Stepbrother Dearest(67)

She made me take a thousand dollars cash. I had no intention of spending it. I’d been using my money the entire time. I didn’t care if I spent every red cent I owned on her, I couldn’t have ever repaid her for being there for me that night. I’d done nothing to deserve it.

We ended up at one of the casino clothing stores, and that was where the mood for the evening shifted to a place we couldn’t quite come out from under for the remainder of the trip.

I’d picked out a dress that I thought would look perfect on her, and she’d gone into the dressing room to try it on. I played with my phone to distract from the thought of her undressing just feet away from me.

She was taking a really long time, so I asked, “You alright in there?”

She said her zipper was stuck, so without thinking, I moved the curtain to the side and stepped into the dressing room. “Come here.”

The second I got one look at her gorgeous back in that dress, I immediately realized that putting myself in this position was a big mistake. My fingers tingled as they gripped her hair gently, moving it over her silky skin to the front of her shoulders.

As I pulled at the material, her breathing became more rapid. Knowing that my touching her was the reason for it made me breathe faster, too. I was losing control. Salacious thoughts invaded my brain. One in particular had me breaking the dress apart in one violent rip and taking her from behind while I watched her face in the mirror.

They’re just thoughts, I told myself. Focus on the task at hand.

“You weren’t kidding,” I said as I tried my best to fix it so I could get the hell out of there. Finally, it budged. “Got it.”

“Thank you.”

I didn’t have to lower it a few inches but couldn’t resist a glimpse of the milky skin of her back. “All set.”

It reminded me of every other part of her body that she’d once given to me fully and completely for one night. It may have only been once, but in my gut, I knew a part of her still belonged to me. Her body language proved it and made me wonder if I was the first and last person who’d ever truly pleasured her.

My hands wouldn’t leave her shoulders. She was looking down, and I knew she was battling her feelings, too. This was the first time since our reconnection that I truly realized how much Greta still wanted me sexually. Our desire for each other was so powerful in the confines of this tiny space that you could taste it in the air.

I kept looking at her in the mirror until she looked up and met my gaze. When she turned around suddenly, I wasn’t prepared. Our faces were just inches apart, and I’d never wanted to kiss her more than that moment. My eyes dropped to her mouth, and I counted in my head to keep myself in control. The counting wasn’t working so I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I no longer had the urge to just kiss her. It was far worse. Thank God she couldn’t read my mind because the image of f*cking that beautiful mouth was so clear in my head that I felt myself getting hard and prayed she didn’t look down.

I needed to leave but couldn’t move.

Chelsea.

Chelsea.

Chelsea.

You love Chelsea.

Having these feelings is okay as long as you don’t act on them, I told myself. This is natural. You can’t prevent what your body wants, only whether you follow through with it. And I deserved a big shiny trophy for resistance. Instead of the “mirror ball,” we’d call it the “blue ball.”

The store attendant came by. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Yes!” Greta shouted.

But I knew in her voice it wasn’t. This was messing with her mind, and I’d be f*cking damned if the night ended in her getting hurt.

Even though we hadn’t acknowledged what was happening between us verbally, I instinctively said, “I’m sorry.” Then, I slid the curtain and left.



***



We decided to spend the night at the hotel since we’d been drinking. After we’d both separated to shower before heading to the casino nightclub, I met Greta back at her room. When she opened the door, the sight of her in that fitted burgundy dress knocked the wind out of me again. Her hair was still sopping wet, but she looked amazing.

“Wow,” I breathed out, not intending to have said it out loud. The word had left my lips before my brain could warn me not to seem so obvious. I needed to make a joke to offset my slip. “You definitely can’t pass for an old lady in mourning anymore.”

“What do I look like now?”

“You look flushed, actually. Are you feeling alright?”

In all honesty, she looked like she’d just been properly f*cked, and it made my dick ache.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“It felt so good to take a shower,” I said.

And by that I meant the two orgasms I gave myself thinking about an alternate ending to our dressing room encounter.

“I know what you mean,” she said.

“Do you need to dry your hair?”

“Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

I turned on ESPN and lay down on the bed.

About ten minutes later, she came out of the bathroom.

“I’m ready.”

Her hair was up, her neck was exposed in all of its glory, and I knew I was in trouble for the rest of the night.