My Best Friend's Hot Brother (18+)

Perky Breasts And A Tight Ass

What do you think is the context for today's chapter?

Jackson

"Where are you going?"

I study Sterling with curiosity as she sits cross-legged on the oak dresser in front of a large mirror. She is leaning towards her reflection, lining her eyes with heavy smoky liner.

My gaze drops to her lace black bralette peeking out from beneath the white tee that she has cut the sleeves off of. A visual of her standing stark naked on the dock immediately sparks into my brain but I quickly snuff it. This is Sterling I'm thinking about after all.

Annoying friend to my younger sister. It doesn't matter if she has perky breasts and a tight ass, it's not incentive enough to tempt the invisible boundary I have put into place to keep her at arm's length.

"There appears to be a party happening down at the lake," she replies casually. "I'm going to crash it."

"Of course, you are," I smirk. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

 She swivels to face me, and her eyes sweep over my bare torso.

I'm not clueless. I know that she appreciates the sight. It's evident by the way her mouth parts slightly and the subtle manner in which she licks her lips. A rosy flush stains her cheeks and her pupils dilate as she continues to stare.

I briefly wonder if she reacts this way to all half-naked men or if I'm a special exception, but I push the thought from my brain. It doesn't matter. The answer won't change how I feel about her.

She pries her gaze away from my chest to look me in the eye. "You should come," she urges. "I imagine you could easily score that one sip of beer that you're so fond of."

Then holding up a single finger, she snickers. "Just the one though. You don't want to get too wild and crazy. As it is, that's already pushing the limit, you party animal, you."

I roll my eyes as I fold back the covers and slip beneath them. "Make fun of me all you want but I much rather play it safe than wind up in jail like you probably will at some point in your life."

Reaching over, I flick off the bedside lamp, shrouding half the room in darkness. I am done having this conversation but of course, Sterling is not.

She switches the light back on. "It's nine-thirty, Jackson," she protests. "You need to be more rebellious. Your mom won't disown you for breaking curfew."

"As if I should be taking lessons from you," I retort with a scoff. "Clearly, your mother is bursting with pride over your behaviors."

The sarcastic comment causes a flash of hurt to shimmer in her irises and I instantly feel guilty for spouting something so rude.

"Fuck you," she mumbles. "My mom's just an uptight bitch who tries to control me to fit into the mold of how she believes a daughter should dress and act."

I twist my mouth as I stare at her. I understand the feeling of being forced to conform to a parent's expectations. "I suppose you have an intriguing style of dress," I offer up to her as a peace offering.

She lifts a brow. "Is that an insult?"

I chuckle. "No. I'm trying to compliment your fashion sense. It's very nineties grunge."

"We can spice up your look too." She slides off the dresser and approaches me, tugging on my elbow. "Let me see your hand. I can paint your fingernails black."

With an amused grin, I yank my arm away. "Step back, woman. You aren't allowed anywhere near my extremities." 

"Any of them?" She gives me a devilish grin topped with a wink and I am unsure of what to make of her comment.