Stepbrother Billionaire(5)

“My mom’s a crazy, impulsive bitch,” Emerson shrugs, “And your dad seems like someone who does whatever the f*ck he wants without thinking about the consequences. What about this is surprising to you?”

“Good point,” I laugh hollowly, daring to sit on the very edge of the couch beside him. The mere proximity of his body to mine has my stomach twisting in anxious knots. Has it been seven minutes yet or what?

“Well,” Emerson sighs, swinging his legs around so that he’s sitting beside me. “Are we gonna get it on now or what?”

“Ugh,” I groan, giving him a shove, “Stop it, would you? Why do you get so much pleasure out of making me miserable?”

“I don’t,” he replies, “It’s just so goddamn easy that I can’t help myself. How the hell did you get to be such a little prude?”

“Who says I’m a prude?” I shoot back, “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“I know that I’ve never seen you even talk to a guy,” Emerson shoots back.

“What’re you, keeping track of my lovers or something?” I reply. “Get a life, Sawyer.”

Of course, I don’t mind at all that Emerson’s taking notice of my love life, paltry though it may be. As insane as it is, I can’t help but hope that there’s some chance he could come to feel the same way about me as I do him. Call me a dreamer, I guess. A dirty dreamer.

“What are brothers for?” Emerson grins, slipping an arm around my waist.

My head sets to spinning as the nearness of him entrances me. I look up at his gorgeous, sculpted face, mere inches away from my own. I’ve never been this close to him before. I memorize the contours of his perfect features—his high cheekbones, his aquiline nose, the scruff along his razor sharp jaw, and of course those dark blue eyes. From this close, I can see that there are specks of gold gleaming in his irises, and a dash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. At last, my eyes land firmly on his full, firm lips, half curled into a devilish grin.

His arm is still circled around my tiny waist. Am I imagining things, or is his grip growing the slightest bit tighter? A silence blooms over us, heavy and thick. My eyes flick back up to his. A cast of seriousness has come over his gaze. To my amazement, I watch as his face moves closer to mine, by barely a millimeter—

“Five minutes!” I hear Courtney call from outside the door.

“Shit,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from his perfect face. My whole body is on fire with scattered anticipation. For a second there, I actually thought he was going to kiss me. Talk about wishful thinking. “So. How are we going to please the horny masses?” I ask, nodding toward the door.

“I have an idea,” Emerson says, his grin returning at full force. “You’re going to give me your panties.”

My jaw falls open as I whip around to face him. “Excuse me?” I splutter.

“You heard me. Hand them over,” Emerson says, punching me lightly on the arm. “I can hold them up as proof that we did the deed, and everyone will know that you’re not a frigid, virginal weirdo.”

“That is so messed up,” I say, jumping to my feet. I’m just going to leave the whole “frigid virgin” thing alone for now, I decide. No use opening that can of worms. “Let those *s think what they want. I’ll never have to see any of them again in a few months.”

“Come on, Sis. Do it for me, then,” Emerson says, standing to meet me. He catches my arm, giving me a soft tug toward him. “Don’t you want to help me protect my reputation?”

“Not really,” I reply, as he closes the space between us. I wonder if he can see my heart pounding through my black sweater, see my knees trembling beneath my tartan miniskirt?

“What if I ask you nicely?” he returns, his voice softer, huskier than I’ve ever heard it. He runs his hands down my arms, not an inch of air between our bodies. That seriousness has hardened his features once again...or is he just f*cking with me?

“Are you really capable of that? Asking nicely?” I try to joke, but my own voice seems to have dropped a lusty octave. My breath catches in my throat as his hands land firmly on my slender hips.

“Give me your panties,” he growls, his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly, “Please.”

I stare up at him in amazement. He’s totally serious. If I had any sense at all, I’d step away, laugh off his request, and wait for the next five minutes to tick by. But my sense has been fully eclipsed by my want to please him in any way that I can. Maybe he’s joking after all, but I’m not going to let this moment slip away between my fingers. I have to show Emerson Sawyer what I’m made of. It’s now or never.

“You have to turn around,” I whisper hoarsely.

His eyes spark with intrigued wonder. Slowly, silently, he pivots away from me. Keeping my eyes fixed firmly on his face to make sure he doesn’t peek, I reach up under my skirt and slip my thumbs under the elastic band of my panties. Thank god I thought to wear one of my sexiest pairs tonight. I don’t usually go for fancy underthings, but this black lace g-string is an exception. My breath comes hard and fast as I slowly lower my panties over my firm ass and thighs, balancing carefully as I ease them down. I step out of them, wobbling just slightly, and shiver as I feel the cool air against my sex. I can feel myself getting wet, standing so close to Emerson, bare and ready. God, I hope he won’t be able to tell. Unless he intends to make good on it, that is...