Chapter Three
Ava
Getting dressed takes longer than I care to admit, and it isn't because I'm frozen in place for a good five minutes after he leaves my bedroom.
Emelia calls, freaking out about Royce Elliot.
He swindled her into a date last night. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, she loved every minute of it.
I may leave out any mention of finding Dawson in my bed. And any mention of what he said.
I don't know what else to do! My world is still shaking on its foundations. I am not mentally prepared to hear my best friend tell me, in that infuriatingly smug tone, that she told me so.
No, thank you. It'll ruin my high. And right now, I'm floating ten feet off the ground.
The petals lied. Dawson doesn't hate me. Judging by the look on his face when he said it, he wasn't joking, either.
"What is even happening right now?" I whisper to my reflection. The woman staring back at me doesn't have an answer. She looks shell-shocked. Who knew my eyes could even get that big?
Dawson likes me. And by likes, I mean he wants to fuck me.
If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up. I think I have to, though. This can't happen. Even if it is every fantasy I've ever had come to life, it's impossible. He's my stepbrother—my famous athlete stepbrother. And I'm a teacher.
Believe me, it matters.
Half the parents at my school will be scandalized if this were to get out. The other half would rally to have me tarred and feathered. He could be booted from his team or from the league in general.
In no world does a relationship like this get to happen without consequences, not when our parents are married.
I groan to myself and reluctantly step out into the hall, prepared to face him and tell him…something. I don't know what. I'll wing it.
Instead, I linger in the kitchen doorway, watching him prowl around my space like he owns it. He's humming, actually fucking humming, like he's in a good mood. It's weird and unnatural. Dawson doesn't hum. He growls. He scowls. He glares. He absolutely does not hum.
Except…he is.
My stomach flutters when he glances over his shoulder, his hazel eyes locking with mine. His dimples pop out, and the panties I just put on damn near spontaneously combust.
Why couldn't he be a swamp troll living under a bridge instead of six-foot-four inches of muscles, tattoos, and unholy hotness? There's a reason half the women on the planet want to fuck him. He's the reason. That smirk is the reason.
"Damn," he mumbles. "And here I was, hoping you'd take my suggestion to lose the towel."
"Dawson," I groan, my fingers all twisted around each other. "Are you drunk?"
His smirk grows. "You think I'm drunk?"
"You're acting drunk."
"I don't drink, sweetness."
"Are you on drugs?"
His brows pull down, his smirk slipping into a scowl. Yes, finally. Something familiar. I can work with this.
"You itching for a spanking, Ava?"
"What? No!"
"Then why are you trying to piss me off?"
"I'm not!" I cry. "I just…you're being weird. I'm concerned."
He turns, leaning back against the counter beside the stove. "You think this is me being weird?" His gaze runs down my body. "You ever heard the saying about tempting a desperate man?"
I cock my head to the side in confusion.
"I've tried to behave, baby sister," he says. "I've tried to keep my hands to myself and leave you alone. But then you had to go and tempt me off the ledge."
"I didn't even do anything," I protest.
"No? Tell me about this neighbor who looks like he could be fun," he growls, his eyes glittering.
Oh. Oh, my gosh. He's jealous.
I'm not smiling. I'm not.
"My neighbor is a ninety-year-old man, Dawson," I say with a laugh. "I only brought him up because you were getting on my nerves."
He stares at me for a long moment, completely silent. "Just so we're clear, you aren't fucking him?"
"Gross." I wrinkle my nose at him. "No, I'm not sleeping with him."
"Thank God," he growls, crossing my kitchen in three steps. "I was ready to kill a man I never even met, Ava."
"Dawson."
"I'm going to kiss you now. You can be pissed about it later, but I don't care about that right now," he growls, locking his hands around my hips. "Right now, I just need to know what you taste like."
I mean to tell him no and remind him of all the reasons why this can't happen. That's what I should do. It's what I need to do. Apparently, my mouth has different ideas about what I need to do.
"Yes," it says without my permission.
Dawson groans, yanking me up against his hard chest, his fingers digging into my hips.
His mouth crashes down on mine, his lips hot and greedy, his tongue demanding entry the second I gasp. He tastes like mint and fire, something wild and vital. I'm instantly addicted, spiraling toward some plane of existence that shouldn't be real.
He kisses me like he intends to ruin me for anyone else, all shattering desire and greedy need. I love it so damn much.
When he lifts me, I go weightless for a split second before landing against his body. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct—there's nowhere else for them to go.
"Oh, God."
His cock is right there, pressed up between us, thick and so hard it's practically a warning.
"Not God, baby. Your stepbrother."
I do not whimper. I don't.
He walks me backward until my back hits the fridge, pinning me in place, his mouth never letting up.
I make a noise—half whimper, half plea. It's supposed to be a protest. I think. But his hands are everywhere at once, and I'm too busy arching into him to figure out what that sound means.
I'm too desperate to do anything more than cling to him and rock against him like my life depends on it. At this point, I think it might.
He lifts me higher, the hard ridge of his erection pressing right against my clit. I grind down against it, helplessly needy.
"Keep doing that, and I'm going to come all over you," he warns, his voice ragged.
My mouth does that thing again where it speaks without my permission. "Maybe I want you to," I whisper, my voice so breathless I don't even sound like myself. I don't feel like myself, either.
But his eyes, dark and wild, tell me that this version of me has him hooked.
He grinds me down harder, his hands locked on my ass, kneading until I see stars. Until all I can think about is him and how good this feels. It's better than my fantasies. So much better.
Every move of his hips slams me against the ridge of his cock. Between the friction and the way he kisses and bites at my neck, I lose track of every logical objection to this. All my reasons for saying no dissolve.
Every instinct tells me to give in and just take the pleasure he's offering, to glut myself on it until I explode. But…
"We can't," I gasp, hating how desperate I sound. "If our parents ever—"
He silences me with his mouth, his tongue working mine until I'm sobbing against his lips. "They don't matter," he snarls when I'm boneless in his arms, my objection forgotten. "This right here matters. You and me matter. What's between us is just for us. It's ours. No one else ever has to know."
I want to live in his world, where we make the rules, and no one else exists. It sounds lovely.
He slips a hand up to my throat, stroking my jaw.
His other hand never stops kneading my ass, pulling me harder onto his cock.
"You've been driving me out of my fucking mind for a year," he whispers against my skin like he's branding me with the truth.
"So you're going to come on me right now, Ava. "
Whatever objections I had left just…unravel. I stop fighting and let myself have this—just one moment where I'm his in reality and not just in my dreams. I can hate myself for it later. But right now? Right now, I need this just as badly as he does.
He rocks me down onto his cock again, harder, faster. My hips move with his, the ache between my legs growing so hot it's overwhelming.
"That's it, sweetness," he groans. "Let your stepbrother take care of your pretty little body."
I cry out in response to his filth, clutching his shoulders so hard my nails dig in. He works my body until I'm shaking, his name spilling from my lips in an endless flood.
I come harder than I ever have in my life, writhing all over him, trapped between his hard body and the fridge.
He buries his face in my neck and groans, grinding into me as he shudders, his whole body taut. I feel the heat as he comes, pressed flush against my stomach.
"Fuck, Ava. Jesus." He kisses my throat, my collarbone, my jaw, moving with careful, hungry gentleness, like he thinks I'll break. "You don't even know. You don't even know."
Except…I do know. I've known every single day for the last year.
We're both shaking, our bodies tangled up in too many feelings and not enough rules. And I don't want it to end. I want to stay right here in this cocoon forever. But I can't.
I try to wiggle out of his grasp. "Dawson, let me down. I have to—"
"No," he says quietly, almost gently. "You're mine now, sweetness. You said yes, and I'm not letting you take it back."
"I wasn't thinking," I whisper, even as I clutch at his shoulders.
"Yeah, you were," he murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek. "You were."
Damn him for being right.
Damn him for being irresistible.
Just…damn him.