Tool (A Step-Brother Romance #2)

I lay back again, pressing the head of the cock against my entrance, coating it in my wetness. I'm going to go insane if I don't come.

I stroke my clit in slow circles with my finger, sending pulses of pleasure through my body, and press my stepbrother's cock slowly inside my entrance, my muscles stretching to accommodate its girth.

I imagine Gaige in the room next to me, thinking about me while he strokes his dick, his hand moving up and down his length, over and over. Back when we were eighteen, I tried to touch him once, slid my hand down to reach between his legs, and he grabbed my wrist to stop me. "No," he growled at me. "Not now. We'll do this right."

I never found out what doing it right meant.

But now, I picture it in my mind's eye. I imagine Gaige thrusting his cock inside me, slowly at first as he stretches me, then picking up speed, his movements a regular rhythm that matches my hips as I arch up to meet him. Each thrust brings him deeper and deeper inside me, aided by my wetness, until I'm completely filled with him. I mimic our movements, thrusting the dildo further inside me.

"Come for me, Delaney." I picture his mouth close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "I want to feel you come on me."

I'm so close to the edge, the pent up frustration making me even more ready, filled to the hilt with the replica of Gaige's cock inside me. I imagine Gaige with his hand on his cock, his warm cum spilling from his dick and over his hand.

The thought pushes me over the edge, and I come hard, my whole body jerking as my muscles tighten around the dildo. I don't realize that I've made any noise until I hear knocking, and I startle, thinking it's someone at the door.

But of course it isn't. It's Gaige.

When I cross to the other side of the room, I can hear him chuckling through the wall.

Damn it. He totally knows.





"It's strange that the guesthouse needed fumigated," Anja says. "And so suddenly, too."

I look up at Gaige, and he winks at me, but my father and stepmother fail to notice. Anja seems to be cutting microscopic-sized slices off the edge of her chicken breast and my father is similarly focused on his meal. There's obvious tension between them; I wonder how long they've been having problems.

"Termites," Gaige says, and I glare at him through narrowed eyes. The liar. "It's a good thing I noticed."

"We should probably have the main house checked for them, too," my father says, and I give Gaige a look. I can't believe he's faking termites just to get himself into the room next to me. He's obviously a crazy person.

"I already had the guy do it," Gaige says. "There are no problems with the main house."

"Well, thank you, Gaige. You're really on top of things."

Anja laughs, the sound bitter. "On top of a termite issue," she says, her voice sharp. "Useless in every other way."

I swallow hard. I don't remember her being so...mean...to Gaige before.

"Anja, that's uncalled for," my father says, his tone warning.

"It's okay," Gaige says. "Not all of us have the luxury of attending luncheons instead of working."

I clear my throat, trying to cut through the tension in the room. But I don't have anything to say. Luckily, my father saves me, quickly changing the subject.

"Vegas," he says. "Was it productive?"

Great. He saves me by asking the worst question ever. I definitely don't want to hear about Gaige's Vegas exploits.

Anja snorts. "Speaking of not working," she says. "I don't know when partying at a Vegas nightclub started to count as work."

"I feel the same way about being a human clothes hanger," Gaige says.

Anja sniffs. "Modeling involves skill," she says. She sips clear liquid from a crystal tumbler that's obviously not water, and I'm pretty sure she's half in the bag already.

"Fortunately, being a washed up model involves no skill at all," Gaige says.

"Gaige," my father warns. He doesn't look at Anja. He's unhappy; I can see the dark circles under his eyes, and the lines that crease his face, deeper than a few years ago. He's aged, and I wonder why I didn't notice it before.

"That's right. Take his side," Anja says, standing. She places a hand on the table to steady herself when she wobbles, but picks up her glass, bringing it to her mouth and taking a sip. Her eyes are unfocused, but she narrows them when she looks at Gaige. "He's your investment, after all. Always protecting your investments, even the ones who are as useless as Gaige."

I inhale sharply, looking at Gaige, whose face is ashen. My father stands quickly, puts his hand on Anja's arm. "Anja," he says. "Perhaps you'd like to lie down."

She jerks her arm from his grasp. "Don't talk to me like a child," she says. She turns toward me and I hold my breath. "I see the way he looks at you, you know."

"Why don't you go dry out, Mother," Gaige's voice is hard, and he doesn't look at me, but I can see his fist clenched, his knuckles white.