Step-Hero (Wanting What’s Wrong #1) Read Online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Forbidden, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: Wanting What's Wrong Series by Dani Wyatt
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Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
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“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking perfect. Your hot, greedy little pussy is going to wreck me. I know it already.”

Oh my god. I let my head drop as I give in to the forbidden desire for the boy who slept just on the other side of the wall from me growing up. I growl against the side of the bed.

“Trent. Please.”

“There you go,” his voice is soothing but stern. “Naughty girls get punished. Good girls know how to beg. Which one are you?”

Through my haze and need, I see us together there. Brother and sister. Me over his knee. Alone in the bedroom. With his cock pressing unmercifully into my stomach. I feel the ridge through his pants against my belly button and my pussy starts to gush.

“Good, I’m good but we… we can’t. We just…”

“Have I ever fucking let you down? Have I ever not taken care of you?” His deep voice melts through me from above, as his rough finger hooks the elastic of my panties, slipping them over ass. A wave of goosebumps tickles the back of my thighs and I suddenly become painfully aware of my softness, my plumpness, against this hard marble-like body.

Suddenly, all the years of insecurity, every nasty catcall from Henry Weaver floods back to me. A storm of pain and hurt. Trent could have any woman he wants. Any woman in the world. The thin ones, the beautiful ones. All of them. I wriggle away, trying to reach behind myself to pull the hem of my dress back down.

He slaps my hand away, hard. “Don’t you fucking dare. But you get one chance, right now. You hear me? If you don’t want this, this is the last fucking opportunity you’ll ever have to tell me. Once we go here, there is no coming back.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I stare at the cream-colored carpet. The tops of his boots. I feel his strength and power and my heart tumbles inside out. My mind stops and starts, trying to find the words, so unsure of what to say, what to do as Trent’s hands begin to caress my flesh, coiling my belly into a tangle of emotions, a burst of butterflies.

Do I want this?

All those years while he was away, and even all those years before he left, he was and has always been the only man I ever wanted. The only person I ever needed.

I am too nervous to answer. Instead, I move my hand down from my skirt, letting myself be exposed, and lower it onto the solidness of his thigh. I rub the rough seam of the fabric beneath my fingertips. The heat of his quad against my palm.

I give him a little squeeze. Of consent. Of willingness. Of yes.

“Good girl,” he growls. “Take your punishment and I promise I’ll take care of you like you never dreamed possible.” His voice doesn’t just speak, it rolls, like an avalanche coming down the mountain onto me.

The warm weight of his hand is suddenly gone and in that sweet, sickening moment, as I feel his body shift, I try to remember if I’ve ever been spanked before.

The smack of the first strike fills the room before my nerves catch up. Then, a microsecond later, the pain, the searing hot pain tears through me as I silently scream, panting in staccato breaths.

“Oh shit,” I finally choke into his leg, burying my face and sinking my teeth into the desert camo as millions of invisible needles radiate out from the point of impact.

Another strike, before my senses can truly comprehend the pain of the first, this one harder. Then another, and another, and the hotness of the pain turns cold as ice.

And again. And again.

His hand comes down faster still, each layer of white-hot pain rippling outward, layering on top of the last, combining into a blaze of heat so intense that I bite down on my lip, until I taste the tinge of blood on my tongue.

“Trent, oh my God,” I beg, wiggling side to side, rolling my hips, applying pressure downward onto my toes.

Another. And another. I try frantically to draw in a full breath between the blows, but each strike expels all the air outward, leaving me gasping and gulping and shaking and drooling.

Yes, I’m drooling.

The pain simmers into a cauldron of emotions; dark, sensual, primal, forbidden. No and yes and why me, why this?

“You like that, Kitty Kat? You like taking a spanking from your big brother?”

The only word in my head is yes. But the pain steals my breath. And I don’t want to speak—a quick, dark thought passes through my head that this is a joke. He’s trying to embarrass me. But it couldn’t be true. He was the only one who always stood by me. Never wavered. Never turned away.


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