CHAPTER 3
2:17 a.m.
The house is dead quiet except for the soft creak of Brenda’s bare feet on the hallway floor. She’s wearing nothing but Zach’s old black football T-shirt (the one that smells like him), hanging to mid-thigh, hem brushing the tops of her thighs with every step. No panties. Already soaked.
She pushes his bedroom door open without knocking.
Moonlight spills across his bed. Zach is awake, propped on one elbow, sheet low on his hips, eyes dark and hungry the second he sees her.
“Took you long enough,” he rasps.
Brenda shuts the door, clicks the lock, and yanks the T-shirt over her head in one motion.
“Been dripping since the kitchen,” she whispers, crawling onto the bed like a predator. “Need my stepbrother to fix it.”
Zach growls and lunges.
He flips her onto her b
