“Fucking hell, that’s good.” He takes the last of the piece into his mouth.
I watch in a daze as he chews it, his throat bobbing with the movement.
I stare at him like an obsessive freak, admiring the curve of his jawline, his golden skin, the way the veins of his neck stick out when he’s experiencing pleasure. He leans forward one more time for more, but it’s gone. Instead of asking me to get another bite, he sucks my fingers into his mouth, tasting the last of the cinnamon sugar and sending sharp bursts of need between my legs with the feeling of his wet tongue on my skin.
“Has anyone ever told you that you taste better than that cake?”
His deep voice reaches my ears, and I wonder if I really am stuck inside a dream.
2
SAM
I’m drunk as shit.
Duke’s little sister’s fine ass is feeding me cake. Is life really even that bad? Not right now, it’s not.
Dollface is looking tastier than she ever has—not that she’s ever looked bad. I’ve called her sis for as long as I can remember to remind myself that she’s my best friend’s little sister and solidly off-limits. Keeping my eyes off of her completely has also been helpful in eliminating her as an option.
Both tactics have worked for almost eleven years now, but I woke up at three a.m. this morning in a cold sweat, suffocating in a pit of grief and memories. I think I’ve been guzzling bourbon ever since. Her walking through the door with those obsessive gray eyes, thick black hair, wearing a tiny sundress, isn’t exactly a recipe for successful avoidance.
She’s wanted you for a long time. What’s one little kiss gonna hurt?
It’s an unspoken rule that fucking your best friend’s little sister is a friendship-fracturing offense. Duke is the type to hold a grudge for all of eternity—after beating my face until it’s black and blue. His older brothers—Holden, Cash, and Sterling—would surely take a turn, too, leaving me in a bloody heap to die on my ranch.
Duke is my best friend. I would never betray his trust. Loyalty is one of my few good qualities.
Now that I think about it, getting my ass beat again might feel better than the soul-sucking depression I’ve been wallowing in for days. I’d be lucky if the abuse stopped with Duke’s fists. Sleeping with a girl with four burly, tough-as-shit brothers is a suicide mission.
But my ability to give a fuck has waned to a hair-sized sliver.
Losing my last living family member, the man who raised me as a son, has had a strange, no-fucks-given effect on me. I want to be alone. I never want to feel this pain again. I never want to love someone that much again.
“I didn’t know women could taste better than cake,” she breathes.
The remnants of cinnamon sugar on my tongue are a stark contrast to the bourbon as I lift the bottle to my lips.
“I’d have to get a better sample to be sure.”
I don’t clarify which taste I want more of, and watching her mind whirl through the possibilities makes my chest tighten.
Duke is going to break every bone in your body before he fucking murders you. And his brothers will help bury your corpse on that big-ass ranch, where it’ll never be found.
Dolly has begged me to fuck her with her eyes for as long as I can remember, but I don’t think even her explicit, enthusiastic consent would be enough to keep the Redford brothers from effectively mutilating my ass. They believe no man will ever be good enough for Dolly Mae Redford.
I wholeheartedly agree.
Hence, every single time she’s entered my general vicinity since we were kids, I avert my eyes and redirect my thoughts.Duke is usually present, which makes it easier and keeps the ass-kicking threat front and center.
Right now, Duke isn’t here, I’m fucking drunk, and this woman’s skin is looking softer than a freshly tanned leather hide.
I’ve never been so horny in my life. Death has had a strange effect on me. It makes me want to create life, to feel alive. I’ve felt empty, miserable, bereft, and numb for days now. I don’t even know how long it’s been since the funeral. Duke insists on coming to see me, despite me telling him that I don’t want anyone around.
Dolly’s sultry rosebud-pink lips and gray eyes shining with desire aren’t helping the situation growing between my legs. She’s still holding the cake, the other hand elevated, her fingers shining with my saliva. I’m still tracing my fingers over the back of her legs. I pull her toward me, making her knees bend and forcing her to lean into my chair. She doesn’t fully fall into my lap, but now her breasts are directly in line with my vision.
She smells like cinnamon with a hint of wildflowers. My mouth waters. I take the cake from her before pulling her all the way down onto my lap. She gasps, planting both her hands on my body, one on my shoulder and the other on my bicep.
Bad idea. Dangerous, suicidal, idiotic idea.
