Page 60 of Man On

As wary as I am, I can't ignore that the idea intrigues me. He makes me feel good, not just good—amazing. Euphoric. For a few minutes, at least. Before the guilt crashes down around me and I spiral. But he's the only one that's ever changed the course of my fear and anxiety. He's helped me release the pressure before it became too much, and he's helped pull me back without me even realizing it was happening.

But what he's asking of me is preposterous. He's my stepbrother. And there are two key components to that word that make this so wrong. I'm afraid the devil may rise from hell and swallow me just for thinking it. We're related, even if not by blood. He's supposed to be my brother. And he's… a he.

Premarital sexual relations is a punishable offense on its own. But with him?

I can't do this.

My head shakes fervently. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. It's wrong. It's too wrong."

He tightens his hand on my hair and forces my hand back to where it was.

"You want this," he says. "You want me."

He thrusts himself in my hand as he licks and nips along my jawline. His voice makes me ache, because he's right.

"You want me to make you feel good," he murmurs. "And you want to make me feel good, too. Don’t you?"

I whimper when he pushes my hand inside his sweatpants, my palm coming in contact with his smooth, hot flesh. The contact sends a shiver of pleasure through me, as if I were touching my own dick.

"Stroke me," Noah growls.

It's not a choice. I've always blindly submitted to whatever Noah tells me to do. If I'm being honest, I crave his instruction. His control.

"Harder."

It takes me a moment to find a good angle, but he lets me know when I do.

"That's right, just like that," he rasps as my hand tightens and pumps his shaft.

I've never touched or even seen someone else's penis before, and I watch my hand working him up and down, rubbing over the tip and exploring before going back to stroking him. It's so different from mine. He's circumcised, so the skin is tighter. It's definitely not as long, but it's much thicker. So thick.

"Fuck," he groans out. "Don't stop. I'm close."

As if I could. I'm entranced, desperate to see his face when he comes undone. He’s watched me so many times, and now it’s my turn to watch his face as I bring him to the end. I feel oddly powerful, even with my domineering stepbrother growling commands at me, his fist so tightly in my hair it hurts. My free hand grips his waist, fingers digging into his flesh to hold him against me. I briefly wish I wasn't wearing a shirt. I have the oddest urge to let his cum get on my skin, to rub it in and let it bleed into my bloodstream.

Without realizing what I'm doing, I release my grip on his waist and pull my shirt up, while my other hand pumps him faster.

Noah's eyes dart to the movement and they flutter and roll back a little, before refocusing. They look darker, more unhinged, than I've ever seen them. I have a moment of pause where my grandfather's voice whispers to me again.

The devil lives in those who would lead us astray.

CHAPTER 19

NOAH

I witness the very moment it crawls into his mind. His eyes shutter with fear, and his spine stiffens as if there were someone in the room with us, telling him he's wrong. Like his grandfather's ghost is whispering in his ear.

This might be wrong. But it's happening. He's mine, not his, and I'm going to prove it.

"Get on your knees," I say through my teeth as I grip his hair tighter, pushing him down.

He resists, but not enough to convince me he really wants to get away. Lane is bigger and stronger than me. He knows what words to say. Yet he only looks up at me with his soft stony eyes as he allows me to force him to his knees.

My cock is throbbing.

"I didn't say stop."

Lane returns his hand to my cock, jerking me at a new angle. I moan, not hiding the effect he’s having on me. When I'm vocal, he gets more confident, strokes me harder. The roughness of his palms is unlike anything I've ever experienced, and I can feel myself edging towards a powerful release. I've been hard for days, waiting, hoping he’d come around.

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