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He was melting, and fuck, so was I.
Chapter2
Parker
Steam fogged the mirror, veiling the reflection of my sin-stained body. Water dripped from every inch as I stepped out of the shower, the events of last night replaying in my head like a forbidden movie on an endless loop. The hunger in Weston’s eyes, the heat of his skin against mine. I couldn’t scrub away the need he branded into me.
“Thought you emptied yourself last night,” I said, catching Weston’s gaze in the mirror.
He lay sprawled on the bed, hand moving leisurely over himself. A smirk played on his lips, his cock hard again, as if our midnight escapade was just a warm-up. He didn’t respond, only watched me with those piercing brown eyes, stoking the fire he’d ignited hours before. I wrapped a towel around my waist, ignoring how my body stirred in response. Droplets of water trailed down my chest, and I could feel Weston watching every single one.
Clothes clung to my damp skin like a second layer of heat as I dressed in Weston’s presence. His silence was louder than any words, telling me exactly what he wanted—a repeat performance, an encore to our nighttime symphony of moans and flesh slapping flesh.
I felt his stare scorch across my back, branding each vertebra as I threaded my legs through the jeans. The weight of his gaze followed the casual hitch of denim over thighs. It was a dance, choreographed by lust, perfected by secrecy.
As I buckled my belt, Weston’s breath ghosted across the nape of my neck. His lips grazed my skin, sending a jolt straight to my groin. I tensed, a shockwave of desire crashing into a wall of awareness.
Then I heard Cole. Our asshole brother twisting the knob on my bedroom door. His voice, muffled through the door, was a bucket of ice water on our smoldering scene. I jumped away from Weston, heart pounding like a drum.
“Fuck,” I muttered, casting a glance over my shoulder to where Weston still lounged with that cocky tilt of his smile. This game we played was dangerous, addictive, and I was already in too deep. But right then, all I could think about was not getting caught, not letting Cole see the twisted truth behind closed doors.
The door swung open, and there stood Cole, sporting that familiar shit-eating grin that made my skin crawl. “What’s up, Park? Working out some frustration to Miss July?”
“Fuck off,” I snapped, grabbing the nearest object—a worn basketball—and hurled it at him with precision I didn’t bother to mask.
He caught it easily, his laughter echoing down the hallway as he tossed the ball back to me. “Your future ball and chain’s on the line downstairs.”
“Oh, joy,” I mumbled under my breath, waiting for the echo of his footsteps to fade before I turned back to the room.
Weston lay hidden next to the bed, sprawled on the floor, a vision of deviant desire. My gaze locked onto his, muscles tensing as I yanked a T-shirt over my head. The fabric grazed my skin, but all I felt was the phantom touch of Weston’s hands, igniting me, setting fire to every inch of my body.
I sucked in a deep breath, willing my pulse to slow, to be anything but what it was—ravenous, hungry for more. Shoes. I needed shoes. I jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers, not bothering with the laces. Fuck laces. Fuck everything but the heat in Weston’s eyes.
“Get up,” I mouthed silently, the words a command I wasn’t sure I wanted obeyed.
Weston’s cool fingers brushed against my skin as he slid into his pajama bottoms. I was still riding the high, every nerve ending on fire. My body ached in that sweet, delicious way only he could make it.
“God, Parker,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, “she won’t fuck you better than me.”
The words were like a brand, burning through to my core. I turned, catching the glint of mischief in his brown eyes. “I know,” I said, voice rough from last night’s transgressions. “No one can pound my ass into oblivion like my little bro.”
His lips curled up at the edges, and for a moment we were suspended in that heated gaze. But time, relentless as always, pressed on. I broke away, left him standing there with that cocky grin and those too-knowing eyes. The hallway outside my room was a welcome chill against my heated skin. I strode down the corridor, each step a reminder of the line we’d crossed, the taboo we indulged.
The kitchen was my destination. Neutral ground. Away from prying ears, especially those belonging to the patriarch of the Ashbourne empire. The library was his lair, and anything spoken within its walls was as good as whispered in his ear. I couldn’t risk it. Not with the conversation that awaited me.
Steeling myself, I descended the staircase, feeling the distance between Weston and me grow with each step. It was a relief and a pang of loss all at once. I pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, the smell of opulence and excess hitting me like a wave.
This was just another morning in the Ashbourne estate, yet nothing was the same.
The scent of last night’s recklessness still clung to me as I walked into the vast kitchen. A thick aroma of overindulgence—leftover eggs and bacon commingling with the pungent tang of curing meat lined up for lunch. The smells hitting me in the face the moment I entered the kitchen.
“Mr. Parker.” The housekeeper nodded, her eyes skimming over me with practiced indifference. She knew better than to ask questions.
“Hey?” I said, grabbing the long cord that spanned the length of the countertop in front of me.
“Hey!” came the chirpy reply, syrupy sweet and grating. “How are you this morning?”
“Surviving,” I said, a corner of my mouth lifting despite the simmering frustration.
