Page 2 of Worth

He scowls, his eyes narrowing at me. “You’d rather become my father’s?”

“No,” I retort, anger building. “I don’t want either.”

Mo rubs at his jaw, the faintest hint of shadow there even though I’ve never seen him anything but clean shaven. “I don’t have much of a say, Blake.”

“Please,” I beg, voice cracking. “Just help me get away from here. I won’t tell anyone you helped me. I swear it, Mo.”

I watch his eyes dart to my bare legs, my black, knee-length dress having ridden up to expose too-white thighs while I was trying to escape, and it becomes obvious how I could get him to help. But it’s going to require taking a page out of Mom’s playbook and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

Hand shaking, I drape it over his own where it is resting on the seat. “Mordecai,” I say, making my voice breathy the way I heard Mom do so many times when people came to collect on debts we couldn’t pay. “Please help me.”

Mo’s eyes narrow and they make a slow perusal from my legs up to my face, which I’m sure is bright red despite my boldness. I make myself hold his gaze, and I’m sure he can feel my palm sweating where it’s touching the back of his hand.

“I can’t help you,” he answers.

I can feel my despair brimming in my eyes and go to move my hand away; to curl up in my seat and shove all these fears and feelings away, so I’m ready when Stephen makes his decision.

But Mo stops my hand from leaving his by putting his other one on top of it. “Unless,” he says, trailing off.

Hope rises in my chest. “Unless what?”

“Unless I claim you for myself.”

My jaw slackens and my lips part with a surprisewhooshof a gasp. “What?”

The hand that stopped mine lifts and clutches at my thigh, yanking me closer so I’m pressed up against him. I don’t fight him, still trying to process his words. His thumb touches my bottom lip, then slides down over my chin, the column of my throat, between my collarbones. I fight a soft whimper of embarrassment as it drifts between my breasts and over my soft, flat belly, confused by this turn of events.

When he reaches my panties, tracing the waistband through my dress, I jump and grab his wrist, my nails biting into his skin.

“Easy, Blake,” he murmurs, leaning in. He goes for the side of my neck, his nose skimming it in a way that has my heart skipping a beat. His breath feathers over my skin and mine hitches as his hand lowers, my fingers still wrapped around his wrist. He grips the thigh closest to him, yanking and pushing until my legs are spread wide along the seat.

“Wait. Mo,” I breathe as his fingers trail up the inside of my thighs. I can’t understand why I haven’t fought him off. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events, but I know I can feel how wet my pussy is already from his little touches. Even so—I don’t truly want this.

I don’t.

Not like this.

An internal war rages in my mind as his fingers brush over the damp material of my cotton bikini. His touch feels so damn good, but I don’t want to be claimed byanyone. I haven’t been before today, and I want to keep it that way.

I try to open my mouth—to tell him off—but before I can, his fingers dip into my underwear and into the wetness, rolling over my clit. My hips buck in response, confusing me further. It isn’t like I’m a stranger to orgasms or playing with myself. A girl’s gotta have release sometime. But I’ve never had anyone else touch me like this. It’s terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

“Fuck, Blake,” Mo groans, dragging his fingers up and down my slit. “You’re fucking soaked for me, aren’t you, princess?”

I jostle as we hit a bump, reminding me that there’s someone else in this car. My cheeks flame as I glance up and catch the driver watching us in the rearview mirror. He leers at me with a grin just as Mo presses a finger inside my pussy and then a second one. A low groan escapes me and I close my eyes, head dropping back. A twinge of pain spears through me as he pushes them in deeper.

“Jesus, this little pussy is tight,” he mutters, his mouth against my neck.

I’m trembling and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m lost in the sensation of howgoodthis feels or if it’s because it feels wrong. So wrong. “You’re my stepbrother,” I blurt out, grasping for any reason why we should stop so I can figure out what I’m feeling.

Mo pumps his fingers in and out of me. “You think that will matter when Dad starts selling you? You won’t be my stepsister once that happens.”

I gasp as he twists his fingers inside me, a flood of warmth spilling onto the seat underneath me despite the foreign, almost raw feeling. “Mo, please. Wait.”

His hand pauses at the desperate sound in my voice. His eyes search mine and a wicked smile curls up his lips. “Are you still a virgin, princess?”

I’m afraid to tell him the truth and say yes. I’m afraid to lie and tell him no. I don’t know what answer would be worse. I just stare back at him.

Withdrawing his fingers and letting my panties snap back into place, Mo pushes his fingers into his mouth, groaning loudly as he cleans the evidence of how wet I am off them.

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