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Stepbrother Master(9)

By:Ava Jackson

My willpower collapsed. I suddenly didn't care if Ford was my stepbrother, a total douchebag, or a fucking space alien. I just needed to get off. Now. As my fingers started to rub in earnest, I stifled a loud moan of relief.

Ford's head whipped around. His eyes found mine and went wide, then hardened in rage.

The erotic spell shattered. Suddenly, I felt like the Peeping Tom I was. I jerked back from the door, stumbled, and bolted back to the house.

I didn't stop running until I was safe upstairs in my bedroom, filled with shame and lingering arousal. Any minute now, Ford would come thundering up the stairs on my heels. If he hadn't hated me before, he sure as hell would now. How could I spy on them like that? What kind of pervert was I? I couldn't remember the last time my body had reacted so wildly to anything. My libido had kicked my brain out of the saddle and seized the reins. If Ford had stopped me, if he had commanded me to come closer, if he had chased me down when I ran and pushed me to the ground like prey…

“Fuck,” I muttered out loud. My pussy still ached, clamoring for me to finish what I'd started. I have to shut this shit down. Right here and now. No flicking the bean while 'accidentally' thinking about my stepbrother. After what I'd just seen, though, I knew I would never get that image of Ford out of my head—him standing over that woman with a riding crop in his hand and raw lust in his eyes.

Even if a cold shower would have helped, I couldn't bring myself to venture out of my room. But after the minutes ticked by with no sign of Ford, my tension started to ease. Maybe he wasn't going to confront me after all. If he wanted to act like none of this had ever happened, I was more than happy to play along. A few painfully awkward family meals and the whole episode would be behind us.

I just needed to put my pajamas back on, get into bed, and pretend I hadn't seen a damn thing. Satisfied with that decision, I started to pull my blouse over my head.

And then Ford burst in.

Chapter 4


The high that had been thrumming through my veins—the high I only got when I was in the middle of a scene—evaporated the second I caught sight of Emma. My dick, which I had worked my ass off to keep hard for Chelsea, deflated just as fast.

After Emma and I locked eyes and she turned tail and ran, I helped Chelsea out of her bindings, wrapped her in a blanket, and sat with her while she came down. A few sips of water and a few bites of chocolate and she found her balance again.

I walked her to her car, and my mind went to the woman in the house who’d just fucked up my night. The whole reason I had Chelsea bound in my ropes tonight and under my hand was because I needed to release the tension that Emma had stirred within me.

But she’d taken that from me.

And now the nosy little girl had some explaining to do.

I sanitized and wrapped up my ropes and repacked my toy bag. Tossing it over my shoulder, I stalked up the brick walkway, and all I could picture was the shock in her bright blue eyes. And then the horror.

It was enough to gut a guy. She clearly had no clue what she’d interrupted. She was probably calling the cops right now to report that I had a woman tied up. The thought made me move a little quicker. It’d be one thing if Deputy Jackson Harrison answered the call—I knew from his comments that we shared a kink—but the rest of the small county department would haul me in first, regardless of my last name, and ask questions later.

My wing of the house—well, what had been my wing of the house—was quiet and dark.

Except for the pale glow that came from beneath Emma’s door.

I didn’t bother knocking. I ripped the door open, stepped inside, and shut it behind me with a click that had Emma spinning to face me.

She had her blouse halfway over her head, and I got a glimpse of smooth, fair skin and a lacy pink bra. My limp dick was suddenly no longer limp. She yanked her shirt down, covering herself, but my dick didn’t go down with the damn shirt. Nope, that fucker was getting harder by the second. I stifled the urge to readjust myself and forced my focus onto the fact that she was the reason I wasn’t coming down Chelsea’s throat right now. It worked.

My frustration mounted and fed my anger.

“What the fuck was that?” My words were harsh and clipped. I wanted her on edge and as uncomfortable as I was. She looked at the floor for a beat, and I used that moment to shift my dick into a more comfortable position. But I wasn’t quick enough or stealthy enough, because as her eyes lifted they caught on my hand.

“Wha—what are you talking about?” she stuttered, her eyes darting up to mine and then back down again.

I don’t think so, sweetheart.

She twined her fingers together, shifting from foot to foot, her pink polished toes digging into the thick pile of the rug.