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349 pages, Paperback
First published April 6, 2015

Motorcycle racer, womanizer, asshole extraordinaire. Four years ago, he was the bane of my existence. And my best friend, my confidant, my first love.
My stepbrother.

I didn't come back here to restart something with you, Gaige."
"You and I are the fucking definition of unfinished."

Manwhore- check. Past history with him- check. Professional relationship- check. Stepbrother- double fucking check.




“You were WILD. I was INNOCENT.”
“Not that innocent...”

“Say it, Delaney. Tell me you’re mine.”


“Don’t make love to me, Gaige. I don’t want tender. I want you to f*ck me.”
“Hell, Delaney. I tell you I love you and you tell me to f*ck you hard.”
























I stare in disbelief.
The f*cker actually sent me a dildo
made from a mold of his c*ck?
I hate you
Now the truth is I want you
And I need you ..►♫

It's like something out of a damn movie,
me kissing her in the rain,
her hands on my shirt .."
The truth is that I miss you for real
Hook-ups are through,
'Til I see a girl like you ..►♫
But I do love you.
That much I'm sure of.
I think I've always loved you, Delaney .."
"....there's definitely something dirty about picking up a dildo made from a mold of your stepbrother's penis."


"Come for me right here, right now, or you're about to be discovered in the garden at your father's house, with your sophisticated little black dress around your waist, your stepbrother's handprints on your ass, and his fingers in your pussy."







"Now I'm going to lie back here, and you're going to climb up on top of me and put your pussy on my face.
Before I have to tell you again."








⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱*A bad read*⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱
I'm standing here, barefoot and looking like a drowned rat, my gaze coming to rest on the chaise lounge in the middle of the room, where three tall, thin, beautiful blondes with perfectly coiffed hair and flawless makeup and expensive lace lingerie pose around him. The boy I used to know. The boy I last saw four years ago, when we were eighteen.
He's sure as hell not a boy anymore.
He looks right in my eyes, and I swear he can see through me. Then he gives me that cocky, shit-sure of himself, nothing-ever-surprises-me grin, and I'm not certain whether the heat that rushes through me is anger or lust.
Gaige O'Neal.
Motorcycle racer, womanizer, asshole extraordinaire. Four years ago, he was the bane of my existence. And my best friend, my confidant, my first love.
My stepbrother.
I've made a concerted effort to forget Gaige O'Neal over the past four years, which is honestly pretty difficult when your stepbrother is a media darling, a sports figure the tabloids love. It involves going to extreme lengths: no looking at photo spreads in the sports magazines, shutting off the television interviews, ignoring the tabloid articles about Gaige and whoever his girl-of-the-moment is, shrugging and changing the subject when friends want to know what Gaige is like.


