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Because of You
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It started with a kiss, an innocent touch. It shouldn’t have led to anything more because of who we were, what we were to each other. But I loved him even if he was my step-brother. He was called a bad boy, dangerous, was rough and raw in every male way that counted. But I loved him still. And that one night, those taboo touches, the softly, filthy spoken words he whispered changed my life forever. He gave me his baby. And then he left, was sent away, never knowing the truth. Now a year later he’s back, claiming I’ve always been his. But will that still be the case once the truth comes out?
A pseudo-taboo book that has a small amount of angst, a secret baby, and a bad boy hero. The hero is brooding, possessive, but has only had eyes for the heroine. The heroine is sweet, small-town girl charm who is afraid of losing the hero all over again once he finds out about their child.
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I was hard, so fucking hard I just wanted to pull my cock out and jerk off as I stared at Catherine. I was being a fucking voyeur, watching her sunbathe in that little red bikini, my heart beating so damn hard it was liable to burst out of my chest.
The only girl who’d ever put me in knots.
The only person who made me want to do filthy fucking things.
She sat up and reached for the sunblock, squirting a dollop of white cream on her hand before setting the bottle aside. She rubbed her palms together and I found myself groaning, leaning in closer toward the window to get a better look. She first ran her hands over her arms, down her sides, and then over her belly. And then she moved those small, delicate fingers up her ribcage and lathered her breasts.
I was breathing hard, hyperventilating. I reached out and grabbed the frame of the window, curling my fingers around the wood until I heard it creak slightly from the force.
And like a fucking pervert, I reached down and grabbed my cock through my jeans, giving the length a squeeze and grunting as pleasure shot up my spine. She stood and walked over to the pool, the sun beating down on her alabaster skin. Her long dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail and my fingers itched to reach out and take those strands, wrap them around my hand and tilt her head back so I could devour her mouth.
She dipped her toe into the water and moved her leg around. I followed the length of her calf, over her thigh, and stopped at the roundness of her ass. I lowered my gaze and focused on that perfectly apple-shaped bottom.
The bikini she wore didn’t cover the mounds fully, a V of material that just barely concealed the luscious crack of the most flawless, delectable ass I’d ever seen.
If she knew all the filthy things I thought about, the images that slammed into my head every time she walked into the room, she’d run in the other direction or call me out as being a pervert.
But this was how I’d felt for the last two years.
When my father married her mother and they moved into our house, all I’d been able to think about was how I wanted to have every single inch of Catherine.
Was it wrong to want my stepsister? To society maybe.
Did I care? Fuck no.
My father’s booming voice came from downstairs and I made a low sound in my throat, not wanting to move away from where I was, from the voyeuristic scene before me. She was in the pool now, doing lazy laps, moving onto her back and closing her eyes, her breasts gently bobbing out of the water.
I could cum in my damn jeans from this alone.
“Sutton, get your ass down here.”
I growled low and turned away from the window, stalking downstairs until I stood in front of my father. I knew what this was about.
He exhaled slowly, that look of disappointment I was so familiar with covering his face. I already knew what he was going to say. He held up his cell phone, as if that was going to explain everything.
“You know who I just got off phone with?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maxwell Davis?” That pompous, arrogant little rich asshole whose father got him out of every single shit hole he dug himself in. Of course, I didn’t say any of that because it wouldn’t have made a difference.
“Marshall Davis, Sutton. His father.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why is it you can’t keep your nose out of trouble?”
My father, a military man through and through, had been disappointed that I’d showed no interest in following his footsteps. Instead, I was labeled a bad boy, a troublemaker. And I was, there was no denying that.
I gave no fucks when it came to the majority of things.
Until Catherine came into my life, that is.
I had been this way right after my mother died. He blamed it on that, trauma, thought I was acting out because of my grief. And maybe that was the case, but it made no difference now. At eighteen years old, I’d just graduated high school, same as Catherine. I wouldn’t be the type to go to college, not like her. She was smart as fuck on top of being gorgeous.
I’d probably surprised the whole school, hell, the fucking town by getting that diploma. And I knew that sooner rather than later I’d have to move away. I couldn’t stay here, not with my father looking at me as if I were a disappointment, and the very real temptation of Catherine.
Besides, why he hell would I want to stay when even my own father saw me as a stain on the “family name”?