Page 8 of Trick of the Flesh
Another step.
His hand fumbles at the knob now, twisting, failing, breath hitching too loud in the silence.
My breath is even through the mask, each exhale punctuating the silence like a drumbeat. The glow from my mask is enough to slice into the dark, turning me faceless, predatory, and untouchable. His pulse betrays him. I feel it in the taut line of his back, in the tremor of his fingers.
He fumbles with the knob again, desperation rising. His breathing comes in shallow bursts.
“Miguel?” His voice cracks, weak.
I don’t answer. Silence is sharper. Let it coil around him, wrap tight, and let him stew in the anticipation.
Then a faint creak—the floorboards under my shoes. Just enough for him to hear.
His eyes widen. He twists toward the sound, chest rising, hips pressing back against the door.
You’re all mine, little brat.
I step closer, dragging the sound of my presence along the hall. The shadows stretch around me like liquid, carrying the predator with them. I savor the swell of hunger in my chest, the forbidden thrill of chasing him. He’s my stepbrother, yes. But my mind doesn’t care. My body doesn’t care. Every instinctscreams that I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than I can admit.
Another step.
He swallows, lips parting slightly, eyes wide. His fingers tremble at the knob again, as if that brass could save him.
It can’t.
I slam my hand against the doorframe, the wood rattling under my palm.
He gasps, body whipping around, back pressed against the wall. His eyes go wide—blue, desperate, shining in the dim light. His body goes rigid, then softens slightly, surrendering to the inevitability. I press in, chest to chest, hips grinding forward until he feels me. How hardhemakes me. Caleb’s breathing stutters, shallow and ragged.
“You’re mine already,” I whisper against his ear, voice muffled and warped by the mask.
He shudders like I’ve shocked him. His lips part, breath ragged, but his body betrays him—hips twitching, thighs trembling against me.
“Get off,” he says, but it doesn’t sound convincing. His hands push, but they don’t push hard enough. His pulse beats frantically under his skin, and the heat pouring off him tells me everything he won’t admit.
I tilt my head, fingers catching his jaw. Forcing him to look at me. The glow reflects in his eyes, making them glassy, helpless, and yet more beautiful than anything.
“You keep saying no,” I murmur, rolling my hips harder against him, grinding until he whimpers, “but your body knows better. You want this. You’ve wanted this for years. Come on, Caleb. You know you can’t trick what the flesh wants.”
His hands tremble on my chest. He whimpers, a soft, broken sound that makes my cock throb in response.
“Stop,” he breathes, but the word dissolves when my thighwedges between his legs. His body reacts before his mind can fight it, gripping me tighter, grinding down without meaning to.
I laugh, low and cruel. “That’s it. That’s my little brat. All that shaking isn’t fear—it’s need.” I press my forehead to his temple, mask scraping lightly. “You’re shaking like you already know how good it will feel when I take you.”
He moans, tiny and involuntary, and I grin behind the mask. He turns his face away, cheeks flaming, but his lips betray him, parted and wet, his whimpers slipping out when I press closer.
“You run, Caleb,” I whisper, grinding slower, savoring every tremor, “but all I see is how much you want to be caught. You’ve been hiding it, pretending it’s forbidden, but it’s always been there.”
His lips part. Breath catches. His thighs quiver around me, hips tilting involuntarily. “Fuck you,” he snarls, but his hips roll against mine like he doesn’t believe himself.
The sound rips a sharp laugh from me. I press my thigh harder between his, forcing him higher against the wall. His jersey rides up, exposing pale skin damp with sweat.
“Look at you,” I taunt, grinding slow and relentless. “Hard already, just from this. You’re mine, Caleb. Always have been.”
His eyes flutter shut, his fists trembling where they still press against my chest. He’s fighting himself harder than he’s fighting me.
His breath stutters, lips trembling. For a second, I think he’ll give it to me. That he’ll break.
