Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
No, thank you. It'll ruin my high. And right now, I'm floating ten feet off the ground.
The petals lied. Dawson doesn't hate me. Judging by the look on his face when he said it, he wasn't joking, either.
"What is even happening right now?" I whisper to my reflection. The woman staring back at me doesn't have an answer. She looks shell-shocked. Who knew my eyes could even get that big?
Dawson likes me. And by likes, I mean he wants to fuck me.
If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up. I think I have to, though. This can't happen. Even if it is every fantasy I've ever had come to life, it's impossible. He's my stepbrother—my famous athlete stepbrother. And I'm a teacher.
Believe me, it matters.
Half the parents at my school will be scandalized if this were to get out. The other half would rally to have me tarred and feathered. He could be booted from his team or from the league in general.
In no world does a relationship like this get to happen without consequences, not when our parents are married.
I groan to myself and reluctantly step out into the hall, prepared to face him and tell him…something. I don't know what. I'll wing it.
Instead, I linger in the kitchen doorway, watching him prowl around my space like he owns it. He's humming, actually fucking humming, like he's in a good mood. It's weird and unnatural. Dawson doesn't hum. He growls. He scowls. He glares. He absolutely does not hum.
Except…he is.
My stomach flutters when he glances over his shoulder, his hazel eyes locking with mine. His dimples pop out, and the panties I just put on damn near spontaneously combust.
Why couldn't he be a swamp troll living under a bridge instead of six-foot-four inches of muscles, tattoos, and unholy hotness? There's a reason half the women on the planet want to fuck him. He's the reason. That smirk is the reason.
"Damn," he mumbles. "And here I was, hoping you'd take my suggestion to lose the towel."
"Dawson," I groan, my fingers all twisted around each other. "Are you drunk?"
His smirk grows. "You think I'm drunk?"
"You're acting drunk."
"I don't drink, sweetness."
"Are you on drugs?"
His brows pull down, his smirk slipping into a scowl. Yes, finally. Something familiar. I can work with this.
"You itching for a spanking, Ava?"
"What? No!"
"Then why are you trying to piss me off?"
"I'm not!" I cry. "I just…you're being weird. I'm concerned."
He turns, leaning back against the counter beside the stove. "You think this is me being weird?" His gaze runs down my body. "You ever heard the saying about tempting a desperate man?"
I cock my head to the side in confusion.
"I've tried to behave, baby sister," he says. "I've tried to keep my hands to myself and leave you alone. But then you had to go and tempt me off the ledge."
"I didn't even do anything," I protest.
"No? Tell me about this neighbor who looks like he could be fun," he growls, his eyes glittering.
Oh. Oh, my gosh. He's jealous.
I'm not smiling. I'm not.
"My neighbor is a ninety-year-old man, Dawson," I say with a laugh. "I only brought him up because you were getting on my nerves."
He stares at me for a long moment, completely silent. "Just so we're clear, you aren't fucking him?"
"Gross." I wrinkle my nose at him. "No, I'm not sleeping with him."
"Thank God," he growls, crossing my kitchen in three steps. "I was ready to kill a man I never even met, Ava."
"Dawson."
"I'm going to kiss you now. You can be pissed about it later, but I don't care about that right now," he growls, locking his hands around my hips. "Right now, I just need to know what you taste like."
I mean to tell him no and remind him of all the reasons why this can't happen. That's what I should do. It's what I need to do. Apparently, my mouth has different ideas about what I need to do.
"Yes," it says without my permission.
Dawson groans, yanking me up against his hard chest, his fingers digging into my hips.
His mouth crashes down on mine, his lips hot and greedy, his tongue demanding entry the second I gasp. He tastes like mint and fire, something wild and vital. I'm instantly addicted, spiraling toward some plane of existence that shouldn't be real.
He kisses me like he intends to ruin me for anyone else, all shattering desire and greedy need. I love it so damn much.
When he lifts me, I go weightless for a split second before landing against his body. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct—there's nowhere else for them to go.
"Oh, God."
His cock is right there, pressed up between us, thick and so hard it's practically a warning.
"Not God, baby. Your stepbrother."
I do not whimper. I don't.
He walks me backward until my back hits the fridge, pinning me in place, his mouth never letting up.