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When he snakes a gloved hand around my hip, expert fingers seeking out my clit, and I see stars. The first brush of leather against the throbbing bundle of nerves has me almost sobbing into the crook of my elbow, my arms long since given up on keeping me upright.
“You gonna come for me, Shy Girl?” Dom’s voice is getting strained, his rhythm faltering slightly as I’m sure he’s sprinting towards his own release. “Is your little cunt gonna come all over your big brother’s cock?”
His filthy words push me straight over the cliff. My orgasm barrels through me like a freight train, my vision whiting out as my body convulses over and over.
With a guttural groan Dom follows right after, my clenching pussy milking him for all he’s worth. I moan breathlessly as he fills me, his own heavy breaths ringing in my ears as his relentless pounding finally slows.
I get maybe five glorious seconds of post-orgasmic haze before the harsh wave of reality crashes over me. I’m overcome with a revulsion so noxious it nearly leaves me gagging.
“Get off!” I shriek, shoving myself upright with a desperation to get him out of me. “Getout.Get out of my house, and leave me alone!”
I shove back against him and whirl around, almost tipping myself straight over the back of the couch in the process. Yanking my skirt back down, I feel the warm trickle of his cum seep down my thigh. The urge to retch only intensifies.
Dom’s expression remains infuriatingly smug as he tucks himself back into his slacks. “Come on, Shiloh,” he drawls. “You already trying to convince yourself you didn’t love every fucking second of what we just did?”
“Out,” I scream, grabbing the nearest book and hurling it at his head. “Don’t ever fucking come back!”
His smirk morphs into a deep scowl as he smoothly dodges the book flying right at his face. But without argument, he grabs his coat and storms straight for the door. He slams it behind himself so forcefully I worry the entire frame will crumble into splinters.
The second he’s gone, I bolt upstairs and throw myself straight into the bathroom, tearing off my clothes as I go. I need to be rid of his fucking scent. I turn the shower on full blast, not even waiting for the water to heat up before stepping under the spray. The stab of icy needles against my skin is a welcome punishment for what I just let happen.
I furiously scrub at my skin, as if I can wash away the memory of Dom’s touch along with the physical evidence he left behind. Soap suds swirl down the drain, but I still feel every bit as filthy as when I started.
How could I let things go so far? What the fuck came over me?
I have a newfound understanding of the term ‘temporary insanity’, and I’ll plead that case until I’m blue in the face.
It has to be stress,I tell myself. All this pressure trying to plan the Ball with Melanie breathing down my neck, this possible stalker situation that’s had me tossing and turning at night–it’s all just getting to me.
That’s the only possible explanation. There’s no way I would have let Dom touch me if I were in my right mind.
But even as I try to rationalize such a twisted turn of events, I know every bit of it is a lie. Truth is, I’ve wanted Dom to overpower me like that since the first time he ever commanded me to run from him, like I’m nothing more than his plaything. And now that it’s happened, I’m terrified by how good it felt.
I stay in the shower long after the hot water runs out, praying the violent shivering will shake some sense into me.
It was all just a dark fantasy when we were teenagers. Nothing more than a sick craving I only confessed to the pages of my diary. It was never supposed to come true.
I’m an adult now. I’m supposed to have better self-control. I’m supposed to pay my fucking taxes and not fuck my fucking stepbrother.
When I finally step out of the shower, I catch sight of myself in the foggy mirror and grimace. Sodden hair plastered to my skull, eyes wide and haunted, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
“It was a mistake,” I mutter to myself. “It won’t happen again.” Even ifheis a deranged psychopath,Idon’thave to be a part of his twisted games.
I only wish I could believe it.
14
DOMINIC
I strideout of Shiloh's little house like a wild animal on a rampage, my jaw clenched tight enough to break bone. My cock is still half-hard, straining against my zipper like it's trying to drag me back inside.
Fuck.
I've never been thrown out of a woman’s home before. Especially not after fucking her brains out. The bitter taste of it clashes with the lingering flavor of Shiloh still on my tongue. I want to march right back in there and show her exactly who she’s rejecting. I want to bend her over that ratty couch and fuck her again and again, until she can't remember her own name, let alone why she thought pushing me away was the right call.
But I don't. Because apparently, I'm a goddamn gentleman now.
The walk back to my B&B passes in an uncomfortable storm of frustration and arousal. I barely notice where I’m headed, trusting my feet to remember the route while my mind is a million miles away. A few locals are still out and about, calling cheerful greetings that I pointedly ignore. Let them think I'm theasshole from the big city who can't be bothered with small town pleasantries. It's the truth.
