Resting my hands on my hips, I wait just inside his room for him to open his eyes and see me.
Long seconds pass as he continues and blows repeated rings of smoke into the room.
I’m just about to march his way and rip the joint from his fingers when he sits up.
My breath catches as I prepare for him to look at me. But when he does, I realize that no amount of time could have prepared me for looking in those dark, cold eyes once again.
A smile curls at one side of his lips as he runs his eyes down the length of my body. Tingles erupt in their wake and as my nipples tighten under his stare, I remember that I’m only wearing a thin tank and a pair of sleep shorts.
Fuck. Fuck him and his assholery.
Folding my arms over my chest in an attempt to hide what my clothes are doing a shit job of, I cock my hip and wait for him to finish.
“Are you about finished?” I sass when his eyes find mine once again.
He stands, his free hand running through his dark hair and pushing it from his forehead while the other continues to hold his joint.
“Oh, little one. I haven’t even started.”
I swallow, square my shoulders and straighten my back, ready to go up against him again.
“There’s no smoking in this house. Of any kind.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, taking a drag and blowing the smoke right in my face.
“You’d better get rid of it before your dad gets back,” I suggest, much to his amusement if his barked laugh is anything to go by.
“And tell me, little girl, what’s he going to do about it, huh?” He bends at the knees, lowering down to my level.
I open my mouth to respond, but I have no words. He makes the most of my parted lips to blow a stream of smoke past them.
“Stop it,” I spit.
“Why? You too much of a goody-two-shoes little girl to enjoy a hit?”
“Fuck you.”
“Hmm…” His eyes roam over me once again. “Maybe. It’s good to know you’d be up for it.”
“Uh… what? No. That was not—” My words are cut off when he reaches over my shoulder.
My heart pounds and my head spins as I try to figure out what he’s doing. The second the door slams. I start to panic. I don’t want to be stuck in a room with this asshole.
He steps forward, his body heat flowing into mine.
“Here,” he says, offering me his joint. It’s the first nice thing he’s done or said since we met earlier. Although I’m not sure offering your younger stepsister drugs is actually considered a nice thing to do. Maybe where he’s from.
Turning my face away from him, I silently refuse the offer.
“Ah, you too good for this? Don’t tell me, you’re also a cheerleader and on the school council campaigning for a life of abstinence and veganism.”
My head snaps back to his in shock. He might be a douchebag, but I didn’t have him down for a judgmental one too. “Don’t pretend that you know me. You know fuck all about me.”
“Oh, little girl,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through me as he grasps my chin between his fingers. “I know you better than you think.”
I want to shake him off, but he holds so hard that it actually starts to pinch.
“That hurts,” I snap.
“And?”
He pushes me until my back collides with the door.
“I’m a cheerleader, so what?”
He smiles, it’s accomplished and evil.
“Fucking knew it. You’ve got high school prep written all over you.”
“Right now, all I’ve got all over me is you.”
He growls, actually fucking growls right in my face.
“Oh, little one, trust me when I say that when I’m all over you, you’ll feel me in more places than just your chin.”
My eyes widen in shock at his words. I also don’t miss the fact that he says when, not if. And I fucking hate that just the image that those words conjure up in my head has my lower stomach clenching in a way I haven’t felt before.
He stares down at me as I will my brain to work properly with him so close. He smells like sexy male and weed, it’s a heady combination. Although that could just be the weed that’s causing that effect.
“Come on, I thought you were a good girl, Rosy.”
“I’m pretty sure taking that.” I nod at the joint he’s still holding up for me. “Would make me anything but a good girl. And,” I add sharply. “My name is Ruby. Ruby,” I repeat, enunciating each syllable clearly so the asshole might have a chance at understanding it.
He takes another drag, making a show of holding it deep before once again blowing it out over me.
“Huh, look at that, it seems you’re already dirty. And do you know what?”
I raise a brow, trying to appear totally uninterested in anything he might have to say, although I know deep down that I’m desperate to hear his voice again.
“I like my girls dirty.”
Every muscle below my waist clenches.
With his blunt between his lips, he uses my moment of weakness to his advantage. His hot fingers wrap around my wrists and he lifts my arms above my head, pinning them there in one of his large hands.
Dropping his other arm, he runs his busted-up knuckles down my cheek. Goose bumps erupt around my body and I look to the side, not wanting him to see whatever he might be able to read in my eyes. I’ve no doubt my traitorous thoughts will be clear in their hazel depths.
I hate him. He’s an asshole. So why does his touch feel so good? Even such a simple one.
Tucking his fingers under my chin, he forces me to face him. Only, much to his displeasure, I keep my eyes downcast.
“Look at me,” he
