Unleashed (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (130 page)

“No,” I say, but I find myself wrapping my hands behind me, around his ass. I squeeze, feeling firm, compact muscle.

He starts to plant soft kisses on the back of my neck. I can feel his warm breath, smell the leftover of a mint candy. It’s intimate, heady, and a part of me hates myself for not stopping this right now, right this moment.

I crane my neck to the side, let him kiss me more, let my eyes fall shut.

“Why do you do this?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, but just keeps kissing me. I feel the dab of his tongue on my shoulder, then feel the press of his teeth.

“You smell so good,” he whispers. “Get up on that chair.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Pierce…”

His finger dips beneath the elastic of my underwear. His huge hand is so warm, it leaves my skin aching and hot. Fingers thread through my pubic hair, and a ball of energy, pure longing, starts to grow in my gut.

“Really,” I say, half-heartedly trying to pry his hand out. “Not here.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“You want it,” he tells me. He turns me slightly, makes me look at him. I stare into his light, ashy eyes. They’re determined, full of lust, full of wanting.

I go to shake my head, try to say ‘no’, but as I part my lips he claims them in his, and he kisses me with crushing force. His tongue is in my mouth, and he’s taking from me what he wants. His finger dips into my folds, and I moan softly at the fleeting hints of pleasure.

“You do want me,” he says as he breaks the kiss. He presses his forehead against my own, pulls his finger up to my clit. It’s already a hard stub. “I can feel it.”

I open my mouth again, let him kiss me, let him bite my lower lip, let him send his tongue inside to dance with my own.

“Oh,” I breathe, turning in his arms, wrapping my own around his neck. He lifts me off the floor easily, pushes me up against the wall. Photographs of tattoos previously pinned to the corkboard scatter onto the floor. His arms aren’t shaking, and his hands are groping my ass.

The press of his bulge is against my inner thigh, and I look down his body to see it, prominent through his jeans. I send a hand down, cup him, feel his hardness, rigid as steel. Longing, lust, it blooms inside me.

No, more like it booms inside me, a firework going off. Oh, God, I want to pull him out, wrap my fingers around him.

No! I can’t believe I’m letting this happen. I can’t believe I’m unraveling like this. At my place of
work!
This is so unprofessional.

That’s when it clicks. He’s no good for me. I’m supposed to be here trying to make a name for myself, trying to start my career as an artist, and I’m being derailed by him. He’s already gotten me into enough trouble!

Jesus, we both almost lost our
lives!

But fuck if he isn’t sexy. Fuck if I don’t want him, every inch of his hot-as-hell body. Fuck if he doesn’t make me feel like the most beautiful, most desired girl on this planet, the way he devours me, plays me like an instrument. He knows my every button, and he wants to push them all. He wants to pluck every single string.

Somehow, he knows how to uncage my desire. He only needs to draw me close to him, promise me the pleasure I know he’s good for, to pick that lock.

I hate that, to him, I’m so seemingly easy to conquer. I hate that it seems like I have no defenses, no walls or barricades. He melts through them all, sees straight through me.