I’m fucked. I’m done for.
I pride myself on my self-control, but this is beyond my abilities. My dick is rock hard, so stiff that it’s painful against the mattress. I’m afraid if I move, I’ll alert her to being awake, and she’ll stop. I want to hear her come more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Her little whimpers and moans are making my mouth water. Ineedto suck on every surface of her skin, to taste her arousal that I can faintly smell.
“Mmm.” Her moans are becoming more high-pitched and desperate, like she’s getting close.
I’ve imagined this moment countless times. The way I want to hear her reach her climax is something I’ve fantasized about in my own bed, my shower, even when I was with other women. Now that I’m experiencing it, time seems to stand still.
She starts to move quicker. My hand grips her hair tighter. I wish I could taste it, feel it, be the one to give it to her, but even just witnessing it is something I never believed would actually happen until now.
I lick my lips, slowly reaching my hand down over my shorts to adjust the steel erection. I could probably come just from listening to her pleasure herself. Red hot need pulses through me.
“Dayton,” she pants.
The gray shadows around me burst into light, so bright that it’s like the sun is on my skin and I feel warmth for the first time in years. She’s thinking about me while she’s coming, and nothing has ever felt so damn good.
She’s clearly close to finishing as her movements grow fasterand her body shakes the bed more. I want to lean forward and whisper in her ear, to tell her she’s doing so good and she looks and sounds like a fucking angel. I want to pull her hair back until I can look into her eyes as she climaxes.
So, I do. I know she’s close, so I grip her hair closer to the roots and pull, not hard, but firmly. She gasps, eyes flickering open as her head tilts back. I tilt my hips, thrusting them into the pillow she has separating us.
“Dayton …” She moans my name, her pink lips forming an O as she exhales a whimpering moan.
Seeing the ecstasy in the depths of her green eyes and hearing her whimpering my name while her body starts to shake with her orgasm sends me over the edge. Ecstasy courses through every nerve in my body, and my release spews inside my shorts, and my grip tightens on her hair.
“Fuuuuck,”I pant.
chapter nineteen
Summer
Ithought I was just having a sex dream.
The aftershocks of my orgasm flowing through my body are mixing with the adrenaline and oxytocin, creating a heady feeling that I never wanted to associate with Dayton Copeland—my stepbrother, who bullied me in high school and has despised me ever since.
His iron grip on my hair makes it impossible for me to pull away. I lie there, panting and spent, my fingers sticky with my arousal, still pressed against my clit. His amber eyes are boring into mine like a man possessed, a man who so clearly wants to fuck me.
No, no, no, that can’t be. There’s no way. He hates me. This is a game to him.
I don’t know how far Dayton would be willing to go to screw with my head. He’s always been a determined asshole. He gets what he wants, and he’s rarely told no.
The mortification of what I just did washes over me like a tidal wave on the shore.
I try pulling away, and he lets me go. A flush crawls up my chest and neck as I realize what just happened. I forgot he had infiltrated my studio and startedsleeping in my bed.
Iwashaving a sex dream. I know I was. The point at which the dream ended and reality began is still blurry. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Up until he pulled my hair back and stared into my eyes, I thought I was asleep.
Turns out, I was masturbating in bed right next to him, fantasizing that it was his fingers playing with my sex under the table at the bar. We were sitting there, drinking and laughing with my friends, across from my ex-boyfriend, when Dayton’s hand started moving up the inside of my thigh.
I thought he was just messing with me. I thought it was a dangerous game we were playing, seeing who would fold first, like we used to do in high school. It wasn’t just us who would play it, but one time, a guy on the baseball team dared Dayton to play the Are You Nervous? game with me. I was still a virgin, panicking internally, but I managed to keep a straight face as his fingers trailed all the way up the inside of my thigh until he got to the bottom of my skirt. I swatted his hand away and told him I didn’t want to play anymore. Victory flashed in his amber eyes, and his friend called me a chicken.
This time, I didn’t fold, and neither did he. His fingers slid all the way up under my bikini bottoms. I gasped when his touch brushed over my clit for the first time. I saw fucking stars when he started to move. It felt so real.
Because you started doing it to yourself while in bed with him …
I swallow over the mass in my throat, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. His hand is still under the covers, but I can’t make out anything except the lump of my comforter. His eyes are studying me, calm and … satisfied. He’s shirtless, the now-tanned muscles of his chest and shoulders making me want to pick things up where they were left off in the lucid dream.
Stop it. Get a grip.
“What the hell were you doing?” My voice sounds hoarse.The hormones of the first orgasm I’ve had in weeks are still coursing through my body.