Page 18 of Beautiful Desire
Glancing down at where her shirt is trapped between my grip, Georgia then drags her eyes slowly up to my face before taking a step closer, putting us nearly flush. She’s tall enough that she doesn’t have to tilt her head back very much to meet my gaze. In this new proximity, I can see how the smattering of freckles across her round cheeks and narrow nose also expand up to her forehead and down to her chin. The desire to trace them with my fingers, counting each and every one of themwhile the sun kisses her creamy skin, hits me, and it throws me off.
That’s fucking weird.Sure, Georgia’s hot, and I’d fuck her in a heartbeat, regardless of the family ties—which should also probably be weird, but it’s a truth I’ve come to accept since moving in here and jacking off to thoughts of her, like I’m a horny teenager all over again—butlying in the sun and counting her damn freckles?What?
I don’t have time to dig too deep into that urge, though, because a second later, Georgia smirks at me, a maniacal curl to her full, pink lips, and as she pokes the center of my chest with her index finger, there’s a twinkle in her eye that makes my blood pump hotter. “Wouldn’t you like to know, rich boy? Bet you liked that picture, though, didn’t you?”
Clenching my jaw, I breathe harshly through my nose, but say nothing.
“Too bad for you, that’s all you’ll ever get, because even if you weren’t technically family, I still wouldn’t go there with you. I fuckmen, darling, and you will never be the caliber of man who deserves a woman like me.” She giggles, but her gaze is sharp. “Don’t forget, I heardallabout what you bring to the bedroom. You couldn’t handle somebody like me, but you sure can dream.”
Patting my chest patronizingly, Georgia flashes me another sickly-sweet smile before walking off, and a moment later, I hear the bedroom door shut. Something dark and infuriating rips through my gut at how fucking blasé she was. How the hell did I start the conversation with the upper hand, only to stand here now, feeling like a kid who’s been put in the corner?
How does she always manage to do that?
And why the fuck do I keep letting it happen?
8
Georgia
Stepping out of the shower, steam billows all around me as I grab a towel and wrap it around my body before doing the same with my hair. It’s been a long day, and all I want to do is climb into bed and pass out. After I slip into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt, I brush my teeth and then blow dry my hair, because if I don’t, I’ll wake up in the morning with an absolute mess on top of my head. Having such thick hair is truly a blessing and a curse sometimes.
As I’m just about done, my phone lights up on the counter with a notification. Quickly glancing at the screen, I roll my eyes when I notice it’s from Fletcher. Whatever that asshole wants, it can wait until I’m done.
My mind jumps back to the…whatever the hell that was in the dining room with him a few hours ago, and as I replay everything that happened, I’m no less confused—and irritated—about the entire interaction. By his arrogance, sure, but also with myself, for everything I said. And now, an hour later, I still can’t figure out why I said them in the first place.
My stomach twists into a knot as I think about all the other weird interactions Fletcher and I have had since he’s moved in here, each one more inappropriate than the last. Like the way I can’t seem to stop calling him agood boy. The first time it happened, it was meant to piss him off, and while Idothink it did, I alsoknowit turned him on too. I could see it in the way his pupils dilated—something that didn’t even register with me until the other night, after the argument I had with him about sleeping with Tara.
“Fuck, Peach, hearing you get all growly like that really fucking gets me hard.”
Fletcher’s words from that night echo in my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake them, or how they made me feel. How theystillmake me feel, because that same confusing heat that pooled low in my belly as I laid in bed that night—the heat I forced myself to ignore because I couldn’t bring myself to relieve the throbbing ache between my thighs, knowing it would be mystepbrother’svoice in my ear when I came—is the same heat I’m feeling now, and I hate it.
It’s so fucked up.
Why am I getting turned on by him, of all people? Not only does it feel wrong, with how I’ve known him since he was a fuckingteenagerand I’m so much older than him, but also, I can’t stand him. Like genuinely, cannot stand being near him—even more so since his prick of a father bulldozed his way into the one thing that means the most to me, and yet, I’mturned on?
Absolutely not.
Which is exactly why I downloaded a dating app that night and began swiping. Clearly, I need to get all this pent-up aggression out of my system, and since I don’t trust myself to masturbate without picturing my stepbrother, the only logical solution is to find someone to get hot and sweaty between the sheets with. I’m not a stranger to a hookup or a one-night stand.In fact, I prefer it that way. No commitment and no ties mean no chance of developing feelings and opening myself up to getting hurt or blindsided.
But even though I have a fairly high sex drive, there have been a handful of dry spells over the last almost two decades since I’ve been single—the most recent being the last three months. The nameless faces, the flirting and small talk with strangers I couldn’t give a shit less about, the meaningless sex…it gets old sometimes, and I just need a break from it all, but that break clearly needs to end now before I say or do something I can’t take back—with Fletcher, of all people.
Hence me getting all dolled up and taking hot-as-hell pictures of myself tonight. I matched with this corporate hottie who lives in the town over yesterday, and we exchanged phone numbers. Things were getting flirty, and he suggested meeting up, so I wanted to send him some sexy full-body shots before we made any concrete plans.
As a woman who’s always been bigger, I prefer exchanging nudes—or sensual photos, at the very least—before meeting anybody for a hookup off an app. Thankfully, I worked through my body image issues back in high school, and for the most part, I’m very confident and secure with who I am, the body I’m in, and what I bring to the table—and the bedroom—but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get a little awkward when I get naked with someone for the first time, and they weren’t expecting stretch marks and a dimply ass. Managing expectations, especially when it’s only a physical connection you’re after, is the way to go.
But because the universe seems to have it out for me lately, Mr. Corporate Hottie’s name is Felix—another freaking ‘F’ name—and since I had texted Fletcher about going to the store, their names were right next to each other in my inbox, which is how Fletcher ended up with the nearly naked picture.
Hair finally dried, I throw it in a quick, loose French braid and tie it with a silk scrunchie—because we like healthy hair over here—before I grab my phone off the counter, flick off the bathroom light, and pad into my room. I threw my bedding in the washer this morning before I left for workandactually remembered to switch it over to the dryer when I got home. I may be annoyed with some things Past Georgia has said lately, but I’m very much in love with her for giving me nice, clean sheets to climb into.
At least the bitch is doing one thing right.
Remembering the text from Fletcher, I begrudgingly reach for my phone and unlock it. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a yelp gets caught in my throat, choking me, as I toss the phone on the bed in front of me and slap a hand over my mouth. Heart palpitating, my lungs fight for oxygen as I can’t seem to look away from the screen. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting to find, but it wasn’tthis.
Fletcher: Such a goddamn shame…
It’s not some egotistical remark meant to rile me up and continue the argument from a few hours ago. It’s not him announcing that we’re out of something he could easily get himself, like toilet paper or shampoo or chips.
It’s four simple words typed underneath a picture that, given who it’s from, is anythingbutsimple. Four taunting words, similar to the ones he growled in my ear the other day, and a picture of a dick and balls.
