Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
My whole body reacts to her, something that has never happened before. It disorients, confuses, and unmoors me.
Who is this woman? And why do I feel such a strong, instant magnetic draw to her?
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked because the moment I find out she’s my stepsister, I mentally punch myself. The almost animalistic need rising to the surface, the intense desire to have her—those are things I need to bury.
Except…when she looks at me and mirrors the want within me, my moral resolve crumbles to dust.
I need her like I need air to breathe, and I will have her no matter what.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
TREY
I’ve been through countless hours of drills and extreme tests, meant to push all us Navy officers past our limits. I’ve slept on concrete crushed between snoring squadmates. Hell, I’ve broken my fingers so badly that my thumb still clicks loudly if I move it wrong, but somehow, sitting in the back of this taxi might be the worst thing I’ve endured.
One, because the interior of the car smells so strongly of aftershave that my eyes are watering. Two, because the driver has been playing the same idiotic song on repeat for the last hour. I know all the words to the damn song by now, entirely involuntarily.
From the flight, during which the two girls sitting next to me, who clearly had too much to drink, talked very loudly about all the ways their exes sucked in bed—information I’d have gladly lived the rest of my life never knowing—plus the loud chaos of airports and now this… Yeah, I’m really fucking ready for some peace and quiet.
Thirty days of it to be exact.
I love my job. I take pride in what I do, and I have no regrets about any of the time I’ve spent in the Navy. But … I will admit that this break is wholly needed. All the knots in my muscles and the headache brimming behind my eyes insist that I need to remember how to relax, and I’m inclined to listen to the obvious signs my body is giving me. A month without constant training drills and the stress of work—a month to myself—sounds like heaven.
It’s been a while since I’ve come back to my childhood home, a whole year now that I think about it. Though I’ll only get to see my dad for a few days at the end of my leave, it’ll be nice to stay at the home I grew up in and explore the city again. Fun even.
Finally, the taxi driver turns onto the street I grew up on, and the second the car halts at the side of the road outside number nineteen, I throw the door open and leap out. Thankful I’ve already paid for the journey on the cab app so I don’t have to spend another single second listening to that fucking music. I grab my bags from the back, close the trunk a little too hard, then turn around and stalk away from the car in pointed silence. Seconds later, tires squeal as the driver pulls away, and I’m fussing around with the plant pot by the side of the door where Dad always hides his spare key.
Cold, damp key in hand, I let myself in with a sigh. I pause long enough to kick off my boots and hang up my jacket, then cart my bags through the hallway, heading straight for the staircase. I need a shower to wash off the day before I do anything else, even if it’s only 4 PM and the day’s not over yet.
My feet automatically take me to my room upstairs, though I guess since I haven’t lived at home since I was eighteen—seventeen years ago—I should be calling it the guest room now. My dad’s house is a modest two-bed in the suburbs, but it was always more than enough space for us two.
Nothing has changed much since I was last here except … Huh. That’s odd. There’s flowers on the little side table on the landing at the top of the stairs. And wait, is that runner covering the well-worn wood floors new? Has my dad been possessed with the spirit of some home decor-obsessed soul?
I snort at my own ridiculous thoughts, shaking my head as I drag a hand over my face. Christ, clearly I need a good night’s sleep. At least the bed here is comfy as hell, and if my body will let me, I can lie in tomorrow. Then again, my body has practically its own alarm system after years of waking up at 6 AM or earlier, so I’ll be lucky to sleep five minutes past that no matter how tired I am.
The guest room door isn’t closed all the way, so I push it open with my foot and saunter in. The carpet’s new, fluffy under my feet. Damn, I can’t remember the last time the original carpet was fluffy when I entered. Dad’s stepped up his game.
I dump my bags at the bottom of the bed and turn to the door on the right wall that leads to the attached bathroom. Still running on autopilot, I push the door open.
A cloud of sweet-smelling steam engulfs me.
What. The. Fuck.
Every muscle in my body freezes, including my damn lungs. Hell, even my heart forgets what rhythm it’s supposed to be beating. I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest, standing in the doorway with my jaw hanging open, eyes wide, and stuck on the blurry silhouette behind the fogged-up glass of the shower door.