Bad Boy's Baby Part 53

But I felt her get hotter before. Inside. Deep. Right where my c.o.c.k ached to bury.

G.o.d d.a.m.n, this woman was perfect. She knew how to writhe, how to tremble, how to come hard enough to rock through me with just a touch.

But now she struggled against the jet that trapped her body in sensitivity. I hated to let her go, but, at least she knew where she could get more.

So much more.

I'd wors.h.i.+p the f.u.c.king ground she walked on. Kiss her toes, lick her skin, devour her p.u.s.s.y, suckle her nipples, nip her throat, and claim her lips with every pa.s.sion I could offer.

If she'd let me.

If she'd stop hating me for just a minute, just enough time to prove I wasn't the jerk she thought I was.

I wasn't a pervert who wanted to s.e.x his sister. I was a red-hot, testosterone-fueled man who fell too f.u.c.king hard for a beautiful face and harder for the frustrating woman who hid her pa.s.sion, her happiness, and her fears behind a forced responsibility and layer of guilt. It wouldn't bring her father back or fix whatever relations.h.i.+p they had. It made her hate herself and the fortune that she inherited.

I had to show her it was okay to be vulnerable.

Even if I couldn't be.

But Shay moved before I could, squirming from my hold. She groaned-and not a good sound. I helped her to sit on the side of the pool. She tried to rise to her feet, but she stumbled as her strength still paddled in the water with me.

Shay was the type who needed to lay for a while, post-bliss, to recover. She was probably the only woman I had ever let cuddle me.

And I'd be the last. Next time it happened, she'd suffocate me with a pillow.

"Completely. Inappropriate."

She scolded me, but she panted, satisfied, out of breath and ragged with pleasure. Usually how I preferred my women.

"It's just a swimming lesson." I grinned. "You did very well for your first attempt."

"Don't."

"Wait until I show you my favorite stroke."

"You're unbelievable."

"That's what I hear."

She seized her towel and wrapped it over her curves. Not that it mattered, I still felt the heat where she bucked against my chest.

"Where are you going?" I asked. "You didn't even let me show you how long I can hold my breath under water!"

Shay grabbed her things with trembling fingers, though her body swayed and s.h.i.+fted now, more relaxed. I'd get that stick out of her a.s.s yet-and replace it with something better.

"I think we've had enough poolside fun for one day." Shay swallowed. "Probably a lifetime."

"You don't mean that."

She brushed her hair behind her ear, but her smile hadn't returned. "Yes. I do. I'm sorry, Zach, I never should have let you...we can't. Okay? You're my step-brother. I don't trust you here, I don't trust you with the inheritance, I don't trust that you won't run around and find some other mermaid to...teach to swim."

"Give me a chance."

"Let's do ourselves a favor and forget everything ever happened," she said. "Save us the heartache, okay?"

She didn't let me answer, and I didn't know how to fight to get her back.

My stomach dropped.

Here I was, p.i.s.sing with her, craving a chance to fool around, having some fun, and sneak beneath her sheets.

She thought it was something more?

Save us the heartache?

She hurried in the house.

I hadn't moved. Couldn't, not when she dumped the entirety of the pool over my head and froze it.

Was she falling for me?

I grinned, watching as she slammed the door the patio behind her.

She could hide from it all she wanted, but one thing was clear. Shay wanted me more than she let on.

And I wasn't letting her get away.

Chapter Eleven - Shay.

Lesson plans.

Safe, innocent lesson plans.

They were time-consuming. They were boring. They were due at the end of the week so I could present something to the school where I'd be observing.

But teaching kids their A-B-Cs wasn't taking my mind off of S-E-X.

I was new to teaching, but I knew that would get me fired quicker than if I revealed my step-brother was the object of my forbidden desire.

I groaned. Who was I kidding? I used the step-brother excuse to stay away from Zach. If I forced myself to believe what we did was wrong, then I wouldn't end up in his arms again. That humiliation was the only thing preventing me from grabbing a pen-knife and notching his bedpost for him.

Zach was a player. He was an a.s.shole. I had to watch my every word around him or he'd twist it into something s.e.xual and promising.

Except he had the prowess to justify his teasing.

And he knew it.

Lesson plans.

I meant to focus on my lesson plans.

I bit my lip. I loved the education program, the prospect of teaching, and the thought of working with kids. But unless I was huffing the glue I reminded myself to buy, no way could I use phonics lessons to forget what happened in the pool.

I sighed. I once thought the shower attachment was divine. Now every morning I eyed the Jacuzzi tub.

Bad idea. Just bad. Humiliating. Regretted.

Delicious.

No one touched me like Zach. No one stirred me like him.

No one nearly drowned me in literal pleasure and whispered innuendoes in my ear until I collapsed in his arms.

And no one was idiot enough to bolt from the pool, lock myself in my room, and pray the bikini hadn't fallen off as I bounced to safety.

But, for Christ's sake, one of us had to be responsible, and I wasn't talking double-checking to ensure I took my pill in the morning. We had to be adults. We had to forget all about the s.e.x. Since Zach was a meathead who spent every available hour hara.s.sing me, training, or eating, I'd be the one to take charge.

We had to end it.

Whatever it was.

The games. The flirting. It was time to make a plan for him to move out as soon as he deployed so we could get on with our lives. I had four months until I graduated and received my trust, and they would be spent fully-clothed and respectable. If we had to act more like strangers than family, so be it.

But, of course, I checked my makeup before I went down the stairs. And my hair. And I wore a sweet little pair of panties I tried to convince myself matched my outfit.

You know, like how any girl would prepare to talk to her step-brother.

Zach hung out in the theater more often than should have been fair, but I let him have the room as I mostly occupied the library. Zach wasn't watching TV or playing a video game. He laid in the dark and quiet, dressed in the t-s.h.i.+rt and shorts he used to work out.

He collapsed over the couch. His long, toned legs kicked out over the arm.

I hadn't made an effort to hold a real conversation with him since the incident with the pool jet. I didn't even know what to say.

Hey, so that was better than drowning! Or maybe I don't normally hump inanimate objects, but for you, I'll make an exception.

I owed him an explanation. I knew we needed to hash it out like adults.

h.e.l.l, I probably should have thanked him for the mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.m.

Instead, I said the stupidest thing I could think of.

"Don't sit on the furniture with your shoes on."

Zach didn't move his arm from over his eyes. He grunted and kicked the tennis shoes off his heels. One nudge of his legs dropped the shoe to the floor. The other he decided to launch into the nearby lamp.

"Oh, that's great." I stood the floor-lamp up, brus.h.i.+ng the dust from the shade. Uh-oh. There was quite a bit. "Now we have boot-prints over everything."

"Hire a maid."

His voice m.u.f.fled over his arm. He didn't look at me while we talked. Fantastic.

"Do you really want a maid here?"

"Yep. And a personal chef. And a landscaper. What are you waiting for?"

"It's...in the process," I shrugged. "I have to figure out how my dad managed all this."

"Easy. Open wallet. Pay butler. Let him oversee the estate."

Couldn't he see how weird that was for me? I wasn't throwing money at a problem to make it go away.

...Unless it was him and the inheritance I planned to buy back.

That didn't count. It was completely different.

"I haven't decided on anything yet," I said. "We can do something temporary."

"Temporary?" Zach snorted. "You can't take care of this house. It's a full-time job, and you have the money to hire the army it needs to stay in shape."

"But if I sell it-"

"Sell it?"

I flinched. "Well, yeah."

He sat up. His profanity was a sharper bite than usual. "Why the f.u.c.k would you sell this place?"

He asked that question while sitting in one of the fifteen leather recliners and sofas positioned around an auditorium-styled room, complete with full-sized movie screen, projector, and arched b.u.t.tresses decorating the ceiling.

"Because...it's ridiculous?" I said. "Because I still get lost in the east wing? Because the upkeep on this place is insane?"

"You're a billionaire," he said. Then the a.s.shole spelled it out for me, letter by letter. "This house is nothing to you. You should have two more like it in other places in the county, plus a vacation spot in the Maldives for kicks."

"Don't sa.s.s me."

"This house is an estate. Size matters. It's meant to be large and obscene."

"You would know that best."

He swore. d.a.m.n it. I waved a hand, collapsing on the chair beside him. He didn't make room for me. In fact, he scowled.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean it."