Chapter 14 #2
“As if I need him,” he scoffs. “If Drew’s skills were half as good as mine, that place would already be ash.”
I don’t bother arguing. He’ll get it done either way.
“Then we move the shipment,” I continue. “Fast. Liquidate it, transfer the funds, clear her debt. Without a paper trail or any financial leverage, they’ll have no choice but to walk away.”
“Unless they think they can still get more out of her,” Ford muses, his implication clear.
Ava stiffens as she glances back at him, clearly sensing where this is going.
“Time to give up that v-card, babygirl,” he says lightly, squeezing her thigh.
Her gaze flicks toward me nervously. “Now?” she squeaks.
The tightness in her voice instantly pisses me off, like she’s bracing for something she doesn’t actually want. Like she’s not already wet between her thighs just fucking thinking about it.
Ford gestures lazily in my direction. “I mean, if you want…”
“No,” I snap, shutting it down immediately.
Ava’s eyes dart to mine, and for a second, something flashes across her face. Something almost wounded, like she expected a different answer.
I ignore it.
All I can see is her in Ford’s lap. In his shirt. The echo of what I heard earlier threads back through my head, tightening my chest.
There’s a part of me that wants to ruin her.
Another that wants something else entirely.
To be first. To take something no one else gets. To have her come to me for it.
I shove both instincts down before they can fully surface, steeling my expression and averting my gaze.
“This weekend, then,” Ford suggests after a beat, completely nonchalant.
Wes looks to Ava, studying her for a long moment. “You on board with that?” he asks, as if she has a fucking choice.
She hesitates, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she holds his gaze. Then her shoulders lift in a small, reluctant shrug. “I guess so.”
Ford claps his hands together once. “Alright, then. Meeting adjourned?”
“Yeah,” I grunt.
He gives Ava a light smack on the ass. “Up you go, beautiful.”
She slides off his lap without a word, tugging the hem of his shirt down over her thighs.
Ford pushes himself out of the recliner, stretching his arms over his head before slinging one around Ava’s shoulders. “Night, boys,” he breathes, steering her toward his room. “I’ll try to keep it down,” he tosses over his shoulder. “But no promises.”
My fists clench as the door shuts behind them with a soft click, silence settling in its wake.
Wes sinks further into the couch, staring up at the ceiling like he’s already running through outcomes. “You sure about this?” he asks, not looking at me.
“It’s the only way,” I reply flatly.
He exhales, pushing to his feet. “Good luck sleeping,” he mutters, already heading back down the hall toward his room.
I hear his door close a few seconds later, the apartment falling quiet again. The low hum of the fridge fills the silence, and somewhere down the hall, muffled through a closed door, there’s the faintest echo of Ava’s laughter.
I shove up from the couch with an annoyed grunt and head for the kitchen, needing something to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.
The fridge has plenty of options, but I just grab a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and tipping it back.
The cold hits sharp, biting against my teeth, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to settle the rest of me.
Then I hear a soft scuffing sound behind me.
Bare feet on hardwood.
I turn, and Ava’s standing there wearing Ford’s t-shirt, her dark hair falling forward in a loose curtain around her face. She freezes when our eyes meet, hers widening slightly. Then she continues moving forward cautiously, stopping just short of me.
“I was just…” she starts, trailing off as she gestures toward the fridge.
I suddenly realize I’m blocking it, but I don’t move right away. I just take another pull from the bottle, my gaze locked on hers over the rim, daring her to try me.
She doesn’t rise to the challenge, so I step aside after a few seconds and let her slip past me to pull open the door. She grabs another bottle of water from inside, and when she closes the fridge, she startles to find me still standing there, closer than before.
I don’t give her the chance to step back. My hand catches her at the waist, dragging her in until there’s no space left between us. My other hand comes up to the back of her neck, fingers sinking into her hair at the nape, holding her in place.
She’s trembling. Maybe from the cold, maybe from me. I don’t ask which– I just keep my grip firm, suddenly feeling like if I let go, everything else might come apart with her.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips.
Too close.
Not close enough.
My fingers tighten in her hair.
Some deeply disturbed part of me wants to kiss her.
The darkest parts of me want to ruin her.
Instead, I just keep my grip firm, forcing the moment to stretch until her ragged breathing starts to match mine.
Until she stops trying to pull away and relaxes into my hold.
“You ready to beg?” I ask, voice rough.
She blinks up at me, thrown. “For what?”
I dip my head just enough that my forehead brushes hers. “For what you really want,” I murmur. “That first night at the boathouse, I told you how this would end. That when it happens…” my thumb presses lightly into her hip, “you’ll be begging for it.”
My stepsister stares up at me like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide, lips parted. She plays the sweet and innocent thing far too well, my cock thickening despite myself.
I can’t take it. I release her abruptly, stepping back and getting ahold of myself before I do something stupid.
She sways on her feet, a little off-balance.
“I don’t want it unless you’re ready to beg,” I tell her, meaning every fucking word. Then I turn on a heel and walk away, leaving her alone in the kitchen as I stalk back down the hall toward my bedroom.
When I enter, it feels colder than before. The bed looks too big, too fucking empty. I flop down in the middle of it anyway, stretching out and staring up at the ceiling, the silence pressing in from all sides.
The shadows gather at the edges of my vision as I think about the logistics of moving the shipment, of repaying the funds. Of the potential war we’re about to enter with the Dollhouse.
But mostly, I think about my slutty little stepsister curled up in bed with my best friend.
I think about those gasps and moans I heard drifting down the hall earlier from his room.
And I think about how fucking satisfying it’ll be– how fucking sweet she’ll sound– when she finally begs for me.