Page 29 of Silks

“I can’t stop,” he rumbled against my mouth, my ear, my throat. I felt a flush of heat go through me, and I ripped at the pocket square in his powder blue suit, tearing it out, and trying to get some leverage, somewhere, to escape from him.

But I couldn’t.

He cupped one of my heavy breasts in his hand, groans ripping from his throat.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Ophelia. So goddamn long. You don’t know how I’ve tried to fight wanting you.”

“You’re not fighting it at all,” I panted, trying to kick at my brother, wriggle out of his grip.

“Not fight it?” he growled, his hands tightening on me, shoving a leg between my thighs. “I’ve fought it for as long as I can remember. I can’t do it any longer.”

With a swift motion, he kicked my legs out from under me and flipped me back onto the bed. Then he knelt down on the end of the mattress, his eyes on me as he tore his suit jacket off. I started to sit up and he crawled on all fours on top of me.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked.

He didn’t put his hand over my mouth, and I remembered belatedly that these were the crew cabins tucked far away down a hallway and wouldn’t be in use during the Steamboat Race. And the partying would be way too loud to hear anything either.

So I saved my energy for fighting him, trying to get him off me. But the harder I shoved the tighter he held me.

“I can’t stop,” he said, his hands sliding down my legs as he pulled my panties down my struggling hips.

My brother kissed me with a feverish, frenetic urgency that sent a chill down my spine.

When I tried to scream, his tongue was instantly plunging into my mouth, his groans filling the cabin as he tasted me. It was like he was trying to steal my taste, my skin, my spit for himself.

“What has gotten into you, psycho?” I cried, feeling real panic now.

His brilliant blue eyes gleamed at me in the dim of the cabin, the bed creaking under my brother’s weight.

“You,” he said. “Always you, Ophelia. You leaving made me fucking crazy. You belong with me. Not in Chicago.”

And I knew when I saw his face that he was going to fuck me.

I tried to tighten my thighs, squeezing my naked pussy together, then putting my hands on his belly to shove him away, but it wasn’t enough.

He reached down and I heard a zip. Then his hands were caging my head, cupping my face.

“I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he growled in my ear. “All I want is to make you happy.”

Then he shoved a knee between my trembling thighs and sunk his cock in me with one sharp thrust of his hips.

I yelped with the unpleasant realization that he wasn’t joking about his cock.

Either he was fucking huge or I was tight as a drum, because I couldn’t help whimpering at his size.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “You feel incredible. The way your cunt is gripping my cock, shit.”

I had always been a firm believer in “it doesn’t matter what the size is,” but that was before my brother stuck his big dick in me. He was so long and thick that he totally filled me, my cunt stretching to accommodate him in a way that sent heat rushing to my core.

I tried to dig my heels into the bed, arch my back to give myself some breathing room, but his cock was so big I wasn’t able to.

“You’re taking me so good,” my brother breathed in my ear. “You feel perfect, Ophelia.”

I wanted to choke out with angry rage, but the way his cock drew me up from the bed made it difficult to speak.

He thrust in me with long, urgent strokes, his groans loud in my ear as my heart pounded in my chest.

My brother acted like he couldn’t stop, ripping at my stupid dress with his teeth, tearing the thin fabric to get to where my breasts strained at the bodice.