Page 14 of InfraRed

And I hate it.

Jesus, I’ve made a bigger mess than I thought I did. It was necessary because I damn sure couldn’t have entertained her—or my—fantasies when she was sixteen fucking years old. Even at eighteen, it would have created too many questions, and I knewshe wasn’t ready. It shouldn’t have mattered, but deep down, I knew it would. It would matter to her, and it would matter to the people she loves. The truth is, even now, it won’t be accepted.

Not that I care what’s accepted.

I drag my hand through my hair with a low growl, then return to the bar. After fixing myself another glass, I head for my room. Pushing the door open, I step into my private space and walk past my massive California king bed straight to my bathroom. I start the water, then strip out of my clothes, tossing them into the individual bins.

The water is freezing when I step under the spray, just as I intended, hoping a cold shower will alleviate the problem straining against my abs. My fingers grip the throbbing crown, trying to cut off the blood flow, but it does no good. Then I think about Casey wearing my old hoodie—I don’t care if she realizes it’s mine or not. The sight ignited every possessive cell in my body.

A groan rumbles when my hand slides down my pulsating shaft as I picture her on all fours, wearing only my shirt, her pretty, pink pussy dripping down those never-ending thighs just for me. Visions of her wrapped around my cock, stretched wide around me, sucking me deep inside her tight little hole has me panting, thrusting hard into my fist as if it were her. My fingers would dig into her narrow hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and she would scream my name, beg me to let her come. I would pinch her needy little clit, roll it between my fingers as my cock hit her g-spot over and over until she clamped down on me hard and tight.

God, I bet she’s so fucking tight. Just like the rest of that magnificent body.

And that’s all it takes for me to cross the finish line. Her namefalls from my lips as white ropes shoot in endless streams, landing on the shower floor. My head tilts back, allowing the icy stream to coat my heated face as her sweet smile dances behind my closed eyes.

Fuck.

And I begin round two.

Casey

As soon as I exit the library, I haul my butt down the stairs like the house is on fire because, oh. My. God. What was that?

I thought the elevator was a fluke—that I let my imagination runaway. I thought the same in there, but I couldn’t freaking breathe with him so close.

Ireally amover my crush, but a nun would give up her vows if he looked at her with those eyes. He is thedefinitionof smolder. And he was more than looking at me.

But then, after I tried to get some space—some oxygen, he eliminated the distance and sucked every molecule of O2 out of the room as if he were a vacuum. Why does he suck all the air from a room?

Then what he did with the drink? And his thumb? And I’ve never been more confused. Or turned on.

I am proud that I walked out of there without making a fool of myself, with my head up, and never letting my walls drop. Besides, I probably made half of it up in my head.

When I step outside the house, the fresh air brings me to my senses. The arm brush had to be accidental. Feeding me that drink was probably some lesson I didn’t catch. Maybe proving to me I was being childish. Wiping away the drip was just him being considerate. He probably didn’t even think when he put his thumb in his mouth. It was just an automatic response towiping away the spilled drink from my chin.

See what happens when you let your imagination run away, Casey?

But it proves that I need to keep my boundaries. I can’t allow those idle thoughts to take over. What would I do if he had a sudden change of heart about me, anyway?

The answer is simple. Nothing. Because he’s my stepbrother, and if I weren’t so caught up in teenage hormones and foolish ideas, I would’ve thought that years ago. Graham may have been the one who created the distance between us, but I was the one who needed it so I could gain perspective. That moment of recklessness was needed to redefine who we were to each other. It was a reminder that he’s not someone I could ever have.

I walk a few blocks before I cave and spend money I can’t afford on a taxi. I’m already late, but taking the subway from here would take too long. Though the streets of Manhattan are crowded, the restaurant I need to go to isn’t far. A car will get me there quicker. I hope.

A few more blocks, and I finally hail a cab. As soon as I’m settled, my mind rushes back to a few minutes ago. I try to push it away, aware fixating on it is the last thing I need, especially considering where I’m going, but I can’t seem to get his thumb brushing across my lips out of my mind. The way he caged me against the bar is replaying in vivid, 3D technicolor.

That felt… familiar. It reminded me of my eighteenth birthday.

We were attending some charity gala where people spent more on their attire than they donated. I didn’t want to go. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my birthday at some function, but as usual, I didn’t have a choice.

I spent most of the night with my boyfriend. Drake grumbled and complained most of the night about being bored, and Ididn’t blame him. It was stuffy and boring, with people sipping champagne as they discussed business and the art that was to be auctioned.

Eventually, Drake led me out to the garden, pulling me to a dark, secluded area away from the main path where we made out. His hand fisted my hair as our tongues tangled, making me moan into his mouth. His other hand began tracing a path up my dress, softly stroking my thigh, but then he began heading toward the center, and I pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I shook my head, pretending it was nothing. “Need to catch my breath.”

He smirked, dropping his head to my neck, licking a trail before catching my ear between his teeth. “You breathe,” he whispered. “I’ll do the rest.”

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