I want to know everything.
“Thank you for writing to me,” I manage, my voice sounding unnatural. Almost predatory. In need. “Your letters…I don’t know what I would have done without them.”
“Really?” She breathes huskily, causing velvet bolts to twist in my balls. “I didn’t bore you with flower life cycles and meditation techniques?”
“God no. I only wished they were longer.”
“Oh,” she says, the stain deepening on her cheeks.
Jesus Christ, she’s too sweet. Too good for the world I’ve been living in. And yet I want to rip her out of that flowery dress she’s wearing and lick her pussy until she screams.
I’m not even sure she’s legal. We never exchanged ages. I’ve been imagining her younger this whole time. No matter what, she’s a damn sight younger than my thirty-two years. Add our age difference to the list of reasons I shouldn’t be rock hard right now. I’d like to fall on the excuse than I haven’t been laid in a couple of years. That has nothing to do with this, though. It might make my need for relief more urgent, but I’ve never reacted to a female like this in my life.
Christ, not even close. I’m starving for her.
“All right,” my father says, sounding somewhat uncomfortable. “I think the vultures have seen enough of our reunion. Let’s go home.”
Home.
The house where I grew up. I’ll only be staying there for a few nights before heading to Coronado where I’ll be stationed at the naval base going forward. As a commander. But for the next three nights, I’ll be in close quarters with Lula. My stepsister. And I have no idea how I’m going to survive without feeling her naked body beneath mine.
Vanessa and my father turn and hustle through the crowd toward the exit.
Lula seems concerned when I remain rooted to the spot. Going home with her is going to be my salvation and my doom. Five minutes around this girl and I’m already infatuated beyond belief. It’s taking an immense effort to control myself. To keep my hands at my sides. To keep from acting as her human shield against threats—they’re everywhere. If something happened to her, I would go off like a fucking bomb.
When she reaches out and threads our fingers together, giving me a patient, coaxing smile, I follow after her as if in a trance. “Our rooms are right next to each other,” she murmurs back at me. “I hope you don’t mind the adjoining bathroom.”
I’m screwed.
Chapter Two
Lula
He’s even more perfect in real life.
At least, on the surface.
I’ve been looking at pictures of Vale since our parents married. His image is framed all over the house. Graduating from the naval academy, receiving commendations. The front page of last week’s New York Times has been laminated and magnetized to the refrigerator.
California SEAL Fires the Kill Shot Heard Around the World reads the headline.
Another picture is there, too. Vale in his starched uniform covered in medals, his jaw firm, eyes serious. Back at the airport, though, I got a glimpse of the man beneath the tough military man exterior. He didn’t like the attention and definitely wasn’t comfortable in the large gathering of people. I could almost feel the nerves running roughshod through his system.
What has this man been through? I can’t even imagine.
Every time I pictured our reunion with Vale at the airport, I saw him striding toward us confidently. Extending a hand to his father and slapping the older man on the back, making a jocular joke for the cameras. I never expected Vale to be stoic, limping, eyes tortured. Holding the bag over his shoulder in a white-knuckled grip. There is more to him than a granite-jawed hero—although he is definitely that, too.
I’ve never met someone in real life with so much presence.
So much outward strength.
In this town, he’s considered a god. The paragon of male perfection. Rife with muscle and power and intelligence. He jumps out of helicopters into foreign oceans, dismantles bombs, goes for days without sleep. He towered over everyone in the airport, his arms so thick with muscle they could barely be contained in his jacket. His blue eyes are riveting. Intense. His brown hair cut short, along with his trimmed beard. He’s polished to a shine, while on the inside, I can almost hear the broken pieces of him rattling around. I know it’s odd to hold my stepbrother’s hand, but I couldn’t help it. He needed someone to steady him. And he held it all the way home from the airport, connecting us across the backseat, those blue eyes fixed on me the entire drive.
Which leads me to my problem.
Letting out a breath, I close myself in my bedroom and lean my forehead against the door, willing the dewy heat plaguing my skin to subside. What is happening to me? Am I simply nervous from meeting Vale, a world-renowned hero? Or is it something else?
On the drive home, I turned wet between my legs.
Embarrassingly slippery.
Meanwhile, my mouth is dryer than desert sand.
I’ve read about female arousal. Of course I have. I’m going to school in the fall to study Eastern medicine. Meditation. Alternative therapy. I’m well-acquainted with how the human body should behave. I just never could have planned for my first ever sexual, feminine response to come courtesy of my stepbrother. Highly inconvenient.
You. Are. His. Stepsister.
Sure, he might have held my hand tightly, occasionally brushing his thumb over my knuckles. Sure, his gaze might have meandered down to my breasts on the ride home, remaining there long enough to create the damp sensation between my thighs. But he’s just a solider who has gone a long time without female companionship. It isn’t like we grew up together. Nor are we related by blood. Obviously, nothing can happen between us, but I don’t blame a man with that much masculinity for feeling lust over the female form.
Even if I’m surprised he feels it for me.
My mother has been talking for weeks about all of the women she’s going to introduce Vale to. All kinds of debutantes and daughters of their successful friends. And all of those women have one thing in common. They’re rail thin. Svelte. A very different body type than my own—and my mother loves to point that out. She always has. Clucking over my jean size or suggesting I go for more walks. Truth is, I do go for a lot of walks. I love being outside and I want to love my curvy figure. It’s just really hard to fully enjoy my extra padding when I’m constantly being told it’s a negative thing.
There’s a muffled click and I lift my eyes to the door that leads to our adjoining bathroom. Vale’s shadow moves underneath, followed by the running water of our shower. My pulse picks up at the image of Vale stepping beneath the spray, water coasting down over his thick pectorals, dampening the dog tags hanging between them. The soap suds traveling down in rivulets to his buttocks, so high and firm. And in front…
His sex would be waiting. Long. Thick. Neglected.
“Oh my God, would you stop?” I whisper, shaking myself.
The cops should come arrest me for having these thoughts about someone I’m related to by marriage. I can’t even imagine what my mother and stepfather would say. They are all about image. All about maintaining the perfect reputation of a four star general and his doting wife. She never makes a misstep. She would be mortified if she knew I was changing my panties right now because my stepbrother turns me on. How am I going to make it through the next three days without totally embarrassing myself?