Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
She’s a fucking all-American angel with a body built for fucking. Hot as hell, sweet as sugar, and she’s my step-sister. Of course she is.
Fate is a motherfucker with a hella sense of humor.
Two years away from her almost made me forget how perfect she is. Yeah, she’d sent selfies. Yeah, I’d spent hours, achingly hard, looking at her face, thinking about that night before I left.
The sounds I heard behind her bedroom door. Her whispers to me, thinking I couldn’t hear.
But nothing prepared me for seeing her again. Nothing prepared me for her scent, her cherry lips, the dimple on her left cheek. The way her body has blossomed. Nothing could prepare me for the way her dress shows off her nipples, and the way her tits jiggle with every rattle of the Jeep.
Blood surged to my cock as soon as I saw her and it hasn’t stopped since. Her long sandy-blonde hair windswept and wild. She’s got two little strands pulled back, held in place with a little Felix the Cat barrette.
She’s got these tiny earrings on, in the shape of stars. The curve of her legs comes out from the sweet hem of her sundress. Her fingernails and toenails are pink like I imagine her nipples. She’s wearing her signature summer flip flops from the dollar store but what’s the best are those dimples.
Jesus Christ, those dimples.
“Trent?” Her words yank me out of my lust-haze. She snaps a few times in my face. Bratty little sweetheart. “The limo. Explain the freaking limo. And the watch.”
She’s always been like this—straight to the point. Sweet with a sting. Since the very first day.
Her dad married my mom when I was ten and she was three. I still remember the first day I met her. She put her hands on her hips, looked up at me, and said, “I don’t need a big brother!”
But she got one anyway. And the truth was, she did need me. Our home was safe, but our neighborhood wasn’t. I cut my teeth in vacant lots, out back behind shitty bungalows with bars on the windows and rusted chain link. I was a scrappy fighter, dirty and ruthless. But never more ruthless than when it was her that I had to protect—as that little fucktard Henry Weaver found out.
She snaps her fingers between us. “Oh my god. I’m going to have to blame the jet lag because you’re making me crazy. Trent. Limo. Tell.”
Right, right. There’s a time for a trip down memory lane, but this isn’t it. “It’s my dad.”
She glances away from the road, meeting my eyes, her sweet, plump lips open for a breath before she asks, “What dad? Your sperm donor dad?”
“Yeah. He died. A month ago.” I take a deep breath. I don’t know how to say this except to just fucking rip the Band-Aid off. “And apparently I’m his heir.”
Kat blinks a few times. “His heir? Heir to what? Because the last thing I heard about him, he was a deadbeat dad with ten bucks in his pocket, a fifth of Jack in the glovebox, and no clue how to be what you needed in your life.”
Boom. Sweet with a sting, like I said. And she’s exactly right. “Yeah. This fucking universe, Kitty Kat, it has a sense of humor.”
“What do you mean?”
“He won the lottery. In a big fucking way. He was so drunk he didn’t even remember buying the ticket at first, according to his lawyer, but managed to get his head together to write a will before… He left it all to me.”
I don’t tell her the extra detail his lawyer told me. That his drinking was a problem until his last moments, that some tweaker friends ended up shooting him dead for the change he had in his pocket, convinced he’d have all the money he’d won right there.
Kat takes a deep breath, making her tits rise and fall. She’s wearing this little white dress with pairs of cherries all over it. The shoulder strap of her bra is just visible over the edge of her shoulder. Hot pink. Christ. “Are we talking money-money?”
I drag my eyes off her tits, but the jet lag is making me greedy, so I put them on her lap for a second, taking in the luscious crease between her legs, before forcing myself to look at her face.
“Yeah, money-money in the hundred million sort of range. In a trust. I just got all the details last week. There’s an executor that’s been helping me out, but I have full access. It’s all mine.”
Kat stays straight-faced, taking in the news. She’s good about giving herself a second to process. For a guy like me who is quick to throw the first punch, it’s a fucking inspiration.
She raises her eyebrows on a dismissive shrug. “So that explains the limo and the bling.” She tips her head toward my wrist.