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His Plaything(4)

By:Ava Jackson

My ears perked up at the sound of hushed voices in the living room. Would they pick up where they left off? Nixon sure hadn't seemed to care about my presence, and it didn't look like they were finished. A very small, very shameful part of me wanted them to keep going so I could hear everything. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? That guy out there—with the most perfect body and the biggest cock I'd ever seen, no, no shut up—was part of my extended family. But I still couldn't stop myself from listening.

The voices went on for a minute, too quietly to pick out their words. Nixon's deep voice was definitely doing most of the talking. Persuading her to get back on the table? Apologizing for the embarrassing interruption? Then some muffled footsteps and the click of a closing door. Huh. His toy for the evening must have bailed.

I startled at a knock on my bedroom door. After I'd been straining to hear the distant sounds of their conversation, such a close noise sounded so loud and accusatory. Shit! Of course he wants to talk to me when I'm sitting here ogling him in my mind. I hurried to fix my ponytail, brush nonexistent dust off my olive Kate Spade jumpsuit, anything to put off letting him in. “Just a second!” I called.

The door flew open. Nixon didn't storm in, didn't yell or even scowl, but the anger rolling off him was impossible to mistake. I stepped back without even realizing it, the backs of my knees bumping against the bedframe. A thrill rushed through me—the bed, we were in my bedroom, I was in his apartment—and I couldn't tell if it was fear or arousal or just pure adrenaline. His masculine energy completely dominated the small room.

It suddenly struck me how huge he was. How tall and broad and muscular. Getting fucked by Nixon must be like an amusement park ride—a screaming, overwhelming, heart-pounding rollercoaster. He still smelled of pure sex, all the sweat and musk of the moments before I interrupted. His faded jeans rode low on his jutting hips, revealing the bottom edge of his eight-pack abs and the beginnings of a dark happy trail. His short-sleeved V-neck tee clung to his bulging pecs. Across the front was printed: “The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday.” I told myself I was just reading the quote instead of staring at his muscles. As much as I appreciated a well-dressed man, I couldn't help but miss the way he looked naked.

He folded his arms across his massive chest, his ice-blue eyes boring into me. It was absurd, but in that moment, each of his bared biceps looked as wide as my head. Could I sit in the crook of his arm like a porch swing? Could he hold me up by the waist while he fucked me against the wall? Then I realized that I was staring and he had said something to me and I needed to stop thinking with my clit already. I blinked at him like a moron. “Sorry, what?”

“This isn't going to fucking work,” he repeated.

Right. I'd been here for ten minutes, and we were already having roommate issues. I nodded, clearing my throat in an attempt to clear my mind. “Couldn't agree more,” I replied.

He looked slightly surprised for a second, as if he'd been expecting more of a fight. But his expression set hard again when I continued, “I don't want to see that shit when I come home. If I'm going to live here, you can't be bringing home strange women and screwing their brains out all over the apartment. It's gross.” Forcing myself to look him in the eye, I folded my arms and straightened my back to match his posture. He couldn't live like a caveman anymore. And if I had to lay down the law sooner or later, it might as well be now.

Chapter 3


All I could do was stare. What the hell did she just say to me? Half of me wanted to strangle my new stepsister … and the other half wanted to fuck her senseless.

Now that I had the chance to get a good look at her, I saw that I'd guessed wrong about what she would wear—some weird one-piece thing like sleeveless, dark green coveralls. But somehow, she managed to make it look good. The parts covered by fabric just drew attention to the soft, smooth skin that wasn't. Her pale neck practically begged to be bitten. With her low heels and high belt, her legs looked about ten miles long. Even her most innocent details hit me right in the dick. I imagined her pink-glossed lips pouting open with pleasure, pink fingernails gripping the bed sheets or clawing at my back, pink toes curling as she came hard. How close was her cunt to that perfect satiny bubblegum color?

Dammit! Keep your eye on the ball, Nixon. No matter how fuckable she looked, I had to shut down her bullshit right now. Some bratty chick wasn't going to barge in here and boss me around. I shook my head sharply, staring her down. “Sorry, but this is my place and my dick. I'll use both however the hell I want.”

“Being roommates doesn't work that way!” she fired back. “I have a right to eat and sleep and do my homework here. This is my place, too.” She hadn't even hesitated. If nothing else, I had to grudgingly admire her balls. But that was all.