Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Somehow my thoughts drift to Wild. His sculpted shoulders and cruel smiles. I’d never in a thousand years admit to my friend how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about him naked. I’m pretty sure Dad would send me upriver without a boat and rocks tied to my ankles if he thought I fantasized about being with a man sometimes.
My cock loses some of its stiffness as it should. Thinking of Wild isn’t supposed to arouse me. I’m supposed to think up images of my future wife. I imagine she’ll look like the girl in the magazine with her silky brown hair and bright blue eyes. I stiffen again, keeping my focus on her glistening pink hole.
A quiver of anticipation flutters through me as my nuts draw up. I’m going to come soon. Then all the rampant thoughts inside my head will quiet. I start stroking my cock faster and faster, eyes drooping closed as pleasure consumes me.
And then it happens.
The most forbidden image of them all enters my mind—one I try desperately to keep contained.
Ryder.
Shirtless, stretched out in his hammock, with his guitar in his lap. Dark hair in disarray. Long lashes fanning out over his tanned cheeks and a boyish grin teasing his full lips. Instead of the girl on the magazine’s ass, I imagine my dick poised at Ryder’s luscious lips.
Oh, fuck.
I come with a guttural growl. Cum shoots out of me with such force it splatters the magazine, soaking my favorite page. I’m lost in the fantasy, still locked in the way I imagine his mouth would look like painted with my cum.
So. Fucking. Beautiful.
As soon as I come down from my delightful high of allowing myself a brief taste of a forbidden fantasy, reality settles around me like a dense fog.
That was wrong on so many levels.
So. Wrong.
I’m supposed to find a wife. And not just any woman, because if any woman would do, I’d choose Raegan because she’s my best friend. She’s my sister, so that can’t happen.
So, when I think of Ryder this way, it’s the worst of the worst.
He’s a man and he’s my brother.
No and no.
Bitterness creeps up my throat, sour and disgusting. Sometimes I hate this body and brain I was born into. It doesn’t seem to want to follow the rules. I love my siblings and parents. Never would I do anything to hurt their feelings or make them feel like I was some sort of freak.
Which is why I’ll take my secret to my grave.
* * *
* * *
My house is loud.
There’s always a baby crying or a kid hollering. It’s why I love escaping it. Ronan’s house is the best. My favorite time is when just he and I are lying on his bed, both lost in our books, quietly escaping our world for another we know very little about.
“Raegan!”
Mom’s voice cuts through my daydream and drags me to the present. She’s rushing about the kitchen, grabbing last-minute items for dinner. I’m supposed to be helping, as dinner prep is one of my chores, but I’m doing a terrible job today.
Sometimes I’m jealous of Mom. Not because she has to deal with all these damn kids. No, I’m envious of her beauty. Her blond hair hits her about mid-back and she rarely pulls it into a ponytail like I do. Dad loves stroking his calloused fingers through the silky strands, which is probably why she leaves it down. Mom has a youthful appearance making her seem as young as me sometimes. Like we could be sisters. Maybe that’s why we butt heads so often.
Nothing makes her smile like Dad does. The smile she saves just for him is radiant. As though he’s the most handsome man on earth and she’s lucky to have him. Everything about her seems to glimmer whenever he’s in the room.
And Dad?
He stares at her like he wants to eat her alive. There’s always a ravenous, feral glint in his eyes whenever she’s near. I don’t quite get it. I mean, she has stretchmarks from being pregnant a million times, so I don’t understand what he finds so fascinating about her body. Even her boobs and butt are smaller than mine.
He must just be a sucker for a pretty face.
“Take these to the table,” Mom says, thrusting a stack of plates at me, making a face that’s anything but pretty. “Enough dillydallying.”
I take the plates from her and manage to keep the eye rolling at bay until I’ve turned my back on her. All of my younger siblings are already at the table. I try to imagine a life one day where I’ll be married with kids of my own.
I can’t.
All I want to imagine is having my own quiet cabin or sharing one with Ronan.
“Da,” Dawson cries out, smacking the surface of his highchair table. “Dadadada.”