Break Me: A Stepbrother Romance by Julie Kriss Page B

wet,” I said, faster this time. I was wet—my hair, my skin soaked through the t-shirt. But my pussy was throbbing, my panties soaked. “I'm wet.”
    He thrust his hips between my legs and lifted me off my feet, pinning me to the rough brick wall, grinding into me. I could feel his huge cock against the seam of my jeans. “Are you?” he said.
    “Yes,” I gasped. The wall scraped my back, which added to the pleasure. His strong thighs were holding me up like I was nothing. I tilted my hips toward him, gripped him with my knees, and dug my nails into his bare shoulders.
    “Say it,” he said, grinding into me again.
    “I'm wet,” I said. “I'm so wet, Bram. I'm so wet.”
    “For me?”
    “Yes. Yes! God, I'm wet for you!”
    He leaned in, still pinning me to the wall. I thought he was going to kiss me—oh God, I wanted him to kiss me—but instead he ran his tough, callused thumb along my lower lip, back and forth. He stared at his thumb's progress, as if my lip fascinated him. The friction of just his thumb on my mouth was making my pussy throb even harder. Then he drew my lip down and pushed his thumb in my mouth.
    It was rude, crude. I shouldn't put up with it. No man had ever done anything remotely like this to me before. But the intrusion of his thumb, big and masculine, felt good, and I closed my lips around it and ran my tongue over it inside my mouth, sucking, tasting him.
    His eyes went very dark. He pushed the thumb inside me, thrusting inside the wet darkness of my mouth. He tasted salty, and I licked the flavor from him, swallowed it. Still he watched, his gaze intent on my lips sealed around his thumb.
    “Fuck, Summer,” he said, his voice choked. “Fuck. I'm only going to say this once.”
    I waited. I'd tried to be good, I really had, but here I was, pinned against an alley wall with Bram Riordan's thumb fucking my mouth. And I wasn't sorry.
    He withdrew the thumb and pulled my bottom lip, looking at its pink wetness. “Say it,” I breathed.
    He leaned in. “I want to fuck you,” he rasped. “I'm not a boy anymore, I'm a man. And I want to fuck you in every possible way, in every possible place, that a man can fuck a woman. Do you understand?”
    Oh, God. “Yes,” I said.
    “I'm not a good person,” he said. He ground his hips into me again as the rain pelted down his torso and I groaned. “I'm lower than shit now. You shouldn't even come near me. I'm an animal who has been in a cage for six years. And the first woman I fuck after being in a cage for six years is going to have a very fucking hard ride.”
    I raised my hand and ran it over the planes of his gorgeous face, the line of his cheekbones, the ridge of his jaw. “Bram, I've wanted a hard ride ever since you gave me the last one.”
    He gasped a breath, but he didn't back down. “That was nothing. I was being nice. Summer, nothing is nice about me right now. My cock isn't nice. My mouth isn't nice. My fingers aren't nice. Every inch of me is nasty right now, you get that?”
    There was something happening to me. Something blowing open, coming awake. It was like a sense that had been closed off my entire life—as if I'd been blind or deaf and hadn't known it, and suddenly I wasn't. Suddenly I was aware. I didn't care that he was nasty, because deep down, I was, too. It wasn't just that I wanted him inside me. I did want that, oh God I did, but I wanted more. I wanted everything he could give me, with no limits.
    “I can take it,” I said. “I want it.”
    “You don't know what you're asking for,” he said. He let me go so my feet hit the ground again, but he didn't unpin me from the wall. He leaned in close, his chest pressing against me, and bit my earlobe, hard. “You think about it,” he growled. “You think about my cock, Summer. I know you remember it. You think about whether you want it. You think about where you want it. And if you think you can take all of me, you let me know, and I swear I'll fuck you until you