My Hockey Bully Stepbrother
Every slow drag of her hand, every bead of precum she smeared down his length, every tiny shudder that ran through him—he wanted it branded under my skin.
Brianna’s other hand slid up under his shirt, raking nails lightly across his stomach. His abs contracted hard under her touch. A low, rough sound slipped out of him then, not quite a groan, more like a stifled curse, and I felt it land somewhere deep between my legs, hot and sudden and humiliating.
I hated him for it.
I hated her for it.
I hated myself most of all.