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  Her eyes open wider. "You gave me a model of your…"

  "Cock?" I shrug. "I thought it might help you visualize me better when you're touching yourself, darlin'."

  "I don't visualize you at all, thank you very much," she says.

  "No?" I ask, reaching up to move a strand of hair off her shoulder. My hand grazes her collarbone, and I lean in close to her, my mouth near her ear. "Well, I think about you."

  When I pull away, she looks at me, her mouth open slightly. "Gaige, I –"

  "I know," I say. "We have to keep it professional."

  Her expression shifts and she runs her hands down the sides of her skirt. "Professional. Yes. Exactly. We're friends. I'd like to stay friends."

  "So you don't want to hear what I've thought about you, then."

  "No. Definitely not."

  I lean close to her, my lips near her ear. "Then I definitely won't tell you that I've thought about running my fingers along the inside of your thigh, until I reach that little crease at the top, near your pussy."

  "Gaige –" She says my name, protesting, but it's weak, and she doesn't move away. I slide my hand around her waist, to the small of her back.

  "I definitely won't tell you that I've thought about the expression you'd make when I touch my fingers to your pussy lips for the first time."

  "No," she says. "Don't."

  But she doesn't move. I pull her tight against my growing hardness, and she puts her palms on my chest. I'm not sure if she's about to push me away or not. She doesn't look at me, and I speak softly again close to her ear. "I definitely won't tell you that I've thought about how warm and wet you'd feel, how slick you'd be as I slide my fingers inside you."

  Delaney makes a sound in the bottom of her throat, something like a mix between clearing her throat and a moan. "You can't say –"

  "I'm not saying anything, Delaney," I say. "Certainly not that I've thought about how you'd look riding my face."

  Now she looks at me, her eyes wide. "You can't say things like that."

  "Things like how I want to hold your hips down against me while you sit on my face and come on my tongue?" I whisper.

  Delaney breathes in, her chest rising sharply. I can see the faintest hint of cleavage from the top of that button-down shirt she wears. There's something about the way she keeps herself entirely covered up that makes it almost as revealing as if she were standing here naked in front of me. "Yes," she says softly, her voice breathy. "Like that."

  "Then I won't say any of those things." I let go of her, and step back, despite the fact that my cock is throbbing, my erection pushed so tight against the front of my jeans that it's painful. I'm so hard I'm going to explode. "But I'll think about them next door."

  She does that thing with her forehead again, and scrunches up her nose. "What?" Her breath is still short, and she's standing there, with her fingertips on her lips. I need to get the hell out of here before I change my mind and rip off her fucking clothes right now.

  "Oh, I forgot to mention that," I say. "While you were at work today, I moved in to the room next door."

  Her eyes go wide. "You did not."

  I smile broadly, and lean in close to her again. "I did. So I'll be close by. In case you ever decide you need some…relief. In fact, if it helps, know that I'll be next door thinking about you when I come."

  I don't wait for her response before I leave her room, shutting the door behind me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DELANEY

  I'm standing here in my room, staring at the closed door like an idiot. As if none of that just happened. As if the throbbing between my legs is nothing.

  Gaige is next door, with his hand on his cock, thinking about you.

  Gaige's bedroom door closes, and I hear him moving around his room. These walls are paper-thin. I can't believe Gaige had the balls to move from the guesthouse to the main house – and not just the main house, but the room next door – just to mess with me. There are twelve bedrooms in this house, and Gaige picked the one next to mine.

  He definitely wants to mess with you.

  I'm not sure whether I'm more turned on or irritated. After his trip to Vegas with Chelsea and God knows how many other girls – I can only imagine the number – Gaige has the balls to stand here, pressed up against me, telling me what he wants to do to me.

  The really filthy things he wants to do to me.

  He has absolutely zero shame.

  You're the one who put condoms in his room. The thought flashes in my head, and I quickly try to push it aside.

  I wonder if he's actually jerking off in his bedroom. He sure didn't fake the erection that was pressed up against me when he pulled me close to him.

  And there's definitely no faking the wetness between my legs. If Gaige would have made good on his threat to slide his fingers between my thighs, he would have realized it immediately. And I'm not sure I would have protested.

  I cross the bedroom to lock the door – who knows if Gaige will return – and shed my office clothes piece by piece, unable to get Gaige out of my thoughts. I make a valiant effort at trying to distract myself by running through all kinds of other things in my head – work stuff, my to-do list, the fucking state capitols in alphabetical order.

  Anything other than thinking about Gaige next door. Gaige with his hand on his cock. Gaige fantasizing about me. Gaige on the other side of the wall, running his hand along his length like he said he would.

  The throbbing between my legs becomes more insistent, and I grab a novel I've been reading, flopping onto the bed and flipping open the book, my eyes landing right on…a sex scene. I slam the book closed. Choosing a romance novel to distract myself is entirely unhelpful.

  I can't stop visualizing Gaige, naked, his hand on his cock. And there are a million damn reasons why I shouldn't be thinking about Gaige naked. I make a mental checklist in my head: Manwhore – check. Past history with him – check. Professional relationship – check. Stepbrother – double fucking check.

  Next door, Gaige is silent. I wonder if he really jerked off. I wonder if he thought about me. I wonder if he finished already. I wonder what he looks like when he comes.

  Damn it, Delaney. You have to stop.

  Focus on something else.

  Like the fact that my nipples are basically as hard as rocks against the fabric of my bra. And that my panties are damp.

  I slide my finger down the front of my panties, thinking about what Gaige said.

  How you'd feel as I touched my fingers to your pussy lips, the expression on your face…

  I slide my finger lower, between my lips, slick with wetness, the wetness Gaige is responsible for creating.

  How slick you'd be as I slid my fingers inside you…

  I picture Gaige naked above me, giving me that knowing grin as he reaches between my legs, spreading my lips with his fingers and plunging them inside me. I stroke myself slowly, the way I imagine Gaige would touch me, bringing myself higher and higher.

  The thought creeps into my head – this is wrong. But I push it away. Your stepbrother is right next door.

  I picture Gaige next door, stroking himself, thinking about me as he comes. It's when I'm picturing him that I glance up at the closet door. Behind that door is Gaige's cock, the dildo he made. I'd stuffed it back in that box and hid it in the closet. Do I dare?

  It's not like anyone would ever know. It's probably not even Gaige's anyway. I'm a thousand percent positive it's something he bought at an adult store, so why shouldn't I use it?

  I slide my hand from between my legs and go to the closet before I can change my mind, rummaging through the assorted odds and ends until I find the box. Gaige's cock.

  I strip off my panties and bra and slide into the bed naked, the sheets cool against my skin. I take a long look at the dildo. I'm about to lie in bed and fuck myself with a dildo made from a mold of my stepbrother's cock, while he's right next door, jerking off while he fantasizes about me.

  My li