My social life has taken a beating since my stepbrother, Mark, returned to town. Sure, when I was sixteen and he was nineteen and just heading off to college, it was totally cool to hang with him. Not that we had much in common, but still.
Now, inching close to thirty, it’s not nearly as fun anymore.
After graduation, he moved off to Texas, while I stuck around Atlanta. And so, we haven’t exactly spent a lot of time together…for quite a while. But now, he’s back. For good, he says.
And he’s totally cramping my style.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. Mark is one fine ass white boy, no doubt. He’s big, over six feet tall, and built like a tank...all muscle, without an ounce of fat on him. Add in the pretty boy smile, pale skin, shining bright eyes…and he’s the all-American boy next door that my friends drool over whenever he interrupts our girls’ night out.
Sadly, he’s also a stepbrother who doesn’t want his stepsister getting it on with anyone. Ever.
He’s never said the words, but he seems to make damn sure he stands close to me in the clubs, hovering over me, watching me like a hawk. While my girls are off getting their freak on, I’m chatting it up with Mark.
Much like tonight.
It’s my thirtieth birthday. Yup. Big. Three. Zero.
Evette and Leslee are on the dance floor, their boyfriends grinding against their asses while they move to the beat. And damn, their men are fine, all muscles and covered in smooth, cocoa skin.
That is what I need.
“Alesha? Are you listening to me?”
Mark’s lips brush my ear and I fight against the shiver that races down my spine. I turn to him with a wide smile, bite back my irritation. He’s sweet.
A very, very sweet temptation. I could gladly gorge myself on his brand of sugar, with hopefully, a hint of spice. And I don’t want a damn bit of nice.
I turn my head to the side and yell so he can hear me. “Of course I’m listening. You were just saying that you were gonna get me another margarita.”
I press a smacking kiss to his cheek, leaving a nice smear of lipstick behind.
When I pull back to smile at him, he just rolls his eyes and screams back to me. “Last one.” I nod. Always the ever-dutiful, little stepsister. “I mean it!” He points a finger at me, scowl in place.
Later, I’ll blame it on the alcohol. Now, I blame it on his hotness. I lean forward and swallow his finger, run my tongue along the digit and suckle it, slide along the length until he slips free of my mouth. I nip the tip, scrape my teeth over the pad, and then give it a chaste kiss before I lean back. “Thank you, Mark.”
He looks shell-shocked, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish. An adorable, totally fuckable, white boy fish. He gives himself a full body shake and then rises from his stool, looking at me like I’ve got two fucking heads.
I don’t.
But he does.
One upper and one lower… Yum. Lower.
“Alesha!” A hand slaps my bare shoulder and I turn to find Evette and Leslee standing nearby, both wearing their “I’m totally about to ditch you so I can get freaky with my man” smiles.
“Heffas.” Straight up. “Both of y’all are heffas.”
Evette leans forward first, pulling me into a hug. “Mark can take you home, right?”
I release her with a roll of my eyes and give Leslee a quick kiss on the cheek. “Yes, Mark can take me home. Did I mention y’all were heffas?”
“You’re just a jealous bitch.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And?”
It’s the same old thing. They go home with their men and I go home with...no one. Except Mark. Who I can’t have.
I wave the two couples off and watch out for my brother, his lily-white ass weaving through the crowd toward me, my drink in his hand. Damn, we’d look so gorgeous together, my chocolate skin all wrapped around his cream.
I smile to myself. Coffee’s always better with cream. Always.
He slides onto the stool and sets my drink before me. The lovely, green liquid beckoning me, I wrap my hand around the cool, sweating glass and bring it to my lips. Focusing on Mark, I lap at the salt, run my tongue along the rim a moment before I take a sip of the tart beverage.
His attention’s all over me, eating me up with his eyes, mouth slightly parted, and staring at me like he’s a starving man…and I’m dinner.
Yum.
Placing my drink on the table, I lean forward and brace myself with a hand on his thigh, squeeze the muscle that flexes beneath my palm before venturing farther north, then brush against his groin with my fingertips.
“Alesha…” I hear the warning in his voice and I don’t care. I’ve wanted him for far too long. Worst-case scenario? He gets pissed, and stops tagging the fuck along. Score for me! ‘Cause that means he can’t rain on my “please dear God let me get laid” parade any longer.