But I keep all of that to myself, because that’s not really what she’s asking. Instead, I lean back against the sofa, schooling my face into a pleasantly neutral expression. It’s one I use for board meetings, when I need to appear interested and engaged without giving anything away.
“Turn around,” I say, amazed at how steady my voice sounds.
She obeys immediately again, and turns in a slow circle, giving me the view of her luscious denim-clad ass. The jeans cup her like a second skin, fitting her perfectly.
My thoughts go dark and filthy, and I shove them away with another long sip of champagne.
“You like?” she asks, tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip.
“You look lovely,” I say, my voice less steady this time. And it’s true. She does look lovely.
Lovely, and so very, very fuckable.
She tries on everything on the rack, with most of the items ending up in the keep pile. It feels like we’re the only two people in the world, hidden away in this luxurious changing room, and I don’t want this little shopping trip to end. She likes my attention—I can tell from the way she blushes so sweetly when I compliment her, the way her enthusiasm has grown with every new outfit—and I like giving it to her.
I like it so fucking much.
I’m lost in thought when she steps out from behind the curtain in the emerald green dress. The shimmery fabric clings to her, the deep V-neckline dipping low enough to show off her glorious cleavage. The way it hugs her waist then flares over her hips—it’s fucking criminal. She turns without me asking her, and the back is even worse. Or better, depending on where your morals lie. The dress dips low, showcasing the smooth curve of her spine.
I flick my gaze down, biting back a groan at the sight of her ass. Words flit through my head—spank, bite, rub, tease, lick, kiss, fuck—and I’m hard. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
The things I want to do to my stepdaughter. Fuck. Former stepdaughter.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and her lips curve into a sweet, flirty smile. “Do you like it?”
I don’t answer. Not only is my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, but I don’t trust myself to say anything even remotely appropriate. I take another sip of my champagne, holding her gaze as I drink.
She turns again, facing me now, and skims her hands down her body. “This fabric is incredible.” Her eyes snap up to mine, and she flushes, her cheeks taking on a strawberry tint. I glance at myself in the mirror, and I can see the wolfish hunger written all over my face.
She takes a step closer and does another slow turn. “Do you like it?” she asks again, softer, raspier this time.
“You’re killing me, Cam,” I say, my voice low and gravelly. Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.
Her blush deepens as her smile widens. “Am I?” she asks innocently, biting her bottom lip.
I let out a sharp exhale, setting my champagne flute down on the table. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”
She takes another step towards me, and now she’s close enough that if I reached out, I could pull her into my lap. I could feed her sips of champagne while telling her what a good girl she is for letting me spoil her like this.
My cock jerks in my pants at the thought.
God, this is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. I’m more than twice her age. She’s my—was my stepdaughter.
“Well, seeing as I’d hate for you to die, I’ll get dressed and we can leave.” She turns away, heading back toward the curtain, but not before shooting me a playful look over her shoulder.
I watch her disappear behind the curtain, my cock throbbing, and my mind racing with everything I can’t have and shouldn’t want.
Seven
Camryn
I’m pulled from sleep by a seemingly never-ending rumble of thunder, so loud and close that I can feel it rattling the building. Rain pelts the windows in a sheet, and as I slowly open my eyes, I can see lightning flicker between the gap in the curtains.
I love a good storm.
I swing my feet over the side of the bed and cross my bedroom to the window, pulling back the curtains. It’s raining so hard that all I can see are blurred lights and a sudden white-blue streak of lightning across the sky. With the penthouse being so high up, it’s as though the storm is happening not above me, but all around me.
When I lived here in my teens, I used to watch storms from the living room. The massive windows face towards the lake, giving a completely unobstructed view of the rain or snow.
