Free ARROGANT BASTARD by Winter Renshaw Page A

next time. I don’t want an AUB wife. I want a girl in charge of her own sexuality.”
    I jerk my wrist from his grip. “Oh, I’m in charge, Jensen.”
    “Yeah, for some reason, I don’t believe you.”
    “I don’t need to prove myself to you.” My arms lock tight across my chest.
    “Yeah, you do.” He leans into my ear once again. “You want me to take you seriously? Fine. Tonight, when you go to sleep, I want you to finger yourself as you think about me. I want you to come all over those delicate fingers of yours as you think about my cock inside you.”
    My body quivers against my wishes, betraying me like a willful criminal. The warmth between my thighs spreads into a euphoric high I’ve never experienced before. Even the thought of being bad feels good.
    “That is,” he adds, “if you want to. Your choice. Obviously.”
    “I don’t need to think about you to get off.”
    “Sure. Just like I don’t need to think about you, but I do it anyway. I control what dirty thoughts lurk in the corners of my warped little mind.”
    “How many times?”
    “Twice.” He smirks. “How many times have you…? Wait. Have you ever pleasured yourself, Waverly?”
    “Of course I have,” I lie. I’ve touched myself once. But brought myself to the brink of an orgasm? Never. I don’t know how. I’ve slipped a finger down there once after reading select pages from my romance novels. It was warm and wet and highly sensitive. It felt good until the guilt set in, and I quickly retrieved my hand and vowed never to do it again.
    Jensen rubs the space above his temple, releasing a harsh groan.
    “What’s wrong?” I ask.
    “We just took five giant fucking steps backwards.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Make yourself come tonight,” he says. “That’s your assignment. Bring yourself to orgasm.”
    “You’re telling me what to do,” I scoff. “What happened to having choices? If I touch myself, won’t that be because you told me to touch myself?”
    “Forget all that,” he says, his words coarse and frustrated. “Making yourself come is the ultimate lesson in control. Relax. Trust your instincts. Do what feels good.”
    His words send a shiver down my spine and heat between my legs, creating a burning itch too powerful not to scratch. My resolve, previously hardened and stiff, vanishes into thin air.
    “Go.” He places his hands on my shoulders and escorts me to his door. His lips curl into the most mischievous smile I’ve ever seen. “I’ll be listening.”
    I smack him across his smooth, solid chest and rush down the hall and into my room before anyone sees a thing.
    ***
    My room is pitch dark.
    And stuffy—because it’s too early in the year to turn on the air conditioning, and my father is cheap.
    I’m buried under a mountain of light blankets, as if they could shield my sins from the outside world.
    My fingers twitch. Anxious. Needy. They calculate their next move like criminals shielded by the cover of night.
    That’s what this is—a crime. A crime so wrong, I deserve to be punished. If I go to hell, at least I know Jensen will be there to keep me company.
    I don’t need my Harlequin paperback for this.
    A deep breath passes through my half-parted lips and I brush my hand across my belly before slipping it under the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms. It travels lower, possessed by a mind of its own, until it reaches the heat between my thighs.
    I slip a finger between my folds. A zing of anticipation zips through my stomach. I close my eyes tight and I picture my stepbrother. His broad shoulders and warrior tattoos. His dark hair. His golden eyes. The outline of his erection hidden behind his towel.
    I’m a dirty, dirty girl.
    I’m going to hell.
    Oh, my God. I’m going to hell.
    I retrieve my fingers and open my eyes. Doing something so naughty makes me feel as if I’m being watched. They’re going to see it on my face tomorrow at breakfast.
    They’ll know .
    The ache