Claimed By My Stepbrother novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

Ethan POV

I stood in the center of my room like a statue, fists clenched, my heart beating so loud I could hear it in my ears.

I needed her.

So I did what I always did when it got this bad..

I went to the wardrobe.

It was like some sick little ritual by now. Always the same steps. Open the door. Slide aside the jackets. Reach behind the stack of old clothes. Pull out the box.

The box with her in it.

chard.

I dropped to my knees in front of it, breathing hard. My fingers trembled as they touched the lid. I hadn’t even opened it yet, but my body was already reacting like she was right in front of me.

My hands shook harder as I peeled the lid off.

And there they were.

Camila’s pajamas.

Soft, pink, silky. Folded with so much care you’d think they were worth more than gold. In my head, they were. They were more valuable than anything I owned.

Because she wore them. They had touched her skin. Clung to her curves. Soaked up the heat of her body.

I reached out and ran my fingers over the fabric like I was touching her, and every nerve in my body lit up. It was like static under my skin. I picked up the camisole, and it slipped between my fingers like water. Light. Delicate.

My mouth went dry.

My chest ached.

I couldn’t stop myself.

I buried my face in it and inhaled like I was starving.

Oh god.

Her scent instantly made my dick hard.

Soft and feminine and hers. It was faint but still there. Warm skin and sweetness and that tiny twist of lavender from the lotion she always

used. It hit me so hard I nearly doubled over.

“Camila…” I groaned into the fabric, the sound almost a growl. “Fuck…”

I pressed it harder to my face, drinking it in. I felt like I could feel her right here with me. Like if I just kept breathing her in long enough, she would appear.

I knew how wrong it was.

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Chapter 91

Didn’t matter.

Nothing else gave me this. Not the goddamn manual Greg wrote for me. Not the fake smiles. Not the pretend conversations about my pen Nothing touched the part of me that ached the way this did.

I pulled out the matching shorts and held them up. It was so small. So fucking Intimate.

My breath caught as I imagined her wearing them–legs bare, skin soft and warm, the waistband sitting low on her hips. Her shirt riding op while she stretched. Her hair messy from sleep, one of those sleepy little frowns or her face as she reached for the light switch.

God, I wanted to see that.

Not just once.

Every night.

I pressed the shorts to my face next, breathing deep, and greedily, as I growled against it, squeezing it ever so slightly. I could feel my eyes burning, my throat tight, every part of me coiled like a spring ready to snap.

I couldn’t wait for the day Camila would feel what I felt. When she would stop running away from it.

She’d realize that no one would ever love her like I did.

No one else would worship her the way I did.

I clutched the pajamas to my chest, knuckles white from how hard I held on while lowering my jeans. I trailed my hands down the outline of my hard dick through my boxer briefs.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth with a growl, gripping my dick and begin stroking it through my briefs.

It was so fucking hard for her, making me imagine slamming it into her wet pussy and taking her from behind.

She would scream for me, and I would love every second.

“Fuck.” I cursed. “I’m so fucking hard for you, Camila.”

Grabbing Camila’s pajamas, I place it around my dick and/growled imagining her giving it a tight squeeze.

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