Her moans betray her, each one louder as I drive into her, the bed creaking under us.
“Hate me all you want, Piper, but you’re begging for this.”
She curses through gritted teeth, “I fucking hate you,” but her body clenches around me.
The tension builds, her protests dissolving, and I know she’s close again. I don’t let up, pushing her toward the edge, our bodies locked in this raw, messy dance of pretend rage and real desire.
“Hate me all you want, scream it if it makes you feel better, but this—” I punctuate with a particularly deep grind, “—this cunt's mine right now. So fucking perfect, clenching so pretty around my cock. Come on, baby. Come again for the bastard you hate. Let me feel you.”
She fights it, her head shakes side to side, teeth sinking into her lower lip. I don't let up, pounding into her relentlessly. Her body shudders violently, then her cry rips through the air as she comes undone around me.
I thrust through it, chasing my own edge. “You’re mine in this cabin, every fucking inch of you. You’re gonna take every drop of my come.”
I bury deep one last time, grinding into her as I come hard, filling her while she gasps beneath me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I just slept with my sister’s best friend.
My so-called revenge? It’s ash in my mouth now. Tasteless and cold, meaningless against the truth pounding through me like a second pulse.
I want Piper. Not as leverage in some petty war with my sister.
I wantthis. Her. The woman who pushes back when I push harder. Who makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t since everything went to hell.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
5
PIPER
I'm frozen.
Literally frozen, my body still trembling, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
What did I just do?
What the hell did I just do?
Callum shifts beside me, his weight leaving the bed, and panic slams into me. This was a mistake. This was the biggest mistake of my entire life.
Except my body is still buzzing. And some traitorous part of my brain is replaying every second.
No. Stop. This cannot be happening.
He pulls the sweatshirt away from my eyes, leaning in like he's going to kiss me again. I bat his hand away and scramble out from under him, my legs tangling in the blanket.
“Don't. Don't touch me.” I'm on my feet now, grabbing for my clothes scattered across the floor. My sweatpants. My boots.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely grip the fabric.
Because that's the problem, isn't it? Iwanthim to touch me. Even now, even as I'm running, I want his hands on me again. I want to feel that way again.
And it terrifies me.
