Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
She laughs, soft and breathy. “Good thing you’re going to take care of me.”
I drag my gaze to her pretty brown eyes. “I’ll always take care of you.”
Her pink cheeks turn redder and she smiles.
With my eyes back on her leg, I rub more cream over her knee and thigh. Once I’m done, I rinse off my hand and grab the razor. Before I start, I give her a crooked grin. “Trust me?”
“Of course,” she murmurs.
Slowly, I run the razor up along her shin. Aside from our heavy breathing, all that can be heard is the crackling as the razor cuts through her hairs and leaves smoothness in its wake. I stop at her knee and rinse it off. I’m lost to my task when I accidentally nick her knee. She lets out a hiss.
“Shit,” I grumble. “I’m sorry.”
I continue shaving the rest of her leg. The blood trickles down the inside of her knee. Not enough to drip into the sink but enough to make me feel bad. With quick movements, I rinse away the leftover shaving cream. Then, I snag a towel from the hanger and wipe away the excess water. The cut continues to bleed. I hold the towel to it and regard her with regret.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I murmur. “That was wrong.”
Her brows furl together and her voice is a whisper. “But I liked it.”
My heart seizes in my chest. “Rylie, I liked it too.”
“But?” she rasps out.
“But it’s wrong.”
She shuts down and breaks eye contact. Her sadness and loneliness seem to crash into me like a giant wave, knocking me over. The urge to make her happy again is overwhelming. I bend over and kiss her cut. Then, I lick the metallic taste from her flesh.
When I pull away and look at her, a shy smile tugs at her lips.
My shame over what we did doesn’t matter when I can wipe away her sadness with one simple act. It’s wrong and yet it fixed her so quickly.
“Let’s shave the other leg,” I grunt out. My cock is semi-erect in my pants and I wonder if she notices.
I’m more careful this time and manage to keep from cutting her. When I’m finished and have wiped her clean, I chance a look at her. Her brown eyes blaze with emotion. The same look she gave me when she was grinding on my cock hours ago. It’s maddening to stare at her plump parted lips and not kiss them. Fuck, how I want to kiss them.
She slides off the countertop and stares up at me, a shy smile tilting her lips. I’m fucking mesmerized. “Hudson?”
“Yeah, Ry?”
“You’ll shave under my arms too?” A crimson blush paints her throat and I crave to press my lips to her flesh to see if she feels warm there as well.
“Would you like me to?” I ask, my voice low and throaty.
“Yes,” she breathes.
My gaze skims over her shirt. “You’ll have to take that off.”
Her stare is intense as she nods. “Okay, but don’t make fun of me.”
“Make fun of you?” I ask in confusion, my brows furling together.
“I’m not big like Amy.”
Her breasts.
Fuck no, I won’t be making fun of them. I can’t stop thinking about them.
“I won’t make fun of you,” I vow.
She bites on her bottom lip and grips the hem of her shirt. My cock aches in my sweats as I watch her slowly peel it up, baring her stomach to me. When the curves of the bottoms of her bare breasts come into view, I let out a groan. Then, I’m rewarded a view of her dark pink, small, erect nipples.
Fuck.
She pulls the shirt off and drops it to the floor. I can’t help but advance on her. I need to inhale her and taste her and touch her.
“Raise your arm,” I instruct, my gaze still on her perfect tiny tits.
She obeys and I step closer until my erection presses against her. I have the razor in my left hand, but my right hand is curious. I raise it and grip her nipple between my knuckles. Small. Hard. Erect. The craving to bite them is overwhelming.
“Rylie,” I murmur as I pull gently on her nipple with my knuckles. “My sweet Rylie.”
Her fingers run their way into my hair and she draws me to her. Our breath comingles as we grow infected by the sickness we’re both so clearly ailed by. Many dirty thoughts tease and taunt me. I want to do so many bad things to her. So many bad things that will make her feel good.
“We can’t do this,” I tell her, even as I twist her nipple slightly.
Her breath hitches. “Nobody has to know.”
How fucking tempting is that?
“You’re my sister.” It’s a reminder we both need to hear.
“But it feels good, Hudson. We feel good.”