The woody smell of the whiskey in my glass relaxes me a little more as I settle back in the velvet booth, my eyes barely noticing the stripper onstage. My nerves have been on edge all day. Work is getting to me, and so is my ex-girlfriend Stacy.

She came by my office again today, knowing I wouldn’t toss her out on her ass as rudely as I would have if she’d come to my apartment. She just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand why she never made me happy.

It’s not just Stacy. It’s everyone. Every woman I’ve ever been with. None of them are enough. They can’t be.

They aren’t her.

I grit my teeth, my hand clenching around my glass so tightly I wonder if it might shatter.

Taking a calming breath, I try to put her out of my mind. Not an easy feat. No matter what I do, no matter how many women or drinks I try to bury her memory with, she’s always there, just under the surface.

Tempting me. Taunting me. Tormenting me.

The lights on the stage in front of me dim as the naked girl on the pole finishes her act. The music changes as the next girl comes on, slower and more seductive than the driving beat the last girl stripped to. This girl’s body is barely visible in the shadows.

I glance away, not really interested, and knock back the rest of my drink. I tilt my chin at the waitress passing by and lift my glass, indicating I want another.

I stare into the empty glass, trying to push away the thoughts of her that refuse to die. Knowing it’s useless.

Sighing, I rest my head back against the velvet booth, watching through lidded eyes as the girl onstage begins to move in the shadows as the music swells. The spotlight flicks on, bathing the stage in hazy pink light.

And the air punches from my lungs. Emptying them completely.

The world around me spins out of control. My throat tightens. My chest contracts.

And my dick is hard as a rock.

The woman onstage looks out at the audience, a look of straight up sex on her face. Her full tits and rounded ass are on full display in barely-there black lace as she wraps herself around the pole.

Fucking hell.

It’s her.

Poppy.

The one woman I’ve always wanted and can never have.

It takes everything in me to stay in my seat, and even then I’m still not sure I can maintain that control. Especially if she really thinks she’s going to take off what little clothing she has on in front of all these other people.

Mine.

Even though she’s not. Even though she never can be. But that’s how I think of her. I want to rip her off that stage and cover her with a blanket so no one can see the delicious curves that are driving me to the brink of insanity at this very moment.

The beat of the music picks up, the sultry chords assaulting my ears, my eyes transfixed as Poppy’s long blonde hair shifts and swirls around her as she gyrates on that pole.

God, I’d give anything for that to be my cock right now. My entire life—from the time I was fourteen—I’ve fantasized about what is happening right in front of me. I’m torn between a desperate need to get the fuck out of there and stay right where I am, watching as she reaches between her full tits and unclasps the bra that she’s spilling out of. Because I don’t know if I can handle seeing this.

I don’t know if I can resist the temptation to sin if I see what’s underneath that lace.

But I don’t move. I sit there as she lets the bra fall down her arms then tosses it away.

Fuck.

So fucking perfect. Full tits with dusky pink nipples standing at attention, puckered and begging for my mouth.

She reaches up to touch them, pinching them between her fingers, and I’m done.

I lose it. I come completely unhinged.

Mine.

The one word is all that’s echoing through my head. All I can focus on as I propel myself out of the booth and toward the stairs that lead backstage.

I push past the bouncer, not giving a damn that he’s fucking intimidating.

My purpose is set, and nothing will stop me until I get to her.

Poppy.

My stepsister.