who needs it. You’re right—knowing you was a mistake.”
True.
And I make one more mistake when I look back and my breath freezes in my lungs.
Tears are streaming down her red cheeks now. Her arms flap erratically at her sides.
The empty glass drops from her hand, an accidental slip or an attempt to throw it at me. Who knows.
It shatters on the pool deck with a sound that rips the evening in half.
Coward, huh?
If she were a dude, I’d already have her on the ground, one hand on her throat.
She’s upset, I remind myself.
She’s just my overly emotional, clueless stepsister I never asked for.