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“Etta.”
Sighing, she shuffles her feet apart a few inches.
“Wider.”
She moves a further inch.
“I already warned you what brats get.”
She immediately parts her legs, and I smile as I lean down and press a kiss against her clit before I soap up her well-used folds. “This is mine now,” I say, parting her sex so I can push a single finger carefully into her. “You can play with this…” I push back the hood of her clit and tap the bundle of nerves with my fingertip. “Or this…” I slip away from her clit and move back until I’m pushing my finger between her cheeks and pressing at her tight rosebud.
“Oz,” she gasps.
“But you don’t touch your cunt, okay? That’s mine, if I find out you’ve been putting anything inside my pussy, I’ll assume you need more of my cock. I’m more than happy to take a sabbatical from work and spend all my day filling you over and over with my cum.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Certifiable,” I agree. “I’m not your monster anymore, Etta, I’m your fucking everything.”
7
ETTA
Hindsight is a wonderful thing. If I’d known that being drawn back into my stepbrother’s world would result in me being naked in the shower with him while he washes my hair, after he just washed my body so thoroughly that there isn’t an inch of me that wasn’t coated in soap, I’d have stayed in Vegas.
I don’t know how we got from him silently ordering me into his car like he hated me so strongly he wouldn’t have cared if I’d have dropped dead on the spot to him barging into my room in the middle of the night and declaring I was his.
Oz is the incarnation of every nightmare I’ve ever had come to life. He’s a beautiful devil, luring me in with his rugged good looks, then ensnaring me with his huge dick and whispered praises.
I’ve been an idiot, but I’m not stupid enough to not realize how bad it would be to allow myself to stay in his house right now. We’ve had unprotected sex four times. There is a real chance his cum could be swimming toward my womb, intent on ruining my life right now, and there isn’t a thing I can do to stop it.
I have to get to a pharmacy. I need a Plan B and something that will stop me from wilting every time he praises me. Good girl. Those two words affect me more than any others in the entirety of my life.
It’s only two words, but the power they have over me is jarring, and I’m incapable of fighting against their thrall. Because since the first time he said them to me, I’ve craved hearing them again.
The truth is, I do want to be his good girl. I want him to whisper his filthy affirmations to me while he fucks me hard and fast. I want him to tell me how proud he is of me, even if it is only for my ability to make stupid decisions that could change the course of my life completely.
I want it all, but I can’t have it because he is the enemy. He’s everything bad that happened in my childhood. He’s why I was friendless for over a decade. He’s why I can’t travel. He’s why I fled from the house he tortured me in the moment I could. He’s why I’m so scared of everything.
So why aren’t I scared of him?
Why is my sore sex still dripping with arousal? Why am I desperate to get on my knees and beg for a taste of his cock? Why am I eating when he says, texting when he says, and calling when he says?
Once he’s done rinsing the conditioner from my hair, he washes himself, then lifts me out of the shower and wraps me in a huge towel. The fabric smells like him, and I inhale deeply before I can stop myself.
Lifting me off my feet again, he carries me into the bedroom and then dries my skin.
“Can you take me again?” he rasps, fisting his hard cock as he reaches out to cup my mound.
“Fuck,” he growls before I have a chance to speak. “No, you’re too sore. I’ll wait, I can cope for a couple of days until I see you again.” Inhaling sharply, he releases his hold on his cock, then strides to the dresser and pulls out boxers and a pair of cargo pants.
Instead of closing the drawer, he unzips my case and starts to unpack my things, placing them on the right-hand side of the dresser alongside his own clothes.
“These go in the trash,” he says, holding up my vibrator and the small suction dildo I bought, hoping it’d be fun to play with while I was in the tub.
“You can’t throw out my toys,” I protest.
“I already told you, nothing goes in your cunt except me.”
