Good Girls Don’t Cross The Line

Episode 7

KNOX

The bet was simple.

It was stupid wager with one of the guys that I could get myself a tutor without asking for one.

But it wasn't the real reason I had agreed. The real reason I did was because it was a chance to be near Annalise and rile her up.

I had told myself it was the perfect ammunition for me to bring more torment to Annalise.

I had picked the subject I was actually strongest in and tanked it deliberately, simple as that.

And I knew the teacher would be quick to blame it on my sports and look around the classroom for the obvious candidate as tutor.

I had already known who he would eventually land on.

Annalise—top of the class with perfect scores and a spine like rod, coupled with a mouth that never knew when to actually quit.

Not that I minded.

So, when he had called us both aside after the display I put up for him to see in that corridor, I was not even surprised at all.

It was my expectation.

I knew exactly what he would say after handing out the test scripts because he was predictable.

And I had agreed to the tutoring arrangement because it seemed to me like it was easy sport.

More time to rattle her. More time to even watch that composed face of hers come apart at the edges when she got angry enough.

That had been the plan.

But when she had sat across from me in the study for our first tutoring session, something inside me had rapidly shifted.

She was genuinely sharp. Not just book-smart-sharp, but the kind of sharp that meant she had been paying attention to everything happening around her for a long time and filing it all away.

I had known that already. But knowing it from across a hallway was different from sitting about three feet away from it.

Her voice was steady and smart as she had broken down every step of the mathematical equations I had been failing on purpose just to get to this point with her.

And for the first time, I had found myself actually listening to her and not just staring at her lips.

But I couldn’t stop replaying the almost-kiss in the study. My head did it without my permission.

I could recall the way she had gone completely still, the way her breath had changed immediately.

Or was it the way her eyes had dropped once, just for a tensed second, and then quickly snapped back up to mine with all that fire of desire still burning in them?

And I had felt the pull of it so strongly that the sound of the front door had almost been a physical interruption.

I had pulled back.

I had smirked.

I had done the thing I always did, which was to perform my gesture of being unbothered right up until the moment I was alone.

And now I was alone.

And I was anything but unbothered.

Alone, my mind flashed back to the tutoring session—the way Annalise had called me dumb and ugly, the fire in her eyes, and how her Tourette’s tic had flared under the stress, that little involuntary sound—"screw me"—that had somehow went straight to my c**k and hardened it into diamond.

The tic had made her so rigid with an embarrassment that I had felt from right across the table.

Yet, I had laughed because that was what I did, and because it was easier than admitting that the small, involuntary sounds she made had been living in the back of my head for months doing dark, dirty things to me that I had no business letting them do.

The bet that had even started this whole fake failing streak felt very far away at this very moment.

So far away.

The back of my wrist was pressed against my mouth just as I thought about the way she had even lightly slapped me across the cheek and I had felt almost nothing.

But her hand had been shaking when she had done it.

I had felt that.

She had been furious and flustered and trying so hard not to show anything either. And there was something about the combination that had done more damage to my composure than I was willing to put into meaningful words.

I had only meant to tease her with the kiss that almost happened just because I liked to watch her squirm and lose that good-girl composure.

But why the hell was my c**k hard in my pants? And why does the thought of my stepsister under me make my blood run hot?

The realization that the tension I had been feeling around her for months in end and the constant need to push her buttons and all wasn’t just about breaking her.

I wanted her. I wanted to screw Annalise so badly.

I might have before. But now, she was my stepsister. Still, it mightn't matter. We weren't related.

I knew that.

Our parents might have signed a piece of paper at court, but that was the whole of it. There was no drop of blood in this equation.

Annalise was in the room down the hall. She would be at breakfast tomorrow. She would sit across from me in that study three times a week with her pen uncapped and her notes color-coded.

She would have that look on her face she got when she was barely holding her patience together because I would make her.

Maybe with a touch—a hand up her thighs, or on her full heavy breasts. Maybe with a kiss?

Nevertheless, it didn't really matter to me which did the job. And the forbidden thrill of it all only made my arousal to get worse.

The forbidden weight of it pressed down on my chest. Yet, it did not feel like a warning. What it felt like was gasoline—volatile, explosive.

I stripped down to my briefs and lay back on the bed, the cool air from the window hitting my skin.

My right hand wrapped around my c**k which was already painfully hard, and aching—the tension that had been building since she fled the study refusing to ease.

Then, I closed my eyes and started stroking slowly at first, imagining Annalise getting on her knees in front of me, those sharp eyes of hers looking up at me as she would take my c**k into her mouth.

Her smart tongue that always cut me down now put to better use as her flushed cheeks would hollow when she sucked me deep.

My grip of my c**k tightened as my strokes became faster.

I pictured pinning her against the big desk in the study, silencing that sharp tongue in her smart mouth by burying my c**k to the hilt inside of her tight cunt, f*****g her hard and fast until every of her composed little arguments quickly turned into broken moans.

After which I would bend her over, spreading her round ass and driving my long d**k into her from behind, making her tic and moan for entirely different reasons.

Her body trembling under me, no longer from stress, but from how deep I was hitting her g-spot.

A groan left my lips.

From the next room, I heard one of her occasional tics, faint and muffled, filtering through the wall and driving my fingers wild.

Something pulled tight low in my stomach. I closed my eyes. The small involuntary sound went straight into my blood stream.

That combination hit me like a freight train. And it was what pushed me over the edge. I came hard immediately. My seed spurted out and spilled all over my palm and onto my stomach and my thighs.

And I didn't stop. My fingers stroked my c**k through every following pulse. More c*m poured out. When I was done, I was breathing raggedly in the dark.

I simply lay there afterward with my chest heaving, staring up at the ceiling while the hot high from the amazing climax slowly faded.

The game of predator and prey I had been playing with Annalise for months had not only just become a lot more dangerous. It had also become a lot more addictive.

I had spent months thinking I wanted to break her.

But lying there in the dark allowed me to begin to understand that what I actually wanted was something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with breaking her. Yet it had everything to do with the way she refused to break.

That was the problem.

That was the whole problem.

And I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.