I hate him and yet I want him. Desperately.
I am so effing dead.
Mom just got married, and now I have to live with my new billionaire stepbrother, Kent Payne. I should be happy, right? We aren’t surviving on noodles and rice anymore. And at first I am. But things change. Quickly. It’s him. Kent Payne. He is exactly what his name implies–a pain in the ass. Sure, he’s gorgeous, and rich, and built like a god. But he’s also a controlling, irritating, womanizing pain in the butt.
Now, thanks to our parents, we’re members of one big, happy family. Whoo-to-the-fu**ing-hoo. He’s a jerk. And nothing can happen between us anyway.
So I shouldn’t care about who he’s kissing in the kitchen…
And I definitely shouldn’t be fantasizing about him being my first…
Please note: Stepbrother Romance is a THREE PART SERIAL. If you hate serials, you may want to wait until all three parts are available before buying.
Our gazes tangled.
The air squeezed out of my lungs. I couldn’t inhale.
His gaze flicked to my mouth, and my heart did a somersault in my chest.
Was he going to kiss me?
A breeze carried the smell of flowers and man to my nose. A lock of hair fluttered across my face. I reached up to capture it but he lifted a hand and smoothed it back, behind my ear. “You look like your mother,” he said, his voice very low.
Was that meant to be a compliment?
“You look like your father,” I told him with my heart in my throat. He was still staring at my mouth, this beautiful, mysterious man. It was wrong, so so wrong, but I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to find out what it would be like to be kissed by a man who knew how to kiss. I wanted to be touched by a man who knew how to touch a woman.
He didn’t move, just remained fixed in place as if he was trying to decide whether he would kiss me or not.
And so I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his.
His lips were firm at first, unwelcoming. But I knew he wanted me. I didn’t back off. I arched my back so my breasts barely brushed against his chest and moved my mouth slowly, softly over his.
The smoldering kiss continued for a million racing heartbeats, maybe more. I completely lost track of time, of space, of everything. Until there was a deep rumble, like thunder.
And then lightning struck. Somewhere out there. In the distance.
And also between Kent and me.
Kent grabbed my shoulders, pulled until my torso was flush with his. His mouth claimed mine. It was the kiss I’d been waiting for my entire life. It was soft and rough, thrilling and scary. It was a question and an answer.
It was a conquering.
And I surrendered.
I was his. His to claim. His to touch. His to take.
My body molded to his. My mouth opened. His tongue swept inside, and I savored his intoxicating, sweet flavor.
Heavy need pounded between my legs. I writhed. I whimpered. I welcomed his invasion.
I felt him shifting beside me and then he was above me, and I was angling back, my shoulders supported by a strong, thick arm. My head rested on the seat and he climbed over me, breaking the kiss.
I pulled in a gasp. My head was spinning. All I saw was Kent, his face…and the desire burning in his eyes.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered as he kissed me again. His kiss was tender. It was thorough. It was oh, so, good and yet not enough. The burning between my legs was becoming unbearable.
“Please,” I begged, arching my back so my breasts brushed against his chest. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the delicious pleasure pulsing through me. He couldn’t stop now.
“Shayne,” he murmured, cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip and I quivered from head to toe. Did he know what his touches did to me? What his kisses did? I was so hot I felt like I would combust. And the burning was the worst down there, between my legs. I wanted it to stop…and I didn’t.
My hips rocked back and forth, back and forth. The friction against my center felt so good but even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to tear my clothes away, to feel his skin gliding over mine. To feel his wet, warm mouth on my nipple.
“Your mother is trusting me to protect you,” he said, voice husky. Even as he said those words, his hand slid down, fingertip tracing a line along the pounding pulse in my throat. The gentle touch made me whimper.
More, I needed more.
As if he could read my thoughts, his fingertip ventured lower, along my collarbone, lower, angling toward my ample cleavage.
Yes, oh yes. Keep going. He had to keep going.
“But you’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t stop staring at you, wanting you.”