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)
Delia almost chokes on her wine.
“What? You’re kidding. That’s really how your folks got together? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Everything that could go wrong with two people did,” I say.
Delia winces.
She’s too innocent for life.
Slowly, I look her up and down, wondering if I’m drawn to her out of some fucked up subconscious desire to follow in my old man’s footsteps.
I’m certainly defiling a young woman who’s too good for me.
And part of me enjoys it.
I’m howling to wreck every inch of her, brand her as mine, no matter how wrong or crazy and sick in the head it is.
“Babe, you’re a smart chick, but there’s a lot to learn about the world. People don’t always get hitched and start popping out kids because they’re head over heels in love. Sometimes, they just make a big goddamned mistake because the sex is that good—and Mom’s drug was kink before she got into the other shit. I found out the hard way when I went sniffing around the old dives where my dad used to hang out.”
And what else did it teach me?
Here I am, desperately trying to tell myself I’ve got zero interest in corrupting a sweet, smart girl—my own frigging stepsister, no less.
Here I am, stuck on the little whimper she makes when my cock plunges into her, slamming her into the mattress, wanting to ruin her forever.
I wonder if I’m trying to fuck things out of my system that I should’ve dealt with years ago.
Horizontal therapy.
Regardless, it’s finished the second we’re on our flight home.
It has to be over, done, and kaput before I risk leaving us as screwed up as my parents.
“I’m not as naïve as you think,” she says with a pout. “Is that why she’s so torn up then? The breakup sent her spiraling into drugs? That’s really sad. If she had regrets—”
“My old man’s dead,” I bite off. “Road accident years after he disappeared—or so I heard from a dude in his club when I got older. He wound up joining the Grizzlies MC. You ever heard of ’em?”
She shakes her head.
“Major hardasses, especially in the old days. Whatever actually happened to Pops, who knows. Don’t care. It won’t fix how Ma fucked herself right off a cliff.”
“God. I have to keep Dad from getting hurt,” she says quietly.
“His problem, Delia. Not yours. He’s—what?—pushing sixty? Like you said, you’re better off letting a man make his own mistakes. He’ll find out she’s been after nothing but a sugar daddy soon enough.”
The waiter returns and interrupts us.
Great timing.
We get our last course before dessert, some kind of rustic French quail I can’t pronounce.
Damn if it doesn’t take the edge off as I tear the succulent meat from the bone, enjoying the way it pairs with the wine.
If only Delia wasn’t picking at her food again.
Fuck.
I hate that we had to go poking at bad memories, shitting up our night.
I want to fly home and drag Evie out of that mansion, kicking and screaming.
She’s not ruining this.
None of our parents’ fuckery is tainting our last good memory as lovers.
“I’m sorry if that got a little heated,” she whispers over her glass. “I never meant to pry.”
“Just dig in, princess.” I lean forward and reach across the table, setting her glass down and cupping her chin. I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “No sense in letting their toxic shit poison us. This is our night, Delia. The last night we get.”
A sad smile pulls at her lips.
I lean in closer and whisper, “Lady, don’t make me fuck the bad thoughts right out of your head on an empty stomach. Eat.”
She reaches for my hand. I let her pull it off her face.
For a second, she holds it softly between hers and then gives the back of my hand a little kiss.
“I wish this wasn’t ending...but you’re right. We have lives to get back to. Incompatible ones.” She flinches slightly when she says it. “God, do you know how hard it’ll be to let go after this week? Maybe things would be different if our parents weren’t married and just so...so effed up.”
Damn.
I’ve never heard her drop a near F-bomb in public.
That tells me how upset she is, already raw from losing this.
Still, I can’t lead her on, even when every part of me knows just how right she is.
“We deal with the hand we drew, babe. You want to help your old man sort his shit? Then you can’t let him find out his lovely daughter’s sharing a bed with her stepbrother. We’re doing the right thing.”
I want to believe that.
Only, if it’s true, why does saying it feel like a shot through the chest?
She nods like her head is a boulder.
There’s no denying the sadness in her eyes, hurt and melancholy over the thousand and one obstacles keeping us apart.