She slides off his lap without a word, tugging the hem of his shirt down over her thighs.
Ford pushes himself out of the recliner, stretching his arms over his head before slinging one around Ava’s shoulders. “Night, boys,” he breathes, steering her toward his room. “I’ll try to keep it down,” he tosses over his shoulder. “But no promises.”
My fists clench as the door shuts behind them with a soft click, silence settling in its wake.
Wes sinks further into the couch, staring up at the ceiling like he’s already running through outcomes. “You sure about this?” he asks, not looking at me.
“It’s the only way,” I reply flatly.
He exhales, pushing to his feet. “Good luck sleeping,” he mutters, already heading back down the hall toward his room.
I hear his door close a few seconds later, the apartment falling quiet again. The low hum of the fridge fills the silence, and somewhere down the hall, muffled through a closed door, there’s the faintest echo of Ava’s laughter.
I shove up from the couch with an annoyed grunt and head for the kitchen, needing something to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth. The fridge has plenty of options, but I just grab a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and tipping it back. The cold hits sharp, biting against my teeth, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to settle the rest of me.
Then I hear a soft scuffing sound behind me.
Bare feet on hardwood.
I turn, and Ava’s standing there wearing Ford’s t-shirt, her dark hair falling forward in a loose curtain around her face. She freezes when our eyes meet, hers widening slightly. Then she continues moving forward cautiously, stopping just short of me.
“I was just…” she starts, trailing off as she gestures toward the fridge.
I suddenly realize I’m blocking it, but I don’t move right away. I just take another pull from the bottle, my gaze locked on hers over the rim, daring her to try me.
She doesn’t rise to the challenge, so I step aside after a few seconds and let her slip past me to pull open the door. She grabs another bottle of water from inside, and when she closes the fridge, she startles to find me still standing there, closer than before.
I don’t give her the chance to step back. My hand catches her at the waist, dragging her in until there’s no space left between us. My other hand comes up to the back of her neck, fingers sinking into her hair at the nape, holding her in place.
She’s trembling. Maybe from the cold, maybe from me. I don’t ask which– I just keep my grip firm, suddenly feeling like if I let go, everything else might come apart with her.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips.
Too close.
Not close enough.
My fingers tighten in her hair.
Some deeply disturbed part of me wants to kiss her.
The darkest parts of me want to ruin her.
Instead, I just keep my grip firm, forcing the moment to stretch until her ragged breathing starts to match mine.
Until she stops trying to pull away and relaxes into my hold.
“You ready to beg?” I ask, voice rough.
She blinks up at me, thrown. “For what?”
I dip my head just enough that my forehead brushes hers. “For what you really want,” I murmur. “That first night at the boathouse, I told you how this would end. That when it happens…” my thumb presses lightly into her hip, “you’ll bebeggingfor it.”
My stepsister stares up at me like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide, lips parted. She plays the sweet and innocent thing far too well, my cock thickening despite myself.
I can’t take it. I release her abruptly, stepping back and getting ahold of myself before I do something stupid.
She sways on her feet, a little off-balance.
