If You Hate Me

by Helena Hunting

“Use your manners, and maybe I’ll be nice.”

I can’t tell if this is retaliation or foreplay. Which is…a messed-up thing to think, especially since my brother is less than a foot away, in the driver’s seat. But that doesn’t stop me from slipping my hand down the front of his shirt.

He adjusts my position, stretching my right leg along the edge of the granite. His fingers move between my thighs, and I moan when he skims over my already sensitive clit.

Tristan knows his way around a vagina.

I want to yeet her over the loft railing.

I’m jealous. Of a puck bunny. That she’s had Tristan’s hands on her makes me feel sick. This is a new low.