Page 48 of The Tangle of Awful

He rises to his feet, a predatory glint in his hard eyes. I remain frozen in the doorway, unable to retreat or make a hasty escape. It’s almost as if, deep down, I want him to catch me. He approaches slowly, glowering at me in a way that feels both hungry and angry. Like he wants to nip at every piece of my flesh.

I drop my purse to my feet and my palms go up. To stop him? To grab onto him? In the end, I press them against his solid chest, intending on pushing him away from me.

However, I don’t get that chance.

His mouth crashes to mine, starved and desperate. I’m caught off guard by the raw need rippling from him. He tastes sweet, such a far cry from his usual bitterness. I eagerly devour him right back. I’m not some helpless victim. I’m a coconspirator in this crime of the flesh.

He thinks he’s on the attack, winning this war against me, and I let him. My ego is bruised and bleeding. Having Spencer want me so undeniably, even if he sees it as a victory in this ruthless game he’s playing, is exactly what I need in this moment.

This is dangerous.

It’s like I’m handing the house keys over to a burglar and telling him to take whatever he wants. He’ll take and take and take until there’s nothing left but the walls around me, everything inside hollow and empty.

I try to drown in his kiss, losing myself in his scent, his raspy growls, and how his teeth feel razor-sharp as they nip at my lips.

It feels good, but it’s also not enough.

He must sense my desperation because there’s no preamble as he slips a hand between my thighs. Unlike earlier, with his dad, he doesn’t tease at the edge of my panties. No, Spencer is bolder and more reckless. His fingers easily find my clit and he rubs me over the material.

“Spencer,” I cry out, breaking from our kiss to drop my head back.

His mouth hungrily finds my neck, nipping and sucking like I crave for him to do underneath my skirt.

“Feel good to have your brother’s fingers on you, leech?”

I should shove him away for that question.

I don’t.

I’m nodding instead, breathily begging, “I want more.”

He sucks on my neck before latching on. The sting of it has me whimpering. “Bad girl,” he croons. “Maybe Dad’ll come after you with the belt for this.”

Of course he’d ruin the moment with his stupid mouth. I want to shove him away and yell at him. To tell him I hate him and have since the day he started treating me like shit.

Again, I don’t.

I cry out when his finger slides past my slick panties, rubbing over my sensitive flesh. He teases my clit and then firmly pushes into my body. I gasp at his intrusion, losing all sense of reality as he begins fingerfucking me.

This is it.

I’ve ruined everything now.

My stepbrother has his fingers inside me and it’s consoling me over the fact they’re not his father’s instead.

Can this get any worse?

Spencer

I was supposed to watch her unravel.

But not like this.

Not with my fingers inside her, marveling over how wet and tight and perfect she is.

I’m supposed to get off on her misery, not get off on her getting off. That’s exactly what I’m doing, too. Grinding my hard as fuck dick against her body as I thrust deeper and deeper into her pussy with my fingers, wishing it were my cock instead.

She’d let me.

---