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Stepbrother Master(44)

By:Ava Jackson

I squeezed her hips and slid my palms up and down her legs. “Is that tight little cunt even ready for me, sweetheart?” I had my doubts, remembering the first time we were together in the hot tub. She could barely take me all in, and now, it had been several days since I’d stretched her … filled her.

Her thighs clenched my waist. “Yes,” she said, nodding.

I pulled away, releasing one hip with my hand so I could grip my cock and position myself at her entrance. Even the heat of the shower had nothing on the heat of her body. I didn’t bother to hold back my groan. “Fuuuck, sweetheart. You’re gonna burn me alive.”

“Don’t tease me, Ford.”

My eyes snapped to hers. “You forget who gives the orders here?”

Emma’s eyes sparked right back. “Fuck me and then spank me, but please, God, don’t make me wait.”

The woman knew how to push my buttons, and I knew damn well she was topping from the bottom.

“Your ass will be red later, but for now, I’m gonna give us what we both need,” I said, and then I thrust. The hot, slick heat of her body gripped my cock as I pushed inside.

Home. I was home.

Emma’s whimpers and moans were the sounds I wanted to echo in my shower for the rest of my goddamn life. I thrust over and over, until we were both mindless with pleasure. I shifted my hand to cover her clit with my thumb, pressing lightly until her moans grew louder. She buried her face in my neck and her teeth clamped down to muffle her scream.

The tight clench of her inner muscles on my cock drove me over the edge, and I just let go—of everything but Emma. Because I was never letting go of Emma.

Chapter 19


That morning, I rolled over in Ford's bed to find a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee on the nightstand. I sat up to take a sip—just a touch of sugar and cream, exactly how I liked it. A giddy grin spread over my face. This little breakfast-in-bed gesture was just so damned cute. Not long ago, I would have said “so utterly unlike Ford.” But I had learned his weakness for taking care of me. And last night, he had confessed in his own words how crazy he was about me … in my room, in the shower, again and again in his bed.

I giggled to myself, not caring that I sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush. Ford had done his best to wear me out—that was probably why he'd been so careful not to wake me. I glanced at the alarm clock and saw it was almost eleven-thirty.

I wrapped myself in his bathrobe, breathing in the sharp scent of his soap, and skittered down the hallway to grab my phone before anyone passed by. Then I curled up in Ford's bed again and took a bite of my muffin. Munching away, I opened my email app …

And my floaty happiness crashed. Mixed in with all the normal spam, Facebook notifications, and chain letters from Mom was an automated reminder:

Dear Ms. Carter,

You are scheduled for the New Teacher Orientation on August 12th. Please let us know if you need help making travel arrangements. Classes begin on August 19th. We look forward to seeing you this fall!

Mary Blomkamp

Head Administrator

Lincoln High School

It was a rude wake-up call. And one that I had been dreading. I had responsibilities waiting for me. Not just a career—a chance to make a difference, to work with the kids who needed help the most. And even if I did stay, teaching at a rural Montana school wouldn't challenge me in the way I needed. But I knew I wanted to stay with Ford. What we had together went beyond a summer fling, I knew that now. I couldn't give up him any more than I could give up this job opportunity. Even broaching the subject with him wouldn't be fun. I wasn't afraid of him getting angry or anything like that, but we had just made up last night and I was reluctant to wreck the positive atmosphere all over again.

Was I just being childish about this whole thing? Torn, I finished my breakfast while barely tasting it. I got dressed, went downstairs to put my dishes in the sink, then let my feet take me wherever they wanted while I chewed over my dilemma.

My pacing and fretting eventually led me to the horse barn. Its cool shade welcomed me in. I breathed in the mellow scents of dusty, weathered timber and sweet fresh hay; even the lingering odor of manure felt somehow wholesome. The few horses stabled for the day munched their feed, occasionally giving soft huffs of satisfaction.

“Hey, Griff,” I called as I entered.

He was pouring water into a bucket half full of reddish pellets. Without looking up, he jerked his head briefly in my direction. “Ma'am.”

“Um … what's in the pail?”

“Beet pulp. 'Scuse me there.”

“Huh? Oh!” I swung open the stall door I'd been cluelessly standing in front of.