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Over the years, I perfected the art of managing my stepsister.
WHAT
When the salacious shine of fucking your stepbrother wears off,
EUHGGG FAM
My end goal has always been making Grace mine for all to see—
wtf
In my darkest, rawest fantasies, Gracelynn Langston stutters her way into an explanation of how she ended up marrying the person she introduced as her brother for years. She’ll be wearing my ring. Come hell or high water.
i remember in book 1 he was stressing how much he hated this girl, his STEPSISTER
dare I say—more attractive than that oatmeal with legs and a crew cut.
LOL
I expect to see Winnifred, but instead, it is her replacement, who works twice a week when it’s Winnifred’s days off. A girl named Penny. Fuck you, Penny.
LOL
“How much to rent your car for the rest of the night?”
“Why’re you doing this, anyway?” “My date is cold.” Arsène gestures toward me.
“You’re so embarrassing,” is my thank-you to Arsène as we resume watching the movie. “You’re so welcome,” he replies generously, making me pink again.
“Too bad we’re not measured based on our good times. It’s how we perform in the bad times that makes us who we are.”
Our eyes are locked in this strange stare, and I don’t know why, but something about this moment feels monumental and raw.
A few moments pass, and my stare drifts back to him, only to find he never stopped looking at me.
“We should leave.” He straightens suddenly, his voice gruff. “Why?” “Because I’m about to do something we’ll both regret.”
I never regretted that first kiss. Not for a nanosecond, Winnifred.”
He makes happy noises I’ve never heard a man make. A mixture between a murmur and a moan. His face disappears between the valley of my breasts through my top.
“I’ve wanted to do that since Italy. Since I saw you on that balcony and you looked like a present.”
He is licking a trail, the outline of my breasts through my shirt. I squeeze his cock. “More.” He looks up at me, dazed and a little flushed. “You sure?” I nod.
He hisses with pleasure so intense I swear it is dipped in pain. “Fuck. Please.”
He pushes one hand into my hair and watches me through hooded, drunk eyes.
“Regretting me yet?” He dives down to kiss me hard. I shake my head, not wanting to break the kiss. “Good,” he murmurs into my mouth.
he tentatively finds a spot that makes me squirm with desire and writhe beneath him. He stays on that spot, his mouth moving from my lips to my right breast. His teeth peel down my top and bra, and his tongue swirls around my tight nipple.
In other words, I may never, ever have biological children of my own.
girl calm down, my mums got endometriosis and shes got 2 kids
“I have a confession to make.” I tuck my hands between my thighs. “Is it as big a bombshell as the peach-cobbler one? My heart can only take so much.”
lol
“There, there,” he says. “Everything’ll be all right. Am I doing this okay?” “You’re doing just fine.”
“Why?” I sigh. “Give me one good reason.” “One?” His voice is so close I know he is leaning against the door too. “Because we fucking deserve this.”
We collide and explode into one unit, his hands in my hair, my lips fused to his.
He positions himself between my legs, and in one swift push, he is inside me, filling me completely.
I’ve never . . .” He raises his head, and he is thoroughly blushing. What a wonder. “Never without a condom.”
“That’s okay. I’m no wolf. I’m a motherfucking tiger.”
…
“Tell me.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What have you been up to?” The words pour out of me without warning. Without heed. Like I’ve been saving them all for him.
My need to be near you and next to you at all times had stopped being about Grace and started being about you very, very early on.
You were also the most infuriating, entertaining, sweet, fascinating creature I’d ever laid eyes on.
They were an excuse. Something to fall back on every time you questioned why I was in your sphere, in your line of sight,
I’m completely consumed by you, and the last few months have been hell on earth trying to forget you.”
“What I had for Grace doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel about you.
“I am Mars, and there might be life on it. There could be. Thanks to you. I burn for you, Winnifred. And I’m tired of living in the cold.
I crawl into bed, wrap my arms around her, bury my nose in her strawberry hair.
I cannot believe I’ve ever fucked a woman who wasn’t her. A person who didn’t look at me the way she does now. Like I’m her entire world.
Blood roars in my veins. I unbuckle while she hikes up her dress. I tug her panties sideways and slide into her.
“So I’d always feel close to you.”
I pound into her. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the air. It is brutal. It is hungry.
I thrust into her, harder still, faster, almost manically.
I’m not Paul. I’m not interested in a prenup. Or in a baby machine. Or in a woman who makes cookies for my colleagues. I want a partner. An equal. I want you to be exactly who you are.”
“And who you are is who I fell in love with,”
