Charlotte doesn’t even know what she does to me, how she made my fucking cock feel like it was going to tear through my damn jeans. She sat on that couch, her leg propped up, and those damn little shorts she wore riding up her creamy, smooth thighs, like she wasn’t giving my the biggest fucking hard-on in the world.

I watched her run the little brush over her toenail, painting it red, making me even crazier with lust. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her under me, to have that curvy body squirming, arched, sweaty because I was fucking her so good.

My old man might have married her mom three years ago, and technically we were related, if only by marriage, but I didn’t see Charlotte as anything more than a prime, grade-A piece of pussy. But I didn’t just want her like a damn drug addict; she was smart, didn’t put up with my bullshit, and gave as good as she got. She could also be a little bitch toward me, and I knew it was because she’d heard the rumors about me in school.

Player. Manwhore. Cocky bastard. Jock.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and lifted the can of pop to my mouth, watching as she lifted her hand to brush at the long dark fall of her hair. My cock throbbed, my balls drawn up tight.

Fucking hell, you little tease.

But I guess she wasn’t really a cock tease, since she wasn’t doing this shit on purpose.

Charlotte lifted her head, looked over her shoulder at me, and narrowed her eyes. “What the hell are you doing? Just standing there watching me?” She had a snap in her voice, her annoyance clear. God, that fucking turned me on.

I didn’t respond, just smirked, knowing it would piss her off. We’d been living under the same roof for the last three years, and for the last year, I’d seen her as something more sexual. I’ve wanted her so fucking much that I couldn’t even be with another girl because my cock wouldn’t get hard.

Yeah, my reputation was a little nasty, a little filthy. I liked pussy, and that wouldn’t change. She thought I was a whore, though, and I was, at one point. But what would she say if she knew that for the last year I hadn’t done shit with any other girls?

“Don’t you have a game to get ready for or something?” she asked as she closed up the bottle of nail polish.

This was our last year of high school, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d thought about what I was going to do afterward, and if I’d have the balls to tell Charlotte that I wanted her. But this whole situation was fucked. She was my stepsister, and wanting someone that was related to you, even if only by marriage, was fucked up.

“Don’t you have some girl to fuck,” Charlotte said with disgust in her voice.

I finished off my drink, tossed the can in the recycle bin, and grinned. “Why are you so curious about who I’m going to be fucking?” Truth was there wouldn’t be any fucking going on, not by me at least. My dick only ever got hard for Charlotte.

She stood, those little shorts molded to her fucking crotch because of the way she’d been sitting. I cleared my throat and turned away from her. I didn’t need to show her my cock was tenting my jeans like motherfucker.

“I’m not, believe me. I don’t want to know about your nasty exploits.”

I chuckled, flashing her a grin. She got nervous around me a lot, but recently, I started seeing the way she blushed when I teased her. It made me want to do it more because she looked so damn good like that.

She was standing beside me while she got a glass of water, and I turned, purposefully brushed my arm against her, and kept it moving. My cock jerked from that small touch and from the scent of sugar that always seemed to come from her.

“You know you’re the only girl for me, Charlotte,” I said in a low voice, seeing the way goosebumps popped up along her arms. She turned her head and looked up at me, her eyes big and blue, her dark hair framing her face.

“You’re such a damn pervert.”

I could hear in her voice that she was trying to sound harder, angry even, but it came out as more of a breathy sound.

I was an asshole, because although I hid my erection from her, I liked to run my mouth, liked to make her uncomfortable with the dirty things I said to her.

“You like that I’m this way, admit it,” I said and grinned.

She clenched her teeth, turned her attention away from me, and didn’t respond. I grinned even wider.

Fuck, I’d need to go jerk off now because there was no way could I play football with this monster standing stiff between my legs.

* * *

Just looking at him pissed me off. The fact my mother and his dad made me go to his stupid as hell football games annoyed me, but I kept that all to myself. Not only was my stepbrother one of the biggest, cockiest guys at school, he was also not ashamed of the fact that his nickname was ‘Player’. It could have been because he played football, but I knew it was mainly because he was a fucking manwhore, or so his reputation claimed. I’ve never actually seen Derek with another girl, not at school and certainly not by him bringing one to the house.

“Your brother—”

“He’s not my brother,” I correct Greg, my stepfather, Derek’s dad.

Greg looked at me and sighed before facing the field again.

“Charlotte, I wish you’d try to make an effort,” my mom said, but I didn’t respond.

Three years of living under the same roof as that cocky asshole was making an effort.

I turned away from them and watched as Derek tackled some poor sap to the ground. The crowd seemed to gasp as one, and it was a pretty good reaction since Derek had taken the other player to the ground like a tank demolishing a building.

Derek was huge; a beast of a senior in high school, he stood at six-foot-four with muscles stacked upon each other.

Greg had been married to my mom since I was a freshman. For some reason, they wanted us to see each other as siblings, which grossed me the fuck out. Derek was nothing more than an intruder in my life, a womanizer that got off on females because he knew he was hot and they’d fall for him.

What pissed me off more than anything else was the fact Derek was such an asshole. It wasn’t that he treated me like shit, or that he ignored me at school. He didn’t do anything of those things. What angered me was the fact he was after me, and by after me, I mean he wanted to fuck me.

At least, that’s the vibe I got lately.

It wasn’t as if Derek came out and said he wanted to sleep with me. Or maybe it was all in my head because I was the one that wanted him?

Closing my eyes at that thought, I felt this self-disgust fill me. I shouldn’t want anything to do with a guy like Derek. Even if we weren’t technically family, he was out of my league. If we didn’t know each other, he’d never give a girl like me the time of day. I was thick, curvy, and certainly didn’t have a tight body like the cheerleaders that hung around him and his friends.

You want him.

It was true. I wanted him to fuck me, but was too proud, too stubborn to allow myself to stoop to his level of whorishness and just go for it. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. And every time he came out of the bathroom in nothing but a small as hell towel, his hard body on display, the monster between his thighs pressed against the fabric like a third leg, I hated him even more. Every time he brushed up against me when we passed each other in the hallway or at home, when he stared at me with this intense I want to fuck you look, I hated that my body heated, my pussy got wet, and I thought about really dirty shit.

I kept my attitude, my annoyance at him, in place, but I wondered if he saw through that. My skin still tingled where he’d brushed up against me at the sink today, when he’d said, “You know you’re the only girl for me.” God, if only that were true, I’d be in a lot worse shape than I was in now.

Nope, I’d never resort to giving in and letting my linebacker stepbrother have me.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.